The training of Ophelia (Masters of the Mansion Series)

The Training of Ophelia By:

Suzanne Steele

Masters of the Mansion Series By:

Suzanne Steele

KDP EDITION

        
PUBLISHED BY:

Suzanne
Steele on kindle direct publishing

The Training of Ophelia:

Copyright © 2013 by Suzanne Steele

Masters of the Mansion Series © 2013 by Suzanne Steele

Thank you for downloading this e-book.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

All content herein is protected under copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously
.

This e-book is Rated R and not recommended for audiences under 17+ due to sexual situations.

Stalk Me…

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Table of Contents:

Prologue:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Battle of the Doms

Prologue
:
I eyed the man sitting across the table from me—was this really what I wanted for my life; the rest of my life?

Suddenly I felt as if I needed to es
cape—just bolt.

You know, get up and run from the restaurant, as I screamed, “noooooooooo!”

“Olivia, are you even listening to me? I just don’t understand why in the world that you would want to go and do a story on a bunch of freaks. You know that they have studies that prove that
those people
have issues, mental and emotional issues.

I mean really Olivia, what are people going to think if they run across that little article of yours and read about a mansion that houses slaves. That is just weird,
Olivia.”

“Well Bob, since you are convinced that no one reads my ‘
little article’ about ‘those people’
anyway, then it shouldn’t make a bit of difference if I write it. None of the important people that you associate with would bother to read anything that I wrote, right Bob?”

“Now you’re offended Olivia, I can tell.”

“What do you expect Bob, or maybe I should ask myself, what do I expect? What do I expect from a pompous, uptight, narcissistic, judgmental, and egotistical man, such as you?”

I think that the cloth napkin hit him in the face when I threw it, I didn’t bother to turn around and look.

To tell the truth
up until now, I wasn’t going to do the story. I think that Bob would have done much better keeping his mouth shut.

Now all that he had done
was convince me that I didn’t want to be like him.

I didn’t want to be the uptight, rich socialite who considered anyone that didn’t run in my circles, to be beneath me. All of the people that Bob associated with
; acted just like him.

I had no intentions of spending the rest of my life trying to measure up to Bob and his cronies.

I would go and do one interview and if I liked it and felt comfortable, I would stay, and if I didn’t; then I would leave. How hard could that be?

Master Richard Baron

I sat with my fingers interlocked behind my neck and let my mind wander. I had everything that a man could want, but to put it simply—I was bored.

I had money, power, and all the right friends.

I had women who would die just to be with me—trained women, some of the most beautiful women in the world, and yet I was bored.

Maybe this reporter that was coming in would stir things up. I had no doubt, that she already had me stirred up. She had no idea who I was, and she
most certainly had no idea that I had become intrigued with her.

I was sure that she would be mad when she found out that she had been manipulated, but she would get over it. After all, I held her job in my hands
, and these were trying times to be unemployed. She really didn’t want to displease me. She would find out soon enough that I was a man who was accustomed to getting, having, and keeping his way.

The Beginning

I entered the abode that could only be described as what it was—a mansion.

I was here to do a story
for the magazine that I write for. So much of the arrangement had been a veiled mystery. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that I had a popular column in the magazine, I doubt that I would have ever been privy to even the knowledge that such a place existed.

When I had been called in to do the story
, I had simply been directed to show up on this evening—at this time, and so my story begins…

I was greeted in the foyer by a nude woman who donned
nothing but black stripper heels, a mask, and wrist and ankle black leather cuffs; with o rings on each of them. I was then led into what appeared to be a sitting parlor.

I was mesmerized by the opulence which surrounded me.
The attention to detail was incredible to say the least. Every piece of furniture was a high end antique. They were large and grand pieces, each one boasting of more prestige and wealth than its predecessor.

It was evident that many of them had come from Europe; pieces like these were not available in the states.

I purposely made my way to a corner and made myself as inconspicuous as possible.

It did not take long for curious looks and wh
ispers to ensue; directed towards my presence. I’m sure that I was an unfamiliar face, and as ‘cloak and dagger’ as this establishment was, it was cause for people’s curiosity to be piqued.

The patrons all wore masks
—as I am sure that discretion was a must for the rich and powerful that graced this occasion. It did not take long for the events of the evening to get started.

The woman who
had greeted me was brought in and strapped to a table; by the cuffs that she adorned. In a matter of seconds, individuals in the crowd began to accost her strapped down body as onlookers watched.

I sat with pen in hand taking notes and already making plans in my mind on my escape route.

