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It was almost eight and much too early for the place to be crowded; bars and clubs in D.C. didn't get sardined until after ten. There were a few people standing at the bar, the rest were sitting at either the tables or couch areas that were scattered around the warehouse-style room. The women, and one man, were sitting at the feet of their Dominant, and frankly Gayle thought that looked pathetic.
What immediately caught her attention were the different apparatuses on the longest wall. There were three crosses; a seated cross, its legs at an angle so that the legs would be spread wide; a horse like they use in gymnastics; and a bench with metal stirrups for the legs. In the far corner were a large dog cage; a tall, narrow cage; and a wooden stock. She couldn't imagine what would happen during the scenes using the equipment, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
The meeting room for the class was to the right, so she headed off in that direction. She wasn't a shy person, but in this situation she was. She sat at the back of the room so as not to draw attention to herself and listened curiously, sometimes fearfully or disgustedly, but surprisingly with more than a little fascination. An hour and half later, her brain overloaded from too much information and seeing all of the toys used in BDSM, she was ready to go home. Knowing her role other than maid was to be a submissive, she wasn't sure if she could handle being bound to any of the equipment she'd seen, much less being beaten with the accessories.
As she walked toward the door she heard a woman screaming in something similar to ecstasy but mixed with pain. She turned herself towards the sound. The woman that held the door open for her earlier was bound to a cross, facing away from the room, bent at the waist, her ass sticking out. Her master, as she'd called him, was flogging her with two floggers expertly; the impact alternated between each cheek.
Watching intently for a few minutes, she turned to leave when a man who'd been standing behind her blocked her exit. He was at least 6'5" with a wrestlers' body, a man she'd never want to meet in a dark alley late at night.
"Excuse me," she said with a forced smile, hoping to diffuse any cruel intentions he may be contemplating.
"Leaving so soon?" he asked, instantly telling her that her instinct was correct. The smell of liquor on his breath washed over her nauseatingly.
"Yes," she replied and stepped beside him to leave.
He grabbed her by her arm and twirled her around hard, pulling her body dangerously close to his. "Why don't you let me show you how good it can feel to be under my control?"
Gayle jerked her arm back, ready to curse him out when he swiftly reached behind her and smacked her ass cheek hard. She was shocked into silence for a brief moment and pictured herself kicking him in his balls. Instead, she replied coldly, "I'd rather be stung by a million wasps than to submit to a bastard like you."
The man's face turned to pure evil as he narrowed his eyes on her. "You don't know what you're missing."
"She won't be missing much. Back off, Charlie." It was the man whose slave had opened the door for her, and he took a protective stance in front of Gayle.
"You can't tell me what to do, Martin."
"I am the owner of this place, and you are harassing my guest, not to mention breaking another rule by being drunk. Leave." Pete waved to someone to his right and a huge, body builder-type man stepped behind the insect ready to pounce if need be.
"I have no inten --"
"You are banned, Charlie. Vic, escort him out." After the men walked away, Pete turned to Gayle and asked, "Are you alright?" His voice was much softer than it was when he'd spoken outside the club.
She stood frozen, body and mind. "I ... I'm ... I think so."
"I'm Pete Martin. Are you alright to drive home?" She looked around in a panic, almost as if she didn't know where she was. "Come and sit for a few minutes," he suggested. "Would you like some water?"
She nodded and followed him to the bar but didn't sit. Taking a few sips of the bottled water she thanked him for coming to her aid.
"You're welcome. What's your name?" When she told him his eyebrow rose. "Ah. I knew it was your first visit when I first saw you. I can spot someone new from their wide-opened doe eyes filled with fear. Peggy Monroe asked me to keep an eye on a newbie that was coming in. But I keep an eye out for everyone."
She nodded. "Thanks again. I'm okay now."
"Well, I do have to get back to my slave. Drive home safely."
She watched him walk away and instantly knew she was done with the whole scene and would not pursue any further assignments with Discrete Services Agency. That decided, she lifted her head, squared her shoulders and walked confidently out of the door.
FRIDAY, JUNE 7th; Gaithersburg, Maryland
Gayle had just gotten home from the morning shift and was heading to the shower when her phone rang. It was Mrs. Monroe.
