Dexter (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (12 page)

“
Is there something you wish
to ask of me?” I ask her in
a serious voice, but inside I’
m teasing her.
“Master,” she breathes out. “Mistress Kat requested my pleasure today. I’m sorry if you wished for me to give it to her, but I need for you to give me permission
before I wi
ll play with her again.”

Her big, brown eyes are glossy with
unshed
tears. She’s afraid I’
ll be disappointed if I’d told K
at to play with her, and she’
s also afraid that I will punish her f
or asking to play with another M
aster. She truly is between a rock and hard place. I can’t help the grin that splits my face, such a good girl she is being.

“Do you want to play with Mistress Kat?” I ask her seri
ously. I want her to own her
decisions. I don
’t want her to push them off on
to me. I need her confident in her own needs and wants. 

“Yes, Master, I enjoy her company in all things.” She casts her eyes down in a bashful manner. My smile broadens at the sight.

“Our Master and I have a reward for you, Monica.”
The amusement in my voice has her gazing up at me.
She’s made great strides in the past few days. I see her comfort at being inside her own skin. It pleases me.

“Monica, from now on you may give your pleasure and pain to Katya. I want you to know that you can say no to her as well
. She is your friend, not your Master. I’
m very proud of how you handled yourself today, very proud.”

I tip her chin with my fingertip. I kiss her lightly on the lips. I always marvel at how amazing it is to kiss someone the exact height as me. It holds its own intimacy that can’t be duplicated. A man as small as me has a hard time finding lovers that are shorter or close in height.

“Let me see how
you’re dressed.” I speak
across her lips.
I twirl her in a circle for my enjoyment. No more pencil skirts and white blouses. Monica can’t pull off the naughty librarian look. She ends up looking like a boring editor, which is exactly her plan. Now she is wearing a copper
color
, scoop neck, fitted blouse and a swingy, patterned skirt. As I pull her to a stop the skirt keeps wrapping around her waist and thighs and I catch the slight curve of her ass- no panties. The scoop of the blouse highlights her high, tight breasts.
“No panties or a bra?” I ask as I arch a brow at Katya.
“Her breasts are perfect for going braless. And hell, Dex, I think we both would like easy access under her skirt.” Katya groans out the words.

I smirk at my partner in sadism. A shy female submissive is Kat’s downfall. Monica is hitting all of her triggers right now. She’s rubbing her thighs together in a cute, horny way. I snicker at her discomfort. 

“You look gorgeous with your hair down and all that smoky makeup. If I catch you covering up in your bland clothing
again I will punish you, Monica,
”
I warn and the pleasure that her punishment would bring me infuses my voice.

She smiles shyly at the comment. I can see that she believes what we said to her. It clenches my heart.

“If I beg will you do it,” Monica flirts with me.
Monica is flirting with me
. I smirk at the thought.

I run my palms down the front of my athletic cut t-shirt. I wear three piece
business
suits seventy percent of the time. I wear leather pants and nothing else, not even shoes, twenty percent of the time. T
he rest of my hours in a day I’
m naked as a baby. I haven’t worn jeans and a t-shirt since I was a young man.

I smirk as my finger rasp over the writing on my shirt. It’s the same reason everyone in the club gave me a wide berth.
If you beg nicely I’ll crack my whip!

“You do look positively edible, Dexter,” Katya says with a blush.

“Hmm…
perhaps Monica will feast later on. That is if she begs properly.” I tease both girls. The crimson flush on Kat’s
face tells me it’s not me she’
s envisioning Monica feasting on.

“Alright, boys and
girls
come up to the front of the room and I will
i
nspect your new images. When I’
m finished, please stand in the hall next to Mistress Kat.”

Katya and Monica leave through the open door and wait patiently in the hall. The rest of the
trainees
line up in a tidy line waiting for their inspections.
Tobias is first in line. He smirks at me and I laugh. Tobias wore dirty jeans and a torn and grubby jacket when I met him. He had a smell to him that was sickly. He works as my assistant from our home and usually wears wor
kout clothes or jeans. Now he’
s dressed in a pair of tailored pants and a crisp white shirt. He looks like he could be a junior executive
in any of the high-rises in the city
. He looks comfortable and proud of his new clothing.

“I may have to bring you to the office now that you’ll fit right in. The ladies will go nuts over your hair,” I tease.

“Thank you, Master,” he
says as he exits the room.
I’
m going to move him up a notch as well. No more working from home for Tobias. He will go to my office and sit at the desk that has been waiting for his ass for almost two years.
My trainees are learning how to find their real soul that lurks beneath the surface. None of them are allowed to hide as they have been.

Kristal approaches me grudgingly, dragging her pretty shoed feet. She likes to dress as a hard assed bitch: tight leather pants and vests, her hair wildly colored and spiked, and wicked jewelry. She wears a floral sundress that shows off her tattooed golden skin. Her short hair is smoothed down to frame her face, albeit still colored blue and purple over her warm brown locks. She is dragging tan
,
leather sandals on her feet. She looks cute and innocent if you can avoid looking at her tattoos and into her pissed off hazel eyes. I chuckle at her discomfort.

“Don’t you look pretty as a flower,” I bait her and she snarls
asshole
under her breath. I tsk-tsk her
a few times and point to the door. She’s not my problem. If my cousin can’t rein her in we’ll give her to the Devil.

