Dexter (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (3 page)

I open the door to my private room and just stare.
He’s a lucky bastard all right- he’
s trespassing in my room and
using my very skilled
submissive
. I breathe through the fury and pain.

“Ah- Dexter
,
”
Dalton says as he
ruts
on my woman
. His eyes shine with triumph.
“God, she’s good, I just had to take her,” he arrogantly baits me.
My sub immediately starts to bawl when she sees me. It drives a knife deep within my heart. I want to rub the pain in my chest, but it would show my displeasure. As a Master of Restraint I learned how to project myself as calm no matter the storm brewing beneath the surface. Any true dominant has the abi
lity to read body language. My M
aster taught me early on to mask my body language. To express outward emotions in the dungeon is a sign of a poor dominant. 

“Carry on, Dalton. Don’t stop for my benefit. If you wish to disrespect me, do so thoroughly. I’ll watch.”
His face betrays his shock. He wan
ted me to attack him and I don’
t accept his poor attempt to control me. I
t would also betray how much I’
m in love with the submissive he takes so brutally.

Dalton has always thought that the way to become the top master was through antagonizing his fellow masters. He never understood that it is pure talent. Domin
ance is innate inside your soul.
It
cannot be learned, only improved.

I lean back on the door
frame crossing my arms across my chest to stop myself from rubbing the pain away, and watch. He stares at me for a moment testing me. He turns back to the female, who is strung up against the wall in ropes. She is trussed up so tightly the skin dents in from the tension of the ropes. In some spots I see dried blood from rub burns.
She holds my eyes and cries, tears streaming down her face in a torrent. I see the look on her face begging me to make him stop. It kills me to see that look from her face. But I have no doubt that she entered this scene willingly. I did not give permission
for Dalton to use my sub. Both M
aster and sub are at fault here. She has a weakness of which I cannot break her. Her weakness undermines my authority and proves that she doesn’t trust me unconditionally. Without trust t
he bond between submissive and M
aster is nothing.

“Aren’t you going to punish us, Dexter?” The little fuck tries and fails to get my goat up. 

I give him impassive eyes as
he fucks the love of my life. I apparently am not the love of hers since she betrays me before my very eyes. We
are exclusive by her choice. I’
m allowed to punish Tobias and that is it. I’ve taken no other in the past
two
year
s
of our relationship. She loves her weakness more than me.
Her sobs twist the knife in my heart. The exaggerated grunts flowing from Dalton throat are all for show. I’ve been with countless women and one man. I know the sounds people make and his are rehearsed. Hi
s theatrics are talk among the M
asters. We all want to break him of it.

“No, I don’t feel my submissive deserves my punishment,” I finally say to the adulterers.
Her sobs increase in volume as
she
realizes her mistake. Dalton looks at me from over his shoulder appraising my expression. He is testing my limits, trying to see the value I place on my
submissive. Tha
t has also been talk among the M
asters- our monogamy. Dalton takes advantage of the broken piece in her soul to provoke me. I smirk back at him, not that I don’t care, but for my absolute control over my actions.
“You’re not going to punish her?” He sounds disbelieving.
“No, I figure that fucking you is punishment enough.”
I look at the man violating my woman and leer at his inadequate body. Funny that she should feel inadequate compared to the man inside her. He is completely bland: light brown hair, soulless eyes, and an undefined body. His personality is annoying at best. He likes to boast about himself as he talks. The more he talks the less we listen. She, on the other hand, is beautiful, intelligent, giving, and usually submissive to a fault. She will never leave me for a dominant stronger than I- good luck finding one. Yet she will betray me to the least of us just because he falsely stroked her ego. She is broken and I fear irreparable.  

He shouts his nasally voice at the ceiling as he climaxes. Even his orgasm face is a turn off. I may not enjoy the sexual company of men, but I always enjoy the sound of release. It usually means a job well done. I note the lack of her climax. I smile knowing that no one will ever bring her such pleasure as I do.
I watch as he removes my sub’s binding. I hold my wince as the rope is pulled from her skin. It sticks in the dried blood and peels skin as
it’s
yanked away. I want to so badly run to her, take care of her, and offer her afterc
are. But this is not my scene.
I will not provide her loving aftercare when
she’s hurt me so deeply. My having to watch
th
is scene and the aftermath
that
play
s
out before my eyes hurts just as badly as her betrayal.

Her skin is red and splotchy around her injuries. The rest of her flesh is so pale I worry. She whimpers as she walks towards me begging for my attention. I want to fall to my knees and hold her to my chest. I want to join her as she cries out her pain. But she created my pain. Sh
e betrayed me. She doubted her M
aster’s word. She doesn’t trust me. If I were to give her the attention she so badly seeks and I so desperately wish to give
,
it would make me a poor M
aster. My mind debates being a good pers
on versus being a good M
aster- g
ood M
aster wins out. She, after all, made this bed and she can lie in it- alone.
She abases herself at my feet begging for forgiveness. I forgive her because she is broken, but I will not forget. I will not offer her comfort- she hasn’t earned it.
“You disappoint me greatly, Monica.” I say as I walk away leaving the love of my life groveling on the floor. I leave my heart smashed into pulp at her feet.