"Hi, Gayle. Do you have a moment to talk?"
"Yes, sure. I was just about to call you," she lied as she threw herself on her bed.
"How did it go last night?"
"The class was very helpful, an eye-opener, really. It wasn't what I was expecting at all." She didn't want to go into any details about the creep Charlie because it was over and done with as far as she was concerned.
"Pete said you got into a little scuffle, but you handled yourself impeccably."
"I was about to kick him in the balls before Pete stopped me." Gayle laughed. "Well, I wouldn't have, but I thought about it. I hope it wasn't a problem."
"Not at all. Just because one is submissive gives no one the right to treat them as a doormat. Listen, I spoke with a client yesterday who is looking for a maid for six months. He owns a small castle outside of St. Andrews in Scotland."
"A castle?" Gayle gulped. "Scotland?"
She tried to comprehend the word 'castle.' All she pictured was Downtown Abby. Mrs. Monroe can't expect me to clean a 20-room mansion! she thought.
"It's only four-bedrooms, two living rooms and a den; easy for one person to manage."
"Hmm. Okay. When is he looking for someone?"
"Saturday, August 3rd, and it will end February 1st. I've checked your references, and they were excellent. I have a reputation to uphold with my clients and my business, and if I didn't think you were perfect for this particular client I wouldn't have suggested you to him."
Gayle didn't know how to respond.
"Let's get down to your salary, Gayle. My client is willing to pay $55,000 US dollars for your services, plus medical expenses. He's looking for regular house cleaning, and the only cooking would be on the weekend; he already has a cook during the week for evening meals. He may also require your attendance at any social engagements that might come up. There will also be ... special requirements, but that will be discussed at a later time."
Aside from Gayle's mouth dropping at the mention of the salary, she also noticed the change in Mrs. Monroe's tone at the mention of 'special requirements.'
The salary was more than enough money to pay for Cherrydale as well as some medical expenses and every other bill that had been neglected. Her father would be thrilled, but would he be willing to let her go?
"If I say yes, what happens then?" she heard herself ask.
"He'll be in Washington on June 21st for a business meeting. I don't know his exact schedule just yet, but he could let me know when and where to meet you. I will pass the information on to you. He will explain his exact expectations at that time. There is no obligation to you, and you don't have to give him an answer the same day."
Thinking quickly, she sighed as she realized the easy part would be giving her two-week's notices. The hard part was the need to leave her family.
Without consideration to her father or Catelyn, she knew she really had no other option. It wouldn't hurt if she simply met with the man, though she got an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she hadn't been joking when she mentioned the sex slave bit to her sister at breakfast that morning.
"Mrs. Monroe, tell him I will meet with him."
MONDAY, JUNE 24th, Tysons Corner, Virginia
Gayle waited anxiously at the bar of Capital Grille and sipped a glass of wine in hopes it would calm her nerves as she waited for Hamish. She had a good view of the entrance door where the hostess's station was, so when her potential employer walked in she would see him right away.
With it being the lunch rush, it was packed with diners, and the problem was she had no idea what he looked like; neither did he know about her. Gayle offered to send her a picture of herself so he would know who he was looking for, but Mrs. Monroe insisted that she simply wear a red blouse, black skirt and black heels.
Her first thought was, Good luck finding me, buddy. Half of the women in Washington, D.C. wear that color combination.
But when Mrs. Monroe said Gayle had to wear a scarf of the McDougal tartan colors she instantly relaxed. When she saw the colors she instantly knew why he'd chosen red for her blouse. The background was mostly red with thin green lines and diagonal white lines; the edges were green with the same sized white lines.
Five minutes before the allotted meeting time, she was talking to the bartender about the electrical thunder storm the night before when she saw a man standing beside her through the mirror behind the bar. The first thing she noticed about the man was that he appeared to be well over six feet tall. The second thing was his ginger-colored hair that was naturally wavy.
As she turned around on her stool, he extended his hand to her and said, "Ms. Boyce, I am Hamish McDougal. Call me Mr. McDougal."
