Chapter 8: Andrew

Andrew Kiraly was faced with an unpleasant choice.

The young woman who was nominally his submissive, the ridiculously named “Darque”, he had no idea as to her legal name, was a gorgeous Goth girl, and was seriously pressing him for a full-time, all-benefits, D/s relationship.

Granted, she was a problem lots of men, lots of Doms, would kill to have ... until they got a grip on the full depth of her bug-fuck crazy.

Before recent events, she hadn’t been interested in anything more than an occasional heavy beating, with a blow-job in there somewhere if he was lucky. Ever since she’d showed up in the ‘peanut gallery’ of his internet radio show, “Radio Roissy”, he and her crazy had circled each other, his cock wanting it all, his mind screaming out warnings about how fucked up she was.
The woman rewrote reality on the fly. He’d heard her tell the same story at a party, five different versions, different in major ways, and she honestly believed each and every one of them to be the God’s honest truth as she told them. She was either an Oscar-worthy actress, or suffered from Multiple Personality Disorder, and some of her other faces quite frankly scared the shit out of Andrew. Add to that her occasional need to use Andrew as an emotional tampon when one of the other guys she was seeing shit all over her, not always figuratively, and Andrew had begun to dread her name on his phone’s caller ID.

And now she was offering him everything his dick wanted, and more ... she was an imaginative girl ... and he was fighting hard to keep from saying ‘yes’.

All because Madam Margo Grimes, damn her Queenly hide, had told him, not offered him the position of, but told him, he was now the full-time Press Secretary for House Chorale, as well as expanding his internet radio presence to twenty-four hours a day of broadcasting, with him responsible for making it the voice of local Society, and the source for Society news.
And if she hadn’t added in a salary for both positions that surpassed, by quite a bit, his former earnings, he might have told her to take a running jump into a wall of spikes. But Society’s new Queen was more than generous, and quite clear that telling the truth in Society news outweighed any temptation he might have to shade things courtesy of his position as their press secretary.

He was going from almost complete outsider to one of Society’s inner-Inner-Circle members ... his hobby was becoming his profession ... and all of a sudden Darque was offering him anything his heart desired.

Odd coincidence, no?
No.

He’d never considered he’d ever be the target of a social-climbing fame-fucker, at least not outside of his previous – and still at least part-time, damn Margo Grimes – profession, and grey-hat hackers were exceedingly secretive by nature, so how would any woman ever know?

But Darque was showing her crazy-as-a-shithouse-rat colors, now that his Society status had risen so dramatically, and his cock was sorely tempted to override his brain ... but there were advantages to his age. He’d grown past thinking with his hormones quite some time ago ... or thought he had. At the moment, he was having his doubts.

He was having dinner that evening with Darque, her treat, weren’t trust funds glorious? She was going to want an answer.

If Andrew had harbored any doubts about telling Darque “no” being the right choice, they were completely and totally dispelled by the screaming shit-fit she threw in the restaurant when he told her “no”.

He had made a brief attempt to calm her, before her escalating frenzy made it clear there wasn’t a chance in hell of it happening. As he calmly took out enough cash to cover both their meals, and a generous tip, and laid it on the table, Darque’s fury, volume, and level of insults had continued to rise, telling everyone within earshot, and courtesy of her screams that was a lot of people, everything about their relationship, before proceeding to out and out lies.

Andrew rose from his seat and headed toward the exit, features impassive, at a normal walk, happy the low lighting made his blush of embarrassment, he hoped, invisible.

That was when an intense, sharp pain erupted at the back of his skull, and the world went dark.

He came to in the back of an ambulance.

“Wha’ the fug?”

“Sir, you have a concussion, I need you to lie still, we’re on our way to Sisters of Mercy.”

There was more, but Andrew found it all rather incomprehensible, so he stared at the ceiling and wondered why it felt like he had a railroad spike through the back of his head.

After a night of observation, a discussion with the police in which he found out Darque had clubbed him with the butt end of a wine bottle and he refused to press charges, and a lot of pain, Andrew was released ... only to find a delicious-looking uniformed chauffeur and Rolls Royce waiting for him at the exit.

“Master Kiraly, I’m Devon, Madam Grimes driver. Please, get in.”

Andrew noticed the shoulder holster under her jacket as she bent to open the door, and wasn’t sure he really had an option.

Inside, he saw Margo Grimes, smiling at him, but with a touch of concern on her face as well.

“You had an interesting evening, Master Kiraly,” she said, as he settled in.

“I wouldn’t exactly describe it that way,” he replied.

“Actually, I believe the police report describes it as ‘assault and battery’. I’m here to present you with a pair of choices.

“Would you like us to take you to our lawyer, to start the restraining order process, or would you prefer the matter be handled in an extra-legal fashion?”

Andrew wanted to say a lot of things, ranging from “are you serious?” to “are you crazy?” with a whole lot of “what the fuck have I gotten myself into?” in between, but for the moment, he glued his jaws together, and thought about it.