Greta is next and she does look comfortable. I bet she used to dress like this before Ray Hunter came into her life. Now she covers her curves hoping not to draw undo attention
un
to herself. We can tell
ourselves that it wasn’t how we
dressed that created the attack, and it’s not. But fear isn’t logical and we will change to accommodate it.

Greta, by society’s terms
,
is a large woman and she carries it well. I wouldn’t want her to drop a pound to satisfy those fucktards. Her large ass and thighs are encased in a pair of tight fitting, black slacks. I wonder what it would feel like to smack them with my pa
lm. I shift my weight from foot-to-foot telling my little
fucker to stop arousing. He doesn’t get to play yet.

Her full breasts are barely contained by her purple blouse. The color looks fabulous with her darker skin tone.

If Katya fails at publishing she should become a personal shopper. She chose the perfect outfits to showcase each of the ladies’ best characteristic
s
and hide their flaws. They look comfortable and sexy, yet classy. Even poor Kr
istal looks great. I think she’
s feigning most of he
r annoyance. I don’t think she’
s used
to compliments. That’s what I’
m here for- pushing your comfort limits.

“Wow, Greta, you look fabulous.” I say in astonishment remembering her awful khakis.

“Thank you, Sir,” she says with a polite nod. She looks less restrained by her emotions- good.

Alex approaches me with a huge grin on his face. He’s always dressed in a way the ladies find tasty, especially Kristal. Alex’ Native American ancestry gives him a unique bone structure and silky, inky-black hair. It swings happily near his chin. He tucks it behind his ear so that we can look at each other.
I liked Alex the moment I met him. Marcus kept him away from us all for almost a decade. He’s a teen-counselor at the community
outreach program
, Transcend. He’s an awesome guy, but low on dominance, even for a switch.
It makes sense that he’d be his girlfriend’s Master, but he can’t handle Kristal. Her manipulative nature
is too much for Alex to handle.

“Dexter,” he says smoothly and smirks. His blue-green eyes are filled with mischief.
I just shake my head at him over and over and laugh. Alex is dressed as me. He’s in a pair of black leather pants and nothing else. I ignore the fact that his six-foot tall frame looks damn good in those painted on pants.

“Go,” I laugh, “Just go.”
Last up is the pair of Whittenhowers
.

“Whitt, you amuse me as always,” I snicker out. He’s wearing sweatpants, a hoodie, and a baseball cap.

“Well, this is more comfortable than a suit. My father didn’t allow us to dress this way. I may adopt it permanently.” He smirks at the look of horror on his nephew
’s and my face
.
“No, please don’t. You’re far too pretty to dress like this.” I cringe in mock disgust.
“Dim-Whitt,” I say to the
younger Whittenhower.

Niel is the heir to the Whittenhower dynasty.
He’
s the first
and only
born
son
of the
d
eceased oldest Whittenhower son, Grant.
Now
Da
niel the first
,
only has a daughter, Katherine, and baby boy, Whitt. The family’s
youngest
daughter, Adelaide, the bane of our existence, is at Wintercrest Asylum. The Whittenhower title was stripped from her when she wrote the tell-all book,
The Masters of Restraint.
Now if we could just figure out who gave her the information about us we would be one step cl
oser to losing our six-foot-
seven
babysitter.

“That’s not very nice,” Niel grumbles.

He’
s wearing a track suit
. I see a theme here. Must be there isn’t an athletic bone in the Whittenhower family. Either that or they were made to pursue mental hobbies- such as dominance. Fucked up family- the Whittenhowers.
“After you’ve helped change someone’s shitty diapers I think that gives you the rights to cal
l them anything you wish. You’
ll forever be Dim-Whitt in my eyes,
son.
” I chuckle out.

I muss up his curly mop, not that I could make it any more tangled up. Someone needs to teach the teen how to fix his hair.

“Come on, Dimby-
Whitt.
L
et’s see how you like your first trip to the dungeon.” The little bastard is almost half a foot taller than me, but he allows me to drag his ass from the room. He grins at me with an infectious smile showing off his dimples.
Sometimes he looks so much like his mom, but the majority of the time he’s Whitt’s doppelgänger.
 

Chapter
Eleven

I feel a tad like the Pied Piper of Miscreants as I stroll into the dungeon with everyone at my back.
The Zeitler
couch and love seat are arranged in the dungeon to accommodate all the guests. Ezra, Cortez, and Devlin sit on the couch while their interviewee
s sit on the loveseat, Aaron and his wife, Kayla.
An angelic waif of a girl skips towards me with a huge grin on her face. Her long
,
white hair flows behind her like
wings.
“Dexter,” the fourteen-year-
old chirps and pulls me into a hug. And pull me she doe
s. She’
s pushing
six feet tall. She dwarfs
her mother
and me
. I hold the child back. I can’t see her for the
young woman she has become. I’
ll always see her as the eleven-year-
old monster whose first love was sugar.

A shrill screech echoes through the room followed by a baying. The
ir fathers release the
two mutant twins and they toddle after their sister. The tiny mistress of the pair is in charge. If her
fiery,
red hair didn’t inform you of her demon status the name
definitely
would- Azriel.
She gets what she wants, when she wants or
all
hell will be
had
- just like Cortez and Katya. Baby Ezra is a cute, calm, and pleasant baby who cried
only
to get his sister what she wanted. His wispy
,
pale hair and light green eyes are a perfect mix of his parents, just like his personality.