Gregory's Domme

Gregory Holmsworth’s country house was set behind a very serious f–k off fence, topped with spikes, and guarded by a security team twenty-four seven. Once admitted past the gates, the drive stretched forever through tree-filled gardens, until suddenly the house appeared through the greenery.

It was a very serious looking house, as if Gregory had instructed the architect to make it look like something from a gothic horror film. Beautiful, but forbidding, with a hint that entry did not come with any guarantee of exit.

Vixen was not a delicate flower, and in her twenty-six years of life, she had learnt that there were some people that just had decayed souls, and that the law only went so far towards controlling them, but Gregory was a good guy, for all his shady side. She trusted her sense of people, it was what made her a good Domme, and had never led her astray.

She parked the Ferrari neatly between a Maserati and a Porsche. Nice, she thought, wishing she could take a snap for her social media, but the owners of the Maserati and Porsche probably would not appreciate it.

Gregory had asked her and Shadow to come in lifestyle wear, and she knew that when he asked for that, he wanted the full leather and whip show, so she had put on her thigh high vinyl boots with needle thin stilettos, a strap on, and had Shadow tightly lace her into a leather corset.

Shadow pulled a full-face leather gimp mask on, the zip across the mouth closed. He wore cuffs at each wrist that chained together and were connected to matching cuffs that were belted over the boots that he wore.

She went to his side of the car and opened the door to let him out. As he stood, she clipped the leash to his collar. “Good boy.”

Other than the cuffs, he wore a leather gladiator skirt. It was just enough coverage that what it hid was a tantalizing mystery, but there was nothing that terrified the tough guys in Gregory’s employ so much as watching her lead an almost naked Shadow through the halls of Gregory’s various mansions, something that Gregory appreciated and enjoyed almost as much as she did.

Gregory was another broken, sad toy boy that had grown up without ever exploring his suppressed desires. They had met at the sex club five years before, on Gregory’s first visit. He had gotten into an argument with the intractable barkeeper over lime, and she had stepped in to mediate, finding herself ensconced into a VIP booth with a weepy, lonely, boy toy who had aged out of her and Shadow’s interest, no matter how sympathetic they were to his plight.

Over the next six months, they had arranged regular meet ups, letting Gregory vicariously experience from the shelter of their company what he had missed out on because he had been born in an era when repression was considered mentally healthy. Gregory’s fight with cancer meant that he gradually became too ill to come to the club, or to leave the country property where he stayed between hospital visits.

So, she visited him at his home, to chat over tea, read erotic romances to him, and when she had found something that she thought he should buy for his growing music orientated property portfolio.

In a twisted way that fitted totally with her life in general, he had become the grandfather that had not lived long enough for her to know, and she had filled the gap that he had been too trapped by his life’s choices and shame to let his granddaughter fill. 

The cancer was winning – something she knew, although neither of them had said so explicitly. She suspected that her heart would break entirely when Gregory lost the fight.

Broken toy boys, and repressed, sad puppies, she thought watching the men on Gregory’s front door expressions shift as she led the shuffling Shadow up to them, were the story of her life.

“Hello, boys,” she leered at them. “You are expecting me.”

“Mr Holmsworth has asked if you will go down to the den,” the blonde one said, his eyes on Shadow. “F–k he is a big boy.”

“In all ways,” she sent him a wink as he opened the door for her. That one, she thought, would like to play. “He is a tad bit envious I think, Shadow,” she commented.

“Mmm.” There was not really much else he could say, the mask didn’t afford much jaw movement. The chains that bound him, on the other hand, were not clasped properly. One sharp tug, and he could free himself. Half the shuffling movement was due to his efforts not to do so. At Gregory’s, she would not leave Shadow helpless. You never knew what might go down, and she was responsible for Shadow’s welfare.

They took the elevator down. It was an old-fashioned gilded cage style, which she always found just a little bit sexy. “One day, I would love to tie you up in here, Shadow,” she told him. “And I could ride you as we go up and down.”

He groaned, tenting the skirt.

“Better get that under control, pet,” she smirked. “Or Gregory will get excited. We don’t want to give him a heart attack, do we?”

She saw his chest rise and fall as he took deep breaths. Whatever thought process he used to control himself, it worked. She had never pried. It was the achievement of the control that counted, not the thought that he used to gain it. Shadow was getting very good at self-control, she thought, proud of him.

“Good boy.”

She pulled back the cage door as they reached the basement. The elevator opened into a large room, one wall of which was stacked with wine bottles. Another wall featured a wood panelled bar, behind which a man in a neat white shirt and black waistcoat dried glasses. Leather chesterfields were arranged around a coffee table, and Gregory sat there with two of his regulars, smoking cigars and drinking wine.

Gregory laboriously pushed to standing using the wolf’s headed walking stick he seemed to prefer. He was pale, she thought, and tired, but fighting to maintain a front before his men. “Ah, there you are, my dear, precisely on time as always.”

