Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (29 page)

Rodney placed a discreet call to the bell desk, and
several guests started to file into the villa soon after. Rocky
Robinson, the Washington
Post
chief editor, was among them,
dressed inconspicuously in gauzy white island madras shorts,
sunglasses, and flip-flops. In addition to Robinson, the party’s
clandestine audience consisted of three senators—two men, one
woman—Raphael DuMont (the current head of the National Democratic
Party), and the current Secretary of Veterans’ Affairs. They all
took their places in the set of chairs Rodney had placed in the
darkened section of the room behind the curtain. I watched them all
file in from my hiding place just inside the villa’s bath
suite.

Jacob Raleigh, the freshman Congressman from Rhode
Island, led Dexter in last. I was surprised to see that Dexter had
cleaned up his appearance quite dramatically since I’d last seen
him driving his phony cab. He was clean-shaven, and had recently
had a haircut. And instead of the wrinkled khakis and denim shirts
I’d always seen him wear behind the wheel of his taxi, Dexter was
wearing a custom-tailored English suit and highly-polished Italian
wingtips that together probably cost as much as my last car.

Jacob directed Dexter to take a seat on a lone
footstool Rodney had set up in the domination chamber. The voyeurs
were silent as mice, and Dexter made no indication that he’d
noticed their presence. Jacob whispered something inaudible in
Dexter’s ear, then disappeared behind the curtain. It was my cue to
enter.

I strode into the curtained chamber with confidence
and authority. The sound of my platform heels on the travertine
tile was deep and deafening. I took special care to make my
disguised dominatrix voice match the tone of my footsteps. I
dragged my braided whip behind me like a devil’s tail.

“Greetings, Slave,” I boomed at Dexter, not even
bothering to ask if he wished to be dominated that fine tropical
evening. His mere presence in the domination chamber was enough
consent for me. “I am Mistress Hyacinth Slaughter.?

Dexter gazed straight into my masked eyes, obviously
searching for recognition. I gave him no sign that I’d seen him
many times before, and he in turn gave no sign that he recognized
who I really was. “Greetings to you, Mistress Hyacinth,” he said,
eyeing me from head to toe. “That’s quite a getup you have on.”

I cracked my whip. “Silence, Slave!” I leaned
forward into Dexter’s face, until my nose was mere centimeters from
his. “You will
never
dare speak to me without express
permission! Because if you disobey this or any other of my commands
even once, our sex play will immediately cease and desist for the
evening and you will be denied satisfaction. Do you understand?
”

Dexter gave me a single nod. The growing tent at his
crotch showed just how he felt about my rules.

“Good, Slave,” I said, twirling the end of my whip
around my index finger. “And just to show that I am a just and
ethical Mistress, I will assign you a safe word. If at any time my
domination becomes too much for you and your weak, boyish little
body to take, you need only say ‘Banana,’ and our games will
immediately come to an end. Do you agree, Slave?”

Again, he gave me a single nod.

“Excellent,” I said, my voice lowering an octave.
“Then let us begin. First, Slave, you will disrobe completely.”

Dexter stood up, then hesitated.

“Do you have a problem with my order, Slave?” I
boomed, cracking my whip mere inches from his wingtipped feet.

He shook his head, never breaking my gaze.

“Then carry it out, Slave! Or there will be
penalties!”

He obeyed. He shimmied off the custom-tailored suit,
the silk oxford shirt with platinum cufflinks, the Italian
wingtips, and a wifebeater-style undershirt. He left on his Patek
Phillipe watch, along with his very ordinary white cotton boxers.
Reduced to this state, Dexter looked like a scrawny, pathetic old
man—not a powerful international freelance political spy feared by
elected officials and governments alike. His chest had a light
smattering of white hair, his shoulders were stooped, his neck
droopy, and he had a mild case of psoriasis on his left shin. There
was no mistaking his sexual vitality, however—his cock pointed due
north, and to my shock, by the size of the bulge at his crotch, he
was even more well-endowed than his son. By the looks of it, the
man probably owned a million dollars’ worth of stock in the company
that made Viagra.

Dexter stood and waited for my next command, still
not shimmying off his boxers.

