Untitled (21 page)

    "You gotta get a hold of yourself, girl," Stacy, the Wicked Witch said as she led her Snow White by the hand. Of course, Meredith Shaw was not the Snow White of children's storybooks; at least that's not how she dressed. The pretty blue puffed sleeves of her tiny blouse were about the only thing to remind one of the Disney character. Her chest was stuffed inside a waist-cinching navy corset that set her breasts jiggling erotically on top…and below the waist the golden skirt barely covered her ass and her nearly naked crotch.

    "It's a good look on you," Stacey had remarked on seeing her friend in the jet black wig and skimpy costume. "But you'll attract more attention if you lose the thong."

    "No. I won't go that far. I'm not advertising, I'm just going to watch."

    "What? Your mystery Dom won't like it?"

    "He's real, Stace. I swear."

    "Yeah, sure. I think your dreams have got the better of you. Either that or Kat's disappearance has you hiding behind closed doors these days. You don't come to the dungeon, you never call. Sure surprised me when you wanted to be my Snow White."

    "You'll meet him sooner or later, I swear."

    "Okay, girl," she laughed.

    At the base of the hill where they parked, the two donned their masks and hiked up through the fog to the big front door. It made quite an ominous creaking noise when opened. But once inside, they shed the cold of the gloomy outdoors and dove into the crowd of the masked and anonymous, feeling the beat of the rock music playing on two levels spirit them away into a night of naughty frivolity.

    Meredith had gone no more than ten feet into the main ballroom, when she managed to look up, spotting a man some distance off dressed as a Musketeer, having the exact same bearing as her master Alain Danvers – the same stance, upright shoulders and powerful build. And his hair from behind was Alain's hair. And then the eyes…with no warning the man turned and stared directly at her as if he recognized her through her mask.

    
"Ohmygod!"
She wasn't even sure she'd said it aloud, but terror struck like an electric storm, zapping her all the way to her toes. "He's here!" she mouthed in quiet awe.

    "He's what?" the distracted witch turned to her.

"He's here."

    "Who's here?"

    "There!" Meredith nodded toward the man in question, but before Witch Stacey could turn to see him, her Musketeer disappeared into the crowd beyond. Meanwhile, she had seen a lusty serving wench on his arm.

    "You seeing things, Meri?"

    Too dazed to answer, she let her friend lead her by the hand as they plunged back into the crowded party.

***

Some time later Alain Danvers, with his serving wench Janis on his arm, found Percy Giles by the gate to the cellar and its vast dungeons below. Already the sounds of whips and moaning submissives could be heard against the background music of Sting, Led Zeppelin and mournful Georgian chants. He was surprised how much the mood of the Ball had his cock throbbing and his desires on edge, and the sight of Meri across the room hardly surprised him. She'd transformed herself into a whimsical and very sexy Snow White. What tipped him off to her identity could be chalked up to his acute powers of observation. Not only were her size and body shape a perfect match, even from a distance, the small tattoo just above the ankle strap of the woman's black stiletto slippers looked to be a perfect match to the small black insignia Meredith Shaw wore in that location. Once he'd caught her eye, he knew for sure. The way she trembled in that brief instant of recognition only confirmed his supposition.

    Admittedly, her absence was necessary to his plans, but it had been a test – one that she failed miserably. Even so, he was annoyed with having to take time out to handle the unpleasant business of his misbehaving submissive.

    He could have confronted her, taken her down before an audience that was primed for the first failed sub to take a ruthless beating right in the open. Nothing would have served his personal needs better, but work came first. He could not let Perry Livingston slip through his fingers because he couldn't keep his recalcitrant submissive from disobeying a direct order.

    "Percy!" He tapped the dungeon master on the shoulder and the lanky fellow turned about.

    "Alain, is that you?" he whispered discreetly.

    "Yes. It's me."

    "Since when did you take up the whip again?" He looked at the not-so-humble Janisthe-serving-wench and winked.