“Of course,” she replied, leading Shadow across the plush Persian rug. When she stopped at Gregory’s side, and Shadow knelt whilst she kissed Gregory on each soft crinkled cheek.

She would embrace him, knowing that it would likely be the only physical interaction he had received since her last visit, but in front of Thomas and Seth, it would damage the authority that he was fighting so valiantly to maintain despite the gruelling demands of his illness.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Thomas, Seth,” she inclined her head to each of the men.

“Thank you for coming,” Gregory said as if she did not work for him, which was one of the reasons she loved him. He was always polite. He was exacting in his requirements, but he was always polite about it. “Thomas will take you to the room and introduce you to your guest.”

“Thank you. I am looking forward to playing,” she grinned. “Up, slave,” she said to Shadow. Technically it was the incorrect title, but Shadow understood that in this role for Gregory’s men, it was more about playacting than living the life.

Thomas walked at her side across the room to a locked door. He unlocked it and gestured for her to proceed him. The door opened into a hall, with four doors. She did not know what lay behind three of the doors, though she suspected one was a cell. The fourth door was hers. Thomas unlocked the door for her, and she drew in a breath as the lights flickered on.

“Oh, lovely,” she said as she always did. She hung her end of Shadow’s leash on a hook, leaving him standing to the left of the door.

The room had been fully outfitted as a playroom, with every toy imaginable hung on one wall, all manner of harnesses and swings, hooks, and rings for restraint. A sink with disinfectants was against the far wall, next to a shelf holding clean towels. In the centre of the room, a heavy-duty A frame sex bench was bolted to the floor. The leather pads were replaced at regular intervals, and the fixture points were as thick as her thumb.

Gregory had outfitted the room for a fantasy he had never had the opportunity to live out, but she and Shadow got to live it for him.

“You look happy to be here,” Thomas glanced down at her strap on.

She stroked her hand over it, with a grin, and ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth. “Something about a woman with a c–k scares the crap out of a certain type of man,” she told him. “The type you are likely to be bringing me.” And the type that Thomas was, she thought. The man was a d-k. But he was loyal to Gregory and carried out his role in the business well.

“I will go and get him then.”

She went to the wall of toys and dragged her hand along them as she decided what to use.

“What the f–king sort of kinky shit is this?” The man declared loudly as he was dragged in between Thomas and another man whose name she did not know. He was a little bruised and bloody, sporting a black eye and split lip, but was still spitting defiance as he took in the room, and then saw Shadow. “Oh, f-k, what the f-k?” Sudden fear struck him.

The fisting glove, she decided, selecting it from the wall. “Hello, princess,” she purred, turning to the side so he had the full effect of the strap on as she eased her hand into the glove, and waved her fingers at him, so he could admire the variety of textures available. “Gregory has invited me to play today. I like to play.”

He began to scream as they stripped him and put him on the bench, and then she and Shadow had to leave the room as he began to talk. When they walked back into the main room, Gregory stood. She wriggled her now bare fingers at him.

“Fisting glove. Works every time,” she told him with a wink.

Gregory chuckled. “Champagne?” He asked her.

“Sure, thanks, why not?” She slid onto one of the stools at the bar and Shadow knelt alongside. The bartender popped the cork on a good bottle and poured both Gregory and her a glass. He knew better than to offer one to Shadow.

“That is truly impressive,” Gregory said eyeing off her equipment as he took a seat next to her. His breathing was laboured, and his lips tinged blue. She wanted to fret over him but knew better.

“Ah, well,” she grinned and shrugged. “You seem to attract a certain type of man, Gregory, and that type has specific phobias. I have learnt to exploit those phobias for you.”

“And I appreciate your efforts.”

“Thank you,” she took a mouthful of her champagne and lifted Shadow by his collar to give him some, before taking a second mouthful for herself. Gregory watched without comment, but also without missing a detail. In his mind, she knew, he imagined himself in her place with his own Shadow.

“What about the other job?” He was careful because they were not alone. In Gregory’s world, it was difficult to differentiate between enemy and friend, and often the former posed as the latter. His bartender was trusted in order to be positioned there, and yet, still not trusted enough.

“I sent our bird friend a message to meet with us tonight,” she stroked her fingers through Shadow’s hair. “He is a pretty black birdie, and Shadow and I will enjoy playing with him. We are sure that we can distract him and keep him that way.”

“Good, thank you. There is something else I need you to do for me.”

“Anything you need, you know that.”

“I need you to call this number,” he showed it on his phone. She knew it; she had sourced it for him. “And ask for Victor. Tell him that the problem has been addressed, and there will not be a repeat occurrence.”

“That is all?” She pulled out her phone and entered the number. “It is ringing,” she told him.

“Hello?” The man on the other side sounded wary and very sexy, she thought.

“Well, hello handsome,” she purred down the line at him. “I am calling on behalf of Mr Holmsworth. Is this Victor?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My name doesn’t matter, pet. Mr Holmsworth wishes you to know that the problem has been addressed, and there should not be a repeat occurrence.”

“That is it?” The man asked. Gregory met her eyes and nodded with a small smile.