“Are you forgetting something, Slave?” I
demanded.

He shook his head no.

I sighed. “You may keep your underwear on if that is
what you wish,” I said with distaste. “Though there is little I can
do to satisfy your urges that way.”

Dexter shrugged his shoulders and grinned, as if
that were perfectly all right with him.

I sighed again. “Well, Slave, you aren’t making my
job very easy,” I said. “I will give you permission to speak so you
can tell me what it is you are looking for in a Mistress if you
refuse to disrobe completely.”

Dexter swallowed hard three times, his Adam’s apple
bobbing up and down. “I wish to be tied up and whipped,” he said in
a small voice. “And then I would like to watch you satisfy
yourself, Mistress.”

A slow smile spread across my face. I could have
some fun with this. “Slave!” I shouted. “May I remind you that
you
are
not
the one who is supposed to be giving
orders!”

“Yes, Mistress,” Dexter said meekly. “Forgive me,
Mistress.”

“You are forgiven, Slave, for so long as you don’t
speak out of turn,” I barked. “Now because I am a good an ethical
Mistress, I am willing to entertain your proposal on one condition.
I will satisfy myself under your gaze on the condition that you
will answer truthfully any question I put forth to you during our
games.
Any
question at all, on any topic. If at any time I
suspect that you are lying, our sex play will stop and I will not
grant your request. Do you agree to these conditions, Slave?”

Dexter smiled and nodded.

“Good,” I said. “Then let us begin.”

I went to the small endtable Rodney had placed in
the chamber ahead of time, and pulled out its single drawer. From
there I retrieved the two sets of black leather bindings and the
matching blindfold. I directed Dexter to sit in the “prisoner of
war” position, with his arms linked behind him and his head thrown
back. I bound his ankles and wrists tightly, and then affixed the
blindfold tightly over his eyes. To test his vision, I flicked my
fingers right in front of the blindfold to see if he flinched. He
didn’t.

Satisfied that he couldn’t see a thing, I flung open
the curtains so the gathered voyeurs could get a better view.
Rodney gave me a smile and a thumbs-up signal to show that I was
doing well so far. The
Post
editor-in-chief was taking
prodigious notes, while the senators and other officials were
staring transfixed, wide-eyed and gape-mouthed. I ventured that
they’d never seen nor heard anything quite like this before.

I set my long whip aside and pulled my hand whip out
of my waistband. I circled Dexter’s seated body three times,
crashing my platform heels hard against the tiles so the sound
would disorient him to the point he wouldn’t know when the first
blow was coming. He jerked his head this way and that, trying to
figure out where I was standing, to no avail.

Once I knew I had him off guard, I began decorating
Dexter’s stooped back and shoulders with light slaps from my
hand-whip. He threw his head back even deeper into the “prisoner of
war” position with each blow, his mouth open with ecstasy. I kept
dusting him with light, stinging blows until the skin on his upper
back and shoulders was bright red. Once I had him teetering over
the edge, I tucked my hand-whip back into my waistband and withdrew
several steps. Dexter jerked his blindfolded head about, trying in
vain to discern where I was. His erection grew limp; he was
obviously distressed that the blows had stopped so abruptly. He
opened his mouth to speak, but then clapped it back shut again,
fearing my reprisals.

Once I was about eight feet away from him, I clapped
my hands and began to speak. “Slave, before you will be permitted
any more of my precious blows to your body, you must answer the
following series of questions. Answer them truthfully. If at any
time I suspect you are lying, our session will end. Do you
understand?”

“Yes, Mistress Hyacinth,” Dexter said, his voice
trembling with pent-up sexual tension.

“Good. Slave, here is your first question. Why did
you come to St. Lucia? What business do you have here? Tell the
whole truth, please.” I took my long whip from its spot on the
endtable in anticipation of Dexter’s unwillingness to tell the
whole truth.

Just as I knew he would, Dexter hesitated. “Well,
ahhhh—” he mumbled. “It’s sort of a long, complicated story—”

I cracked my whip. “Slave, I don’t care how long or
complicated the truth might be. Just tell the truth. Or I will
banish you from the chamber. Understand?”