His accent was extremely thick, and she wasn't sure she caught his name correctly. The only Hamish she'd ever heard of was William Wallace's best friend in the film 'Braveheart.'
When she realized that she was to address him formally she put on her strict, professional, 'I'm about to be interviewed and better make a good impression' metaphorical hat. She smiled, albeit nervously and shook his hand; her own hand was swallowed up by his big, strong one.
"I am pleased you were able to find my family's tartan colors," he said, though he had yet to smile.
She was surprised at how soft-spoken he was, though his voice was deep. Her impressions of Scots were that they were always drunk on whisky, chasing women when they're wearing their kilts -- and nothing underneath -- and being loud and boisterous. He rolled his r's, which was a little sexy to her; she wondered if they were good kissers, too, not that she wanted to find out immediately.
"I was lucky, actually. I got the last one at the Celtic store in Old Town, Alexandria. I loved the patterns of the different families' colors. I hadn't realized how many there were." She closed her lips tightly to keep from rambling on.
Without replying, he stepped back and looked her over from head to toe. With her sitting on the stool and his own height, he estimated she was about 5'8," maybe an inch shorter. He liked her curly, light-brown hair that cascaded just past her shoulder blades, though would have preferred it a little shorter and straighter. Her complexion was fair, and her make-up was light and natural, thankfully not overly done or trashy. Her eyes were big and beautiful; the steel gray color seemed to look right through him. As his eyes trailed down her chest, he appreciated the fullness and roundness of her ample bosom.
"Go to the ladies room, remove your panties and put them in your purse," he instructed abruptly.
"Ex ... excuse me?" she asked in shock.
"I need to be sure you are capable of following all of my instructions." He'd emphasized the word 'all.'
She narrowed her eyes at him and was about to tell him to piss off when she thought better of it. She had been given a blessing, though it was in disguise.
Sighing, she grabbed her purse, went to the bathroom, removed her red, lacy boy shorts and stuffed them in her purse then covered them with her wallet. Stepping outside, Hamish had been waiting for her by the door.
"Show me," he ordered brusquely.
Her eyes flew open. She wasn't about to lift her skirt to show him she had complied.
"I was referring to your hand bag, Ms. Boyce," he sighed.
She blushed wildly, relieved and opened her purse just enough so he could see.
"Very good. Follow me. Our table is ready."
"Great. I have to pay for my wine, though."
Hamish scoffed loudly and shook his head. "I've already paid for it."
"Oh, thanks."
After she blushed again in embarrassment they followed the hostess to their table, all the while Hamish's hand in the small of her back. Her initial thought was how possessive he was; she wasn't sure how to take it.
The table was somewhat separate from the others, not that it mattered to her. Gayle preferred to sit in the booth and was just about to step beside the table when Hamish pulled out the chair and looked at her expectantly. Without objection, she sat down then he pushed her chair up a little before sitting in the booth across from her. Only then did she see his briefcase, which he placed beside him.
The hostess then placed a black linen napkin on her lap then did the same to Hamish. He seemed to tense at the invasion of his space but quickly hid his discomfort.
Once they were seated, Gayle was able to look over his face more closely. He had a full, round face with bright rosy cheeks, and his face was covered with a thin, neatly shaven beard and mustache. His eyes were a pretty cornflower blue.
After the hostess left, Hamish opened the menu, looked over it quickly then asked, "Have you eaten here before? It comes highly recommended."
"No, I haven't, but it's rated as one of the best steak restaurants in the area," Gayle answered. "I've always wanted to try the steak, but --"
The waiter approached and asked what they'd like to drink.
Hamish replied, "Do you have Glenfiddich Scotch Whisky?"
"We do."
"That'll be fine. Neat."
Hamish turned to Gayle, who looked at the waiter. "Iced tea, please."
"Alright. Do you need a moment to decide?" the waiter asked.
"Please," Hamish replied. Turning to Gayle, he commented, "You may have a starter if you'd like."
"I would, thanks. I'd love the French onion soup." He nodded. "Did you have a good flight over?"
"I did, thank you." He then turned his attention back to the menu.