“That is it for now, pet,” she blew him a kiss down the phone and disconnected. “All done.”

“Thank you. I will explain why, eventually, my dear.”

“Sure thing, Gregory,” she replied. “You know my motto – I don’t ask questions about what you ask me to do. I don’t want to know, unless you think I need to know.”

“Your discretion is, as always, appreciated.”

Thomas opened the door.

“Ah, I am up,” she said rising to her feet. “If you will excuse me.”

Thomas knew the routine well enough by now, and he and his associate had left the man chained to the wall, where he could watch and imagine what she might do to him. She hung the leash to the same wall point and used the disinfectant spray to wipe down the bench. Hygiene was important, and she did not know where the guy had been before he had dribbled snot and tears all over the bench during his conversation with Thomas and friend.

She retrieved Shadow and led him over to the side of the bench, unclipping his chains and positioning him so that his upper chest was against the padded top surface of the bench, and his hands fastened to the padded leg rest.

“Comfortable?” She asked him.

“Mmm,” had an upward inflection.

She used a spreader bar to position his legs, and then removed the gladiator skirt so that his gorgeously muscled behind was pointed right at their guest. Shadow had a hard on, anticipating what was coming.

“My slave has been very naughty,” she told their guest as she caressed Shadow, making him moan into his mask.

“F-k.” The man whispered.

“He has been topping from the bottom a bit recently. He needs a good spanking to teach him some manners.”

She ran her hand over Shadow’s behind appreciatively. “His arse looks so pretty when it is bright red.” She gave it a good slap, the sound like a crack in the room, overloud. It left behind a clear handprint and Shadow grunted, jerking in her hold.

“No,” she rubbed the red mark. “I don’t think that’s going to do it for this type of infraction, do you?” She walked over to the wall of toys. “What do you think I should use?”

The man whimpered.

Gregory was not waiting for them when they finished, the lights in the lounge dimmed and the bar unattended. He had probably returned to his bed, tired from the activity of the day, she thought. She would call him tomorrow to make sure he was alright. Thomas was busy in the playroom, so they let themselves out. They had to get ready for their date with Raven, after all.

She unclipped the chains that bound Shadow’s hands to his feet as they reached the passenger side of the Ferrari, and opened the door for him, before going around to her side. Once she had eased the Ferrari past the front gates, she removed her mask, which was a signal that Shadow could do likewise. His hair was sweaty underneath, with little curls plastered to his forehead, and his face was flushed. As was his arse, she thought, smugly.

“Practise tomorrow morning,” she commented as they hit the freeway back to the city. Often at this point they were pulled over by the pesky Detective Callahan, but she must have been taking the night off, as they were unbothered.

He grinned and shifted slightly on the seat easing his sore arse cheeks against the leather. “I am still hard.”

She indicated and pulled off into a side street, and up the windy road to a lookout. It was just beginning to get dark, and the little parking space was empty. She parked and then walked over to his side, opening the car door for him.

He got out and when he did, she leaned forward and braced her hands onto the seat. He groaned and stepped up, pushing the leather flaps of the gladiator skirt aside and thrusting into her with enough force she had to push back off her arms.

He curled over her as he thrusted, his hand going between her legs, touching her as he knew she liked to be touched until she came, and he cried out, pushing deep as he followed, his breath hot and unsteady against her shoulder and his heartbeat hard against her back.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Gabe.” As he lifted of her, she turned and caught his face between her hands kissing him gently. “I love you so much.”

He returned the kiss. “You are going to slime the upholstery,” he said with a small smile as he straightened. “Unless there is still a towel in the boot.”

“Go check,” she reached around him and gave his arse a pat, causing him to draw in a sharp breath and grin. “Sitting at your drum stool tomorrow, you are going to be thinking of me.”

“I am always thinking of you.” He returned with the towel and placed it on the driver’s seat for her. They got back into the car, and she started the engine. “Do you think they will kill that man, from today?” He asked quietly as they pulled back onto the expressway.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “We don’t ask, that way, we don’t know. It is the rule, Gabriel. You know that. We don’t touch them, we don’t hurt them, we don’t listen to what they say, and we don’t ask questions after. Intimidate, and put on a show, that is what we are there for.”

“Mind f-kery,” he nodded and swallowed. “Sometimes I think about them. About what happens to them, after.”

“They go home, Gabe. As far as we know,” she flicked him a look. “They are really bad people, who have done really bad things, and we scare them, and then they go home and become better people.”

“Is it possible?” He wondered. “Is redemption really a thing?”

She did not believe at all that the men they intimidated in the basement of Gregory’s house saw daylight again, but Gabriel seemed to have accepted it as a possibility. And, so far, none of the men had appeared on the news as missing, so she had not had to challenge her ethics on the subject.

She considered his question as a theoretical discussion. “I don’t know,” she replied. “There is a lot of bad shit and a lot of bad people in this world, and it often seems that they just keep doing more bad shit, and worse bad shit, to good people. I guess, I hope so, otherwise, this world is just f-ked.”