He thought about the House’s short, but tumultuous history, recent events, and how much he didn’t know, and probably didn’t want to.

“A restraining order ... Darque would take that as a challenge. No telling how much talking she’ll do between now and her eventual incarceration. She was severely unstable before this happened, I can’t see her letting this go.”

“Not surprising ... you were to be her ticket to status. She’s a spoiled brat, who wants what she wants how she wants it, in addition to her mental instability. I gather you see her as a threat to Society as well as to yourself?”

“Yeah ... yeah I do. But while I wouldn’t want to be her, I don’t ... well...”

Margo smiled.

“You don’t want her dead.”

“Uh, no ... not that you were offering that, but no, uh, she just ... she needs to be somewhere else.” Andrew swallowed hard. “Uh, can you manage that?”

Margo Grimes smiled coldly, and nodded, before making a quick call Andrew pointedly didn’t listen to.

He was more than a little worried, and it showed, as the Rolls pulled up to his address. There was someone standing in the shadows, and he froze.

“Don’t worry, I’m loaning you some security until things with Darque are resolved,” Margo said. “That’s Caroline. She’s very good.”

As the statuesque brunette came out of the shadows, Andrew’s eyes widened.

“She’s also very playful,” Margo said, as Devon opened the door for him.

Amanda Vesey

House Chorale’s jester hadn’t wanted to rush the whole ‘getting to know you’ process with her new family, and after the fire and funeral, she’d come to think that maybe she should have.

Amanda sat cross-legged on the floor in the foyer, off to one side from the doors, and studied Kelly, who was asleep in her stocks.

Now, the House’s dominants, and the more established submissives, were hurting, all of them needed comfort, or amusement, or both, and not really knowing them before the tragedies left her unsure of how to ease their pain, other than in general terms.

“Enough dillydallying, Fool, do what you can,” Amanda sighed, getting to her feet.

She settled in front of Kelly, sitting at the foot of the stocks, so Kelly could let her head hang, and wouldn’t be straining to look at Amanda.

“Mistress...”

“Not a mistress, Amanda.”

“Mistress,” Amanda said, raising her hand, as if to block Kelly’s protestations, “you may not be playing the role this moment, but we both know the reality. You were, you are, you shall be a dominant in this family. Besides, hasn’t anyone told you it’s futile to argue with a fool?”

The smile on Kelly’s face was beautiful to see.

“That’s much better, Mistress. Now, tell me how to help you.”

Tears gathered in Kelly’s eyes, and slowly began to traverse her cheeks.

“I don’t know ... I’m working hard to keep from drowning in self-pity. I know I deserve this, this and more, and it’s completely fair, but that doesn’t help much after hours of hanging here, no one talking to me, nothing but me and my thoughts.”

“What about Twilla?”

“I sent her away. She comes back to feed me, clean me, and exercise me, and to sleep with me at night, but I couldn’t see her just sitting here.”

“She provided comfort, and companionship.”

“I don’t really deserve either.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Amanda replied. “I am happy to see they’ve let you start sleeping out of the stocks.”

“Yeah,” Kelly chuckled. “That whole “live in the stocks” sounded really great, until Margo thought about what it could to me, long-term. Still,” she continued, motioning back with her hand, “that ain’t a suite at the Ritz.”

Amanda leaned out to look past Kelly at the thin pallet on the floor behind the stocks.

“Yeah, and the shackles you wear when laying there aren’t diamond tennis bracelets either. So, back to the subject of helping you...”

“If you really want to help me, darling, tell me how they’re doing.”

“If by ‘they’, you mean your spouses...”

Kelly nodded.

“They’re doing ... well, better than you. From what I’ve heard, there was a whole lot of bedroom time...”

“Yeah, I’d heard the same.”
“But not the sexy, fun kind.”

“Huh?” Kelly said, her eyes locking with Amanda’s.

“Sex requires one kind of clean-up, tears require another.”

“Tears?”

“Mistress, they are not happy. They are not all cuddled up chortling at your punishment. This hurts them as well. No matter what you think, you are a part of them, and you’re not there. Granted, you brought this on yourself, but that doesn’t mean you’re not missed, and loved, and cherished. Madam and Milady Carol are not prepared to forgive you yet ... I think Master is, but one way or another, you’ll be freed Wednesday night, and they’ll all be happy you’re back.”

“Wednesday night?”

“Yes, Mistress. You’ll be back in bed with them that evening.”

Kelly’s silent tears and fragile smile made Amanda’s little white lie about Wednesday night worth it.

She got up, kissed Kelly, and headed off to make that little lie the truth.

“Ummm, so what do I owe this exquisite pleasure?” Harry said, as Amanda slid up and down on his cock.

“Service is your due, Master, and when I saw you otherwise unoccupied, I thought I might bring a smile to your face, and a glow to your crotch.”

Harry watched her, smile on his face.

Amanda liked Harry a lot, and was coming to love him. A good part of that was due to his, generally, easy-going nature.

And she didn’t enjoy lying to him.

So she didn’t.

