Chapter 18
Marquis Gray
Not what I expected
Struggling to hide the devastation I feel after my visit with Anton, I nervously play with the ring on my finger as I slowly make my way to Mr. Onassis’s class.
I know that I promised to act as if everything was normal, but it’s difficult to mentally compartmentalize what just happened and push it out of my mind.
Difficult…but not impossible.
It’s something I’ve learned to do well over the years.
When Amethyst walks up beside me, I immediately plant a smile on my face. “Hey.”
She grins. “You know, people are still talking about that DP scene you had.”
I smirk, shaking my head as I think back on it. “Still can’t believe I got to scene with Leōn and the Headmaster.
She snorts. “No doubt. What was that like?”
“Taking two men at the same time was uncomfortable at first but after I relaxed, it was still intense but in a good way. I felt powerful and so fucking sexy!”
“Well, you certainly had us squirming in our seats. And poor Carlisle…he nearly lost it.”
I cover my mouth, laughing at the thought.
“Of course, Nash scowled the whole time…” she jokes, then asks, “By the way, have you spoken to Onassis yet?’
I sigh and mutter, “Not yet, but I should definitely do that,” as we walk into class. When I see the stack of fantasy journals on our teacher’s desk, I realize we have a writing session ahead.
I’m actually relieved, unsure if I could concentrate on a formal lesson right now.
“Moving forward, the fantasies in your journal may be incorporated during your auctions,” Mr. Onassis informs us.
“It will be the Dominant’s choice, which reflects what you can expect in real life outside of this Training Center.
We want writing in your fantasy journal to become a habit.
It is not only a useful jumping off point for your Dominant, but your journals can also highlight new areas for you to explore. ”
He picks up a journal separate from the stack. “I learned many things when reading my submissive’s fantasy journal, and consider it a gold mine.”
I perk up as I stare at the journal in his hand. There is something alluring about knowing your teacher actually has a submissive and uses the very journal he’s holding to inspire their scenes together. It makes the whole BDSM lifestyle seem much more real.
It also has me wondering what it would be like to have Mr. Onassis as a Dom. I suspect he would have exacting standards and be very strict, but in a kind sort of way…
“I’ve taken the opportunity to write down an observation I’ve gleaned from reading each of your journals so that you can better understand how helpful they can be.”
I blush when he hands me mine. I can’t imagine what Mr. Onassis is going to say about the unusual fantasies I write. Opening up the journal, I find a handwritten note tucked inside. Unfolding it, I read:
Miss Lane, I have noticed that all your fantasies up to this point involve strangers, whether human or not. (My face burns even hotter knowing that he’s referencing my Kaelith fantasy.)
Being taken by a stranger is a common fantasy. What about that scenario excites you? I invite you to ponder that and identify those elements you find particularly arousing.
I crinkle my brow, having never given it any thought.
However, I remember how turned on I was at the auction this weekend because I knew I was about to play out the fantasy of a stranger without knowing what it would entail. Thinking about it, it seems strange, given that I like being in control in real life—and always have.
This feels similar to my shocking discovery that I enjoy exhibition.
It’s crazy to think there are parts of my sexuality I’ve been clueless about all my life.
I have a sneaking suspicion there is a lot I don’t know about myself, and now I have a better understanding of why Mr. Onassis considers fantasy journals so important to a submissive.
Tapping my pen against my lip, I take a moment to contemplate his simple observation after reading my journal.
It opens up questions about myself that I’ve never even considered before.
I glance up and notice everyone scribbling in their journals as they write down a new fantasy.
I turn to a blank page, and stare down at it.
My brain seems to freeze, and I can’t think of a thing to write.
Knowing I must write something, I decide to share an old favorite that I haven’t thought about for a long time. As I start to write, I can’t help wondering what this one might reveal about me…
I’m traveling with my family and an entourage of musicians through the hot desert. I am on my way to marry the man I have been betrothed to since I was young. I have never met the man, but I’m told he is someone of great stature and a highly respected ruler.
It is a beneficial marriage that will strengthen our family’s position. I’ve been lectured by both my parents that it is my destiny to seal this union. But I am afraid.