Master Richard Baron

I watched her from the corner of the room and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the whole, ‘deer in the headlights’ look that was on her countenance.

It was one of the reasons that I had req
uested her; well to be blunt—I had demanded that she be the reporter on this segment.

She had no idea who had hired her and she most certainly had no idea that I was her Boss; being that I own the magazine that she works for.

I knew that she had never been in the lifestyle, but the girl had the ability to write about BDSM as if she lived it 24/7.

I had read her excerpts that she posted on a blog, and then moved on to her BDSM books that she authored. I had also researched her through a private detective I hired.

I am
a very wealthy, powerful man, and the need to be—and stay in control is a must for me.

I can’t say that I wasn’t intrigued with this girl. How could a wo
man who had never been privy to the lifestyle of BDSM be so accurate in her novels?

I did not know how
she mastered that amount of insight into the lifestyle ‘yet,’ but you could bet your bottom dollar that I would before my little game with her was over.

I knew that I would have to keep an eye on her tonight. I had seen people come to these parties and be overwhelmed by what they saw.

There was no doubt that someone who had never been in the lifestyle could, and most likely would, suffer from a case of
culture shock
.

After all, I didn’t want the poor girl shell shocked
on her first evening with us—now did I?

I would save the
shell shock
for when I had her alone.

I was already looking forward to this little escapade.
I pushed away the intrusive thoughts of all the nasty and dirty things that I planned on doing to her. Right now was more about studying her responses and getting a read on her.

Ophelia

I was intrigued but n
o amount of intrigue could overshadow the awkward feeling I had of being alone—alone and unaccompanied—at what could possibly end up being the setting for an orgy.

Though part of me was intrigued
, part of me was disgusted. I could not shake the feeling that money was changing hands. No one could convince me that whoever owned this slave trading establishment was not getting their palm greased. I had seen enough and rose to leave; as inconspicuously as possible.

Master Richard Baron

I knew the little bitch was getting
ready to walk out and I made a bee-line for the door to stop her.

It really was funny to see her with a look
of being caught red handed doing something that she knew that she shouldn’t.

I approached her
, getting well within her physical space.

She began to back up—s
o much so that I now had her right where I wanted her—cornered!

I grabbed her arm pulling her towards my office.

“Hey buddy; I’m not one of the party favors. Get the fuck off of me!”

“I know exactly who you are
—being that you work for me!”

By now I had her in my office.

“Sit! Did I give you permission to leave?”
“Permission? Who the hell do you think that you are?”

“I’m the man who
hired you to do a story; now do what I hired you to do and get your ass back in there and do the damn story!”

“I’ve seen enough, I’m going back to my hotel room to finish it.”

“Like hell you are, you young lady are going back in there with me and watching the rest of the show.”

I leaned in and graveled in her ear, “On my lap! Close your mouth sweetie before something flies in.”

I jerked her ass back out to the sitting room and pulled her down onto my lap. Let the little bitch feel my excitement that was now growing—though it was trapped within the confines of my tailored slacks.

I
t had been a long time since I had been in the presence of a spit fire challenge like her and I was just getting started. I had been in a long
drought
and was thoroughly bored with the sexual slaves that I had been privy to. Breaking a BDSM virgin in was just what I needed at this junction in life.

***

I sat on his lap watching
the patrons devour the tied down slave and I could feel the hardening in his pants beneath me.

Suddenly
the show was no longer disgusting me; to my horror—it was turning me on.

I sat listening and watching
, as he spoke vile things into my ear and then began to threaten me.

***

I ran my hand up her skirt as I wrapped my fist around her hair
and jerked her head back; forcing her to listen to my threats. I stroked my finger over her sodden, satin underwear; as I spoke. “You will never convince me that you write BDSM stories as on target as you do and you don’t have tendencies. You are not going back to the hotel, but you are going to my Master suite. You do want to keep your job, right?”

***

I couldn’t believe that this pompous
, arrogant ass was being so blatant with me. What bothered me was that my body was on fire, I couldn’t remember ever being this turned on. “That is sexual harassment,” I hissed.

“No it isn’t; but it is blackmail. Don’t fuck with me little girl. I
will ruin more than your career. I will take you down girl—by the time that I get done with you—you won’t have a life!”

“Please stop, you’re going to make me cum
.”

“You better not;
you better not. Just proves my point, the more that I threaten you, the wetter that you get.”

“I have to go, I have to go, I have to go,” I whined.

“You are not going anywhere, you are going to my suite and you are going to get fucked by a man that you don’t even know. You don’t even know me and your body is screaming for me.”