    "'Fraid I'm here for other reasons, although I have a little business with a misbehaving submissive for you to handle."

    "Really?" His eyes lit on Janis again.

    "No, not my wench here. You'll find a sweet-looking Snow White with her Wicked Witch milling through the crowd. Arrest her and jail her in the dungeon as soon as you spot her. I don't care how much she protests. You can tell her, confidentially, that her master sent you."

    "Oh, my! I'd be delighted. My first arrest of the night. And what do I do with her there?"

    "Depending on how much she resists, you can give her a firm paddling. I've other arrangements in mind for later."

    "I'm at your service, Alain. Consider it done, now enjoy yourself."

    Alain smiled and walked off.

    "Well, that was a tidy bit of business," Janis commented.

    "Necessary. I wish I could get my hands on her myself. But—"

    "Oh, but Captain Danvers has work to do," she grinned. "You don't mind if I slip off and get something to drink? You want anything?"

    "The punch will be fine. I'm sure you'll find me around somewhere. I need to check in with my team."

    He walked off keeping his eyes open for his quarry, Perry Livingston, while he sought out Edmund Thorsby.

Alain found the host of the Masquerade dressed in a smoking jacket, standing by the door of the main ballroom.

    "Great party you have here," Alain said, while joining the man as he stared out at the teaming throng of guests.

    "I do enjoy this, even though I've given up partying for myself." He took a sip of Scotch. "Must be Alain, hum? I recognize your voice," Edmund said without changing his gaze.

    "Nothing like the old days, is it?" Alain came back.

    "We were too young then. Too old now."

    "Oh, I don't think so," Alain objected, although he knew that Edmund Thorsby had been battling cancer for nearly a decade, which stopped all his kinky activity except for hosting this Masquerade.

    "You mind if I'm a bit surprised to see you here? You have some lady friend now who's in the scene?"

    "Two, in fact."

    "I'm impressed."

    "One's just a friend, my date for tonight. The other is here on the sly and will be in your dungeon jail shortly, Percy's first victim, Snow White." "Sounds cute."

    "She is. And she's been a very bad girl."

***

    "You're to be kept here until further notice, Snow White," Percy Giles informed her. "Yer master's got plans for you!" Percy loved adlibbing these scenes, putting terror in the hearts of vulnerable damsels.

    When Meredith tried to jerk from his grasp, he pulled her up and held both hands over her head, her feet practically dangling on air. His height was an advantage in these circumstances.

    "I got the right to blister your pretty behind if you fight me, Snow White."

    "He said that? My master said that?"

"Sure did."

    "I don't believe you."

    Percy smiled cunningly. "But you don't dare
not
believe me, now do you?"

    She thought a moment, then tried again to jerk away. But as she did, a cold chill of reality darted up her spine. What if it was Alain? What if? Dear god, maybe it really was? She'd dismissed her initial thoughts when the suspicious Musketeer moved away so quickly. He would have said something, wouldn't he? Confronted her? Dressed her down just like she deserved to be. Unless…unless he was telling the truth…working?
Or,
he might have been lying all this time, her alter ego argued. Before she could finish the debate in her mind, the still resistant Meredith was flung over a spanking bench and her skirt was flipped up to expose her ass. Seconds later, a paddle came crashing down on her naked bottom.

    "No, no, stop!" she yelled.

    The paddling continued with unrelenting firmness despite her cries. It was certainly not the hardest spanking she ever had, but it stung like the dungeon master had rained a fireball on her ass. The more she felt the hurt, the more she struggled; and there was no suppressing her crazed feelings.

    "Please! I promise, I'll be good."

    "Damn right, you'll be good," Percy let her have it again, then finally stood her on her feet.

    Much to her horror a rather sizable crowd had gathered in the dungeon space to witness her punishment. She gulped, embarrassed, her eyes furtively scanning the audience for the mysterious Musketeer. Not there. At least that she could see.