I hear that he is old, and having just become a woman, I am still an innocent.
My mother has completely disregarded my apprehension, stating that it is the duty of every woman to advance the family. And my father will hear nothing of my doubts, reminding me, “A daughter is born to honor her mother and father.”
Unable to voice my concerns, my dread builds with every step that carries me to a destiny I do not want.
When I catch sight of a band of marauders as they crest a sandy hill, everyone around me starts to scream. But I feel a flood of relief. I welcome the swift death their swords will bring and start walking toward them as they descend the hill on their horses.
Even though I am frightened of the pain, I close my eyes and open my arms wide, willingly embracing this destiny above the others.
I hear the men’s cries of violence as they rush toward me, but I hold my ground, listening to my mother and father scream like frightened rabbits as they beg for their lives to be spared.
I feel the blast of wind as the horses rush past me, and I hold my breath, waiting for the deadly blow to fall. Instead, I hear the horrifying screams of the caravan as every living soul is cut down.
Tears run down my face as I cry out, begging to be one of them.
But the blow never comes and I am left standing alone with my eyes tightly shut. Listening to the last terrified scream of my mother.
I sink to my knees, still hoping for death, when I hear someone approach behind me.
The man barks gruffly, “Stand up!”
I struggle to stand, but my muscles are weak with fear. I look up to see a man dressed in white, his head and face covered so that his eyes are the only thing I can see. His gaze is piercing and wild.
“Kill…me,” I beg, choking on the words.
Instead of a welcome release, he sweeps me off my feet and throws me onto his horse. He kicks the sides of his horse and joins the rest of the marauders. I notice that on the backs of their horses, they each carry the blood-stained sacks that contain the large dowry my parents brought with them.
In the blink of an eye, my entire family and everything I know is gone.
The men chatter the entire ride, excited about the huge bounty and the swiftness with which they dispatched their victims without any harm to themselves. While I spot their tents off in the distance, one of the men shouts in warning. I look back to see the billowing clouds of a huge sandstorm.
My salvation.
They take off, pushing their horses to outrun the storm, but they have no chance against it.
It isn’t long before the advancing storm makes itself known as the skies start to darken around the group of us.
They take off, pushing their horses to outrun the storm, but they have no chance against it.
It’s doesn’t take long before the advancing storm makes itself known as the skies start to darken around us.
All of the plunder is unceremoniously dumped as the marauders race for their lives.
Trapped in the choking clouds of swirling sand, the horse I’m on suddenly stops abruptly. My captor slides off the animal, grabs me by the waist, and pulls me down off it. Grabbing my hand, he drags me to a tent and pushes me inside.
Once he has taken care of his horse, he secures the opening of the tent and turns to me, lowering the material that covers his mouth.
I fall to my knees, hacking up the sand I’ve swallowed while he watches me.
As the raging sand swirls outside and the tent rocks back and forth in the storm, he stares at me with a piercing gaze.
“Why did you want to die?”
My body trembles when I hear the low timbre of his voice.
I cough several times and then answer in a rough whisper, “Death is better than marriage.”
He breaks out in a snorting laugh
Offended, I scream, “Kill me already, you coward!”
In an instant, his hand is at my throat, and I begin to see stars as he squeezes tighter. I look into his eyes, grateful even as my body fights for breath.
But then his gaze softens, and he lets go.
I beg in earnest, “Please.”
Instead of death, he leans in and kisses me…
I look up and notice Mr. Onassis standing beside me. “I asked for your journal, Miss Lane. The bell is about to ring.”
It’s not until then that I notice everyone staring at me. I slip my pen inside the journal and close it. “But I didn’t finish.”
“I’m certain what you’ve written is enough.”
The bell rings, and I hand the journal to him.
As we all make our way to the door, Mr. Onassis informs us that the school has invited a special guest who specializes in flogging.
I feel a rush of excitement. Since pain is not an issue for me, a session with a flogger might be just what I need right now.
We walk into a room with a small stage. As we approach the panel of trainers, I notice an older gentleman with extremely pale skin and the most intense gaze sitting with them. I immediately lower my eyes as we line up in front of the panel.