Dexter bit his lip, hesitated some more. He glanced
down at his crotch and studied just how large his erection had
become. There was no going back now. “All right, Mistress, I’ll
tell you,” he said. “But you might have a hard time believing what
I say.”

“Try me,” I said in my deepest dominatrix voice.
“You might be surprised.”

Dexter breathed a heavy sigh. “I came to St. Lucia
because I had business here,” he said in a small, timid voice.

I pounded my whip handle against my fist, startling
him. “What kind of business, Slave?”

Dexter cleared his throat. “I’m an independent
contractor,” he said.

Big surprise there
, I thought. “You’ll need
to be more specific than that, Slave,” I said.

“Essentially, I’m an information broker,” Dexter
went on. “I gather sensitive information about important people and
then I sell it to the highest bidder. Sometimes I work on a limited
contractual basis, too. I came to St. Lucia because there was
information here I wanted to obtain.”

Dexter’s evasive answers were trying my patience.
“You are not giving me the information I want, Slave,” I boomed.
“Get to the point, or you’ll need to get out of here.”

Dexter winced. “All right, all right! I came here
because I set somebody up specifically to generate the kind of
information I like to sell.”

Now we were getting somewhere. “Go on,” I said,
deepening my voice. I couldn’t risk Dexter recognizing it.

“I met a young lady who was romantically involved
with my son,” Dexter went on, his voice quavering now. “A young
lady who also happened to be a PR staffer for Senator Hanforth
Grayle. You know, the one who got caught with his pants down on TV
a couple weeks back. So it goes without saying she was desperate
for a new job. And I got her one, hook, line, and sinker. She
doesn’t know it yet, but she works for me. Only
I’ll
be paid
for the work she does, not her. Pretty sweet, huh?”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” I mumbled, slapping my hand-whip
against my palm over and over again. It was all I could do to keep
myself from strangling him with it. “And what exactly were you
having this young lady doing?” I asked, my voice lowering even
more.

Now Dexter was completely infatuated with himself.
“She wanted to have some kind of political sex party down here in
the islands in order to bribe someone into giving her a job. I
hooked her up with a bunch of high-powered officials with odd sex
tastes who’d be willing to do just that. And I also arranged for
Rocky Robinson, the editor-in-chief of the Washington
Post
to be in on it, so the Post would think they’d be getting the
sex-scandal scoop of the century. The thing is, what the
Post
editor doesn’t know is, the parent corporation that
currently owns the newspaper wants to oust their chief editor and
bring somebody new in. Except the current chief editor still has
two years left on his contract, so they needed to come up with a
justification for him to be fired outright.”

Just behind me, Rocky Robinson gasped.

But Dexter was so full of himself and his story that
he didn’t notice. “So the parent corporation hired me to lure him
down here in what he thought was a big scoop, but really is a way
to trap him in unethical behavior. Which isn’t exactly legal, but
that doesn’t matter as long as nobody important knows the
truth.”

This statement made my blood boil.

“And the paper plans to run the sex story
regardless,” he said, proud of himself. “It’s a win-win situation
for them, so long as they don’t get caught. And it ought to be,
since they paid me a cool million to accomplish it.”

I circled Dexter again, switching the hand whip for
the full-length one and cracking it at every step. “So a greedy
corporation hired you to frame their chief editor,” I said. “That’s
certainly something to be proud of, Slave. But something tells me
you’re still hiding something. That isn’t the only reason you came
to St. Lucia, is it?”

Dexter swallowed hard. He knew I’d caught him. “No,
it isn’t, Mistress,” he stammered.

“Then why don’t you tell me the whole truth, Slave?”
I shouted, cracking my whip just outside of Dexter’s reach. “Or
else we’ll consider this session of fun over for good.”

Dexter’s masked head turned in the direction of the
whip-cracking sound; he obviously longed for its stinging touch
upon his bare skin. But it wasn’t to be unless he obeyed my final
demand. And I could tell he wasn’t thrilled at that prospect. A
cold sweat had broken out on the sliver of forehead that wasn’t
covered by the mask, and his whole body was shaking.

“I also came here to settle some personal business
of my own,” he whispered. “Personal, private business.”