Pt1 : A newbie at the Mansion (fantasy) (hierarchy play) (newbie)

He was a nerd, and unfortunately for me, thats just my type. 

Tall, skinny but not painfully so. Brown, wavy hair just long enough for me to rake my nails through and pull, but not long enough to seem unkempt. He wore button downs and chinos, as requested — a new look I learned I preferred on a sub thanks to a recent white collar plaything. I knew from his application he preferred a tee and jeans, but that is not the vibe at my house. 

He had hit the jackpot, and as he stood in the hall waiting for me, that began to dawn on him. Due to my ‘vanilla’ works, the house is both stunning and luxurious. Not how you would imagine a Domme’s playplace to be at all. There are no blacks, no gaudy reds (my biggest pet peeve) — it’s a combination of marble and light, modern woods. Blues and greys, with hints of vibrant and fun colours — I watched from my invisible perch at the top of the spiral stairs as his eyes were drawn to my favourite, bold artwork “Unfortunately this is my circus, and they are my monkeys.” Designed for parents and ordered from a family friendly site, I doubt the artist were imagining my kind of monkeys when it was designed. 

I stroll down the stairs, and his eyes immediately rise to me. In the same way that my house is not a typical dungeon, I am not your typical Mistress. Today I am wearing a wide legged pair of tan linen pants, a white cotton sleeveless shirt, and my feet are bare. My long, brown hair is swept up in a ponytail, and my designer sunglasses perch on top of my head as though it is not 5 degrees outside. If you had a discerning eye, which this newbie does not, you might recognise the bracelet that circles my wrist can be undone and used to lash someone who displeased me, or the Hermes belt that circles my waist is slightly worn at the point where I tend to double it in half. Besides that, there are no physical signs that I am a Dominant and a sadist, and that this is a Training House. 

I purposefully take my time with the stairs, and when I reach the bottom give him a long stare, starting at his feet and rising to his head, surveying him thoroughly, before giving Olivia — the maid who had allowed him in, a curt nod allowing her to disappear. I stay quiet as he embarrasses himself completely, greeting me first as a goddess (I’m not) and then a Mistress (not his, yet) and then blusters a few more hype words before I ‘shhh’ him, which thankfully he does. I raise my eyebrows a little, and my eyes move casually to the doorway where James stands, and jerk my head slightly in a ‘come hither’ motion. 

James is my butler. Majordomo, or head of the household, bar me. He runs the show, the practicalities, and handles the majority of the serious discipline. He’s also obsessed with me, submits to me freely and wears a branding of my initials on his thigh with pride. He stands taller than me, 6'4 — a scandinavian god of a man with broad shoulders and toned physique. He approaches me smoothly and in a way he has done a thousand times before, as though the very moves themselves are an act of worship. He comes behind me, brushes the ponytail to one side of my head and plants a gentle kiss on the nape of my neck. His arm wraps round me gently and holds my waist, whilst the other dips behind his own back in yet another symbol of submission. Perfect, and I would expect no less. 

‘James, this is Elliott, the applicant I told you about.’ James nods, and also looked the boy up and down before speaking. 

‘Well, boy. It seems you’ve lied to us already. You are not classically handsome, nor do you have an athletic body type. The market is competitive for male subs already, and the Domme you seek is not looking for chubby, unfit, spotty men.’ Elliott’s jaw drops, face crumples. Before he could muster up a reply, James continues. ‘You’re here now, so we’ll move on and see what we’re working with.’ 

James, as well trained as ever, waits for me to move from his embrace slightly before he leaves me, leading the way through the wide hallways and into my favourite sitting room. Elliott speeds after him trying to keep up, and I bring up the rear of the little trail, smiling to myself that this would be an easy ‘no’. He didn’t even think to hang back and follow, instead of walking ahead of me! I make a mental note to scold the owner of the site who had recommended our service. 

I take a seat in one of the large loveseats, and James does the same. Elliott kneels on the floor in front of us, and though I admire the commitment it feels as though he has received all his perceived training through a cheap novel. James barks orders and thankfully Elliott obeys quickly. Stand, hands behind your back, now on your head, now at your sides. Strip, yes including everything, no don’t dump it on the floor, fold it on that chair there. Face us, hands behind your back — wow, a physiological response — predictable, and fairly long too, thats a minor positive. Face away, grab your ankles, nice bubble butt but can’t hold a position. James stands and casually unthreads his belt, folding it over and giving Elliott a sharp taste of discipline, he whimpers but holds his place. It’s a nice whimper. I’m an optimist and grin at James, who shakes his head at me. He is not. I suppose I can only afford to be an optimist as I hand over much of the heavier training to James these days anyway.

‘Sit facing us. Cross your legs like you’re in kindergarten.’ I snap, and Elliott struggles to obey. My eyes drop to see the visible reaction as this is the first time I’ve addressed him directly. With a little stumbling, he gets into the position. I nod to James, who begins the spiel. 

‘Well, welcome to our training house. As you know already, Mistress Zeva opened this place on seeing the gap in the market for a place to learn and understand submission and then match them with vetted Dominants who know what they want. Kind of like matchmaking for those who commit to the lifestyle. You’ve had preliminary acceptance based on your application’, James stared at him sharply, ‘which doesn’t seem to match with reality. Explain.’ Elliott was visibly trembling now. 