Chapter Four

I rus
h through the crowded dungeon at
a fast clip. Everyone gets out of my way, not for the expression on my face because there is
n’t one, I’
m neutral. They just know not to fuck with me. It’s too damned bad that Dalton hasn’t learned the lesson yet.
I know deep in my brain- my subconscious- that Monica feels incomplete and that caused her to act out. However, the part of my brain that is archaic, the time when we lived in caves, hunted prey, and dragged our women by their hair is active. A dominant’s mind is mostly made up of this part that evolution breed out of the population. We are few, but we do not think like the normal people of this world. This animal part of my brain wants me to run back to my dungeon and kill Dalton for the audacity to touch my woman. It also screams for me to punish Monica within an inch of her life so that she knows never to cross me again
.
After that
I would
fuck her senseless marking her with my scent and filling her with my seed until it germinates. I want to scream to every male in this club that Monica is mine.
Instead I make my way through the dungeon to the club entrance
discreetly
flicking the tears that betray my frustr
ation. I can’t do what the cave
man wants. She needs to learn t
his lesson and I will be
strong enough for the both of us to teach her.

I lean on the bar and absorb the chaos of Restraint.
The club is at capacity thanks to the media cov
erage surrounding three of our M
asters. We attract customers like flies.
It’s ironic the name of the club versus the cliental. No one shows any restraint as they gorge themselves on liquor, sex, and music. Their intoxication allows the primitive mind to surface as evident by their mating dances.
The purpose of the main club at Restraint is a hunting groun
d for the members and visiting M
asters. It gives us new challenges as the norms come
out
to play. Many don’t know what they are getting themselves into. They may visit countless times and nev
er get propositioned by a real M
aster. The newbies sometime get picked their very fi
rst time to the delight of the M
aster.

One type of irritant is the fake Doms, they prey upon the uni
n
formed and things get messy. My job is
twofold
, as is the rest of the members, we look for the cliental that possess the traits that
make an excellent submissive or
M
aster, and we remove the irritants from the club. Members
are part bouncer- part hunter- part salesman.

In the past I was a vicious hunter. I would stalk my prey with pinpoint accuracy. Ever sin
ce Monica came into my life I’
ve abstained from the game. It almost feels strange to stand here and look to the crowd knowing I could pick one and fuck them into oblivion. I won’t though. I may love her, but that isn’t the reason. If I were to pick someone for
the sake of revenge sex then I’
m giving control to Monica
and Dalton for betraying me. I’
m strong enough to wait. A good hunter i
s always patient and never stalks
in anger.

My second favorite thing about observing the crowd
is the people. They come
from every walk of life,
every tax bracket, and offer end
less amounts of entertainment, especially the naïve.

If I were hunting, and I tell myself I’m not.
I lie.
The hunter’s mind doesn’t shut off. I would cull the innocent from the herd.
My eyes immediately light
on the one that doesn’t belong
in the club
.
She’
s all by herself- a huge no-no- easy p
rey.

There are two types of wome
n who frequent the club: the tiny, rail thin girl
s who submit, and the large wome
n who dominate.
The rest of the women are just here for the show and to get a thrill. This woman doesn’t fit any of those categories if you go by
her choice of clothing. She’
s average height for a lady, but slightly pudgy for someone who frequents a sex club. The biggest give
away is the jeans and flow
er print blouse. The majority of
the
patrons in the
club wear either fetish wear or Goth style clothing. 

Her eyes dart back and forth roving
over
the crowd until they come to rest on me. She shakes her head yes, just a nod up and down once. She promptly makes her way towards me weaving around dancer
s
.

“Are you a M
aster?” She asks confidently.

I like confident. No, actually I don’t. It’s just because it
’s
the complete opposite of Monica. Knock it the fuck off
,
Dex
,
and answer the woman.

“Yes,” I answer flatly- uninterest
ed.
She looks me over as if I’
m the one on the auction block- the
nerve
. Her eyes come to rest on mine. I gasp as
I look back into her eyes. We’
re exactly the same height and that is an intimacy that leaves me feeling awkward. Her appearance screams submission or a naughty housewife who will learn to stay home after a session with Master Dexter. I gasp becaus
e of the look in her bright hazel
eyes- a fighter. She’
s no submissive. The strength of her gaze is astounding. 

I raise an eyebrow silently asking her to continue. I’m here, she’s here, go ahead and talk. I’
m too suave to be intrigued. I’
m a bullshitter, but no one will ever know since my face betrays nothing. I could be singing child
ren’s songs or dirty limericks,
or imagining you naked and you’d never know. I enjoy this part of my control.

“I want to train,” she says matter of fact.
“For what?”
I feign confusion.
“I want to train as a dominant.” She nods her head yes again- so succinct.