She sat waiting for him to elaborate, but he never did. Not being in the mood to play twenty questions, she looked over the menu for a few minutes. Hamish was still looking over his so she looked around the room, and when she saw the moose head hanging on the wall over another table she wondered if it was real or not.
The waiter returned with their drinks and a basket of bread and wafers. "Have you decided what you'd like to order?"
Hamish replied, "I'd like the fried calamari, please, and the lady will have the shrimp cocktail."
Just as the waiter began to write, Gayle interrupted, "Actually, I'm allergic to shellfish." She was shocked he didn't order the soup, especially after she'd already told him. "I'd like the French onion soup, please."
The waiter was about to turn around to leave when Hamish said tersely, "For myself I'd like the mini-tenderloin sandwiches, well-done, Wedge salad, no dressing and green beans. The lady will have the Lobster roll."
"Wait. What?" Gayle spoke a bit louder than she meant to. Lowering her voice, she said, "Lobster is shellfish, Ham ... Mr. McDougal." She felt like an idiot for even having to point that out to him.
She was already a little angry when he'd ordered her appetizer, but now that he'd ordered the entree she was livid. He was rude, domineering, controlling and had the conversational skill of a Great White shark.
She thought of one way to get back at him. She heard Scots were well-known for being frugal with their money; more than frugal, actually. Gayle had never had filet mignon before simply because it was so expensive. But at that point she didn't give a rat's ass whether he could or could not afford it.
Looking at the waiter, she said, "I'd like the filet mignon, medium, the mashed potatoes and garden salad with Raspberry vinaigrette."
As soon as the waiter walked away she felt guilty for overreacting. She didn't know this man, and he might have just been using the proper Scottish etiquette that Americans have lost.
As Gayle buttered a piece of bread and took a bite, Hamish sipped his whisky then sat staring at Gayle for several minutes.
Inwardly Hamish was extremely pleased with Mrs. Monroe's choice. She had already passed his tests of the scarf and outfit as well as discarding her panties. He wanted to test her resourcefulness and obedience to him. This third test with ordering something he knew full well she couldn't eat and her standing up for herself was another pass.
Since Hamish wasn't a very good talker, Gayle's mind was elsewhere, as she so wanted to be home with her mother. She had woken up in good spirits and seemed to be aware of her surroundings for a change, though she still required help to go to the bathroom or change clothes.
"Ms. Boyce, I asked you a question."
Gayle glanced at Hamish. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking of ... what did you say?" She didn't want to get too personal with him, especially about her mother.
"I asked why I should hire you." His voice was a little harsh and impatient.
The waiter came with the appetizers, and before she answered she had a couple of spoonfuls of soup while Hamish practically inhaled the calamari.
"Um, well, to be honest, Mr. McDougal, I agreed to meet with you because ..." She rattled on about her mother's condition and the urgency of needing the money right away.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Ms. Boyce. My father had been ill before he passed away, so I understand your situation."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Dad is taking it very hard, and so is my sister."
"And you?"
"I'm doing the best I can. I'm a Scorpio. We can go through hell and bounce right back."
He smiled for the first time. "It's honorable of you to help your family."
The more he got to know her the more he liked her. She was strong, loyal to her family and wouldn't put up with his sometimes-demanding, thoughtless personality.
"It boils down to the need for money, and I'd never make as much money in a year as I would if I worked for you. It's ... generous of you."
Something then came to her. "Mr. McDougal, Mrs. Monroe mentioned something about 'special requirements' of yours. What was she referring to?" She didn't really want to know, but she had to before she accepted anything.
"I was wondering when you would bring that up. I don't mean to be crass, but are you a virgin?"
She had just put the spoon in her mouth and almost choked. After taking a sip of the tea she replied, "That's as crass as anyone can be."
Unmoved, he said, "You will tend to my needs ... in the bedroom."
"I knew it. I figured it was something like that."
"You didn't answer my question," Hamish pointed out.
Gayle narrowed her eyes at him. "No. Can I ask, Mr. McDougal, just how big is your dick?"
She might not have choked on her tea, but Hamish had just sipped his whisky when she asked the question. A line of the liquid escaped the corner of his mouth. He shook his head, wiped his mouth with the napkin and put it back in his lap. Then he laughed.