    Thank heaven she was still masked.

    A moment later, Snow White was flung into the far dungeon cell, the door clanging portentously as it slammed against the cell wall. She stared around, looking sad and sullen. It certainly felt like a real dungeon, there was nothing made-up about the cell – not the damp stone wall on one side and the bars on the other three sides, or the cold dirt packed floor. Her cell was just one of a long string down a corridor of cells, which before the night was over, she imagined would be full of slaves and submissives in need of a dose of humility. She, however, was the first. And how she ended up there was still a puzzle, not soon to be solved.

    "Please, you really can't keep me here!" she wailed, as she shot up, grabbing the bars of the cell door and rattling them hard, as if that would make them suddenly swing open. The jailer had already walked away and the crowd she drew dispersed. At least for a time, she was alone.

    Utterly alone.

    In a dungeon.

    Locked in a cell.

    Should she be angry or aroused by her predicament? Both feelings were right at the surface of her fuming misery. She wanted to be upstairs where all the action was, and here she was stuck in this nasty cell, for lord knows how long. She finally turned away from the cell door and sank against the hard floor, sobbing.

***

It might have been the longest hour of Meredith's life. Sounds from all around the house echoed through the empty dungeon chambers. Screams and laughter and the noise of cracking whips filled her head with their provocative noise. Somewhere in her restless stew her anger had abated and she was left with a gnawing, gut-wrenching sexual arousal, which had everything to do with realizing that her master, Alain Danvers, had authored from afar her current incarceration. With every second that ticked by, she expected to see his face, see the masked Musketeer standing outside the cell, looking down, his expression filled with displeasure, maybe anger, even amusement. He'd find some way to mock her brazen disobedience. He'd use it to punish her before the entire masked ball. The more she thought of it, the more her present arousal soared and her fear expanded.

    Her bottom ached. Not just from the spanking, but the hard floor was miserable to sit on with no way to relieve the constant ache. For a time, she tried to rest her head against the stone wall – her mind afloat. But then suddenly she was jerked from her thoughtlessness by the sound of an unfamiliar voice.

    "You don't look much like Snow White."

    Her eyes popped open and she stared outside the cell.

    Dear God, the man in the smoking jacket had a key in his hand…and no mask. She didn't recognize his face but she sensed that he was someone important.

    "How about you come with me, my little bratty slave," he said. "I'm Edmund Thorsby. Your master sold you to me for the rest of the night. Your fate's with me."

    "Sold me?" she looked up in shock.

    "And why not? He didn't have a use for you, but I certainly do."

    "You mean I'm…"

    "Mine for the rest of the night. Yes." He'd jerked her to her feet, clamped an iron collar around her neck and was leading her by a leash down the corridor of cells before she had the presence of mind to object.

    "He wouldn't do that!" she finally jerked free.

    "But he has, miss. And if you don't do everything I ask, you'll have not just me, but him to answer to."

    The ring of truth in his words immediately stopped further protest, but it did nothing to quell her anxiety.

    Instead of moving to the main staircase, Edmund Thorsby unlocked a door some distance beyond that led to a private set of stairs. They moved on upward through a narrow stairwell, Meredith sporadically tugged by the leash to keep her moving. She thought they'd never stop, and by the time they did, her legs were almost too weak to go on. Their ascent ended at a door leading into a gentleman's sitting room; they were the only ones there. Meredith stared around, seeing an old-fashioned kind of room known for its plush furnishings, leather, velvet, dark colors and a smoldering fire inside the hearth.

    She stumbled into the room, realizing how sore her feet were in the high-heeled slippers, then finally grabbed onto the back of a chair and gazed back at Edmund Thorsby. She knew his name, but had never met the man. The buzz about him in the scene was filled with notorious tales, as well as the fact of his illness, which had tamed most of his darker passions. If nothing else, she knew to respect him for his generosity when it came to the annual Fetish Masquerade.