‘I… I… Well, I know I will be a good submissive! I know it! I don’t see why I need experience if you’re going to train me anyway.’ My eyebrows raise slightly. ‘Excuse me? I thought the lying was about physical features. What do you mean experience?’ 

He stared at me and James, back and forth, like a deer caught in the headlights. Olivia hung patiently in the doorway in case she were needed, and I becon her forward. She furnishes me and James with copies of the application, which I scan quickly. ‘So your time with Misstress Kedenya?’ I ask. 

‘She was my girlfriend, Mistress. But we did lots of kinky things in bed!’ 

I shake my head and place the application down. Lied on his resume, doesn’t physically match the description, doesn’t seem to have a clue. James is raging, I can feel the annoyance from where I am. Unfortunately, James was also the one to vet the application, and I currently have more of an issue with that than I do with Elliott. 

‘So what do you have going for you, Elliott? Why, after all these lies, should we want you?’ He bristled a little — the first sense of attitude so far, and then breathed deeply. At least he could regulate himself. ‘I don’t know, Mistress. I suppose I have nothing to offer. I just really want this. I quit my job, made excuses to my friends, gave up my flat… I need this. I need to serve someone. I think it was why I was born.’ 

It's a bit of grandeur, but there is a hint of truth in it. James is ready to kick him out, I can sense it. But I also need to teach James a lesson about vetting applications properly, and I avoid disciplining him physically where I can. Perhaps an impossible task is right for him. ‘So you know how this works right?’ I ask. ‘You sign a contract, pay us upfront, and after 3 months we will present you to a range of Dominant women and see if there are any takers?’ He nods hesitantly, clearly keeping something to himself. I’m losing patience fast.

Olivia steps in and hands him his bag — a nike gym bag, with all his possessions. I almost feel sorry for the guy. He digs through it and hands a white envelope to James, who is clearly pissed already. James counts it, and places it on the coffee table. ‘Well, Mistress, Seems Elliott here is £20,000 short, he’s only brought half. A word?’ 

We exit out into the hall, and across to my study. I perch myself on the edge of the solid, polished wooden desk and give James a smirk. He’s annoyed, but obedient and stands between my legs, pushing his body onto mine and running his hands down my sides to settle at my waist, the way I love. Our faces are so close our noses almost touch, and I’m suddenly eager to take him to bed, despite working together for so long and our relationship being so intense. I grin at him. ‘You need to vet these applications better. What a waste of my time.’ He shakes his head, deliberately pushing his nose against mine. ‘I emailed the reference!’ He argues, and I shake my head, remembering the application. ‘What, the gmail reference, that anyone could have created? You didn’t call, or suss out a social media presence?’ I chuckle softly as his face falls, realising not only that he has displeased me, but also that I’m creating work for him as a result. 

‘He’s short money still!’ James protests softly. I nod. ‘I’m not saying he should get away scott free for lying to us… But I can see a submissive under there. A flawed sub, with far too many porn-filled ideas of what the life looks like. He’s genuine.’ James nods slowly, burying his head in my neck. ‘I’m sorry, Mistress.’ He whispers, and I kiss his head. I’m at a stage with James where we are balancing his submission, and his ability to think and process for himself on my behalf, and it often leads to a clash. I absentmindedly let my fingers slide down his cheek and under his shirt collar, where his simple, infinity band of a rope collar lies. I rub my fingers against it and he shudders against me slightly. ‘Remember when I had this put on you?’ I ask. He nods, still into my neck, holding fast. A teddy bear, really. ‘No one thought you deserved it then. I know when to call it.’ He continues nodding for a few seconds, and then moves off so I can slip off the desk and lead the way back into the sitting room. James follows, keeping his breathing in check. I sit down and look at Elliott. 

‘We’ll take you. But on some conditions.’ Elliott stares up and nods eagerly, excited to hear the words. 

‘First — financially it's simple. You pay £40k, your Domme pays £40k, and the matchmaking is equal and therefore it doesn’t feel like anyone is buying anyone, which is the way we like to keep it. If you’re paying £20k, you’ll have to earn the £20k from us. So you’ll work for us for 6 months, earn your keep and the £20k, and then we’ll spend the next 3 months training you. Thankfully by then, you’ll have learnt enough about submission to actually begin a more intense training period.’ Elliott nods, accepting of this decision. ‘Secondly, I don’t do liars in this house.’ Elliott nods, shivering at the tone change in my voice. ‘Towards the back of the estate, we have a cabin. When we have agreed terms and you have signed your contract, James will take you there. He’ll give you a taste of what will happen if you lie to anyone in this house again. In around a week, you will be recovered enough to come back to the main house and begin your work. Do you understand?’ Elliott looks like he’s been shot. His mouth has gone dry. He nods as though in a daze, struggling to come to terms with the sentence I’ve just met out. ‘Well, love,’ I think to myself, ‘better to know now what you are in for, than work our way up to it slowly.’ Elliott shyly raises his hand, and I scoff internally — he has so much to learn. But I nod to him anyway. ‘Mistress, can I just ask… what will be my job in the house for 6 months?’ 

I smirk, wickedly. The first sense of my sadism this boy will actually see. ‘You’re going to be James’s personal assistant, of course.’