“Master, I also was hoping you might consider bringing Kelly back to your bed on Wednesday night, letting her rest in the love of her spouses before Thanksgiving day itself.”

“Ah, ulterior motives...”

“Not entirely. With you gone so much,” she said, tactfully avoiding the whys and wherefores of his absence, “I haven’t gotten to spend as much time with you as I’ve wished, Master. I am attempting to kill two birds with one delightful stone.”

“You are delightful, Jester, and while we haven’t had as much time together as either of us would like, you have been around long enough to know how things work. You’re going to have to convince my spouses, as well as me.” He reached up and stopped her. Amanda settled down across his crotch, keeping his cock nice and warm. “I don’t have any problem with Kelly being released, and as the ‘injured party’, I reckon that should be enough, but Margo and Carol have powerful-big ‘mad’s on.

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, little Jester, could we get back to what we were doing?”

There was silence for a time, as the two lovers lost themselves in each other, and while Amanda had to do most of the work, courtesy of Harry’s leg, that also allowed her to make sure she had her fun ... not, she reflected later, laying on Harry’s chest when they were through, that Harry would have left her high and dry, so to speak, but it was a measure of freedom she hadn’t expected before her introduction to Chorale. So many dominants played ‘orgasm control’ games 24/7, and while, as a submissive, she had no major problem with that, it did get to be tiresome. From what she gathered, unless you were actively being punished for something, Chorale’s attitude was ‘cum as you will’.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, cuddled up in her Master’s arms.

“Happy, Jester?”

“Yes, sir ... but I’m not looking forward to dealing with your spouses’ anger.”

She felt him laughing softly to himself.

“Would you like some help, Jester?”

She lay very still, fighting the urge to smile.

“Yes, Master, if you would be so kind.”

Amanda could tell Madam Margo Grimes would be a tougher sell.

Carol, on the other hand ... Carol was kind-hearted enough to let it go.

“If we’re going to forgive her on Thursday, then why not Wednesday night? And if we’re going to forgive her Wednesday night, why not now?” Harry argued.

Amanda smiled, just a little, and prayed Margo didn’t notice.

“Margo, you know we’ve all been miserable...” Carol said. “We’re no more whole than we were when Harry was off in the wilderness, living on locusts, wild honey, and toothless blow jobs.”

“Hey now,” Harry said, laughing, “it wasn’t that rough!”

“Yes, my love, and you’re no John the Baptist either,” Carol continued. “Margo, we don’t have to like what she did, but we do love her, no matter what. Isn’t it time we acted that way again?”

“Can you look at me, and assure me she’s learned her lesson?” Madam replied.

“Will you trust me if I go and speak with her, and answer your question afterward?” Carol said.

“Of course. Go talk with her.”

Amanda Vesey breathed a sigh of relief, very softly, as Carol scurried off.

“And you, Jester,” Margo said, “I sense your hand in all this.”

The little woman’s relief hadn’t lasted long.

When Chorale took over the estate of the former House Wexler, once all their former submissives had been sent to Dominique’s, Margo had looked at Wexler’s bondage gear, equipment, and paraphernalia, and had made an executive decision to get rid of all of it.

Amanda, among others, had asked her why, and Margo’s answer had been simple.

“I don’t care how well it’s been cleaned, I don’t care if it’s never been used at all. I don’t want any trace of that bunch of criminals in my house.”

So, an interesting, and large, load of items had been taken to the dump.

And Margo had begun replacing all their favorite toys.

Therefore, it was a new, barely used cross Amanda Vesey hung on. The punishment Margo was administering was a casual, almost teasing, whipping, using a flogger Margo hadn’t had the time to even break in properly. Harry sat nearby, watching the proceedings with a half-smile on his face.

“Is there a reason, Jester, you decided to poke your nose into our marriage?”

The flogger came down across Amanda’s ass in a steady rhythm.

“Madam ... one-quarter of your marriage... ow ... is on display in the foyer! The problems in your marriage are out in the middle of the most heavily traveled area of the house! Besides, it’s my job to speak truth to power, and this is a truth that needed to be brought up. Trouble at the top always influences the submissives in the House!”

The next strike of the flogger didn’t land.

Amanda felt Margo’s left arm encircle her, while Margo unstrapped her wrists with the Madam’s other hand. Margo gently lowered Amanda to the floor, before going to sit in a nearby chair.

Amanda rolled her shoulders, stretched a bit, then turned to face her.

Margo patted her lap, and Amanda climbed up to sit in it.

“You’re right, Jester,” Margo said, cuddling with the little woman. “And we were fools not to take that into consideration. Would things be better if we’d put her in stocks in our bedroom?”

“Maybe, Madam,” Amanda replied, “but there’s enough traffic in and out of your bedroom, the staff would know. Even if there wasn’t, Kelly’s absence would be noticed anyhow.

“Madam,” Amanda continued, “I don’t want you to think the submissives are restless, so to speak. Six months from now, after they and your family have had time to get close ... there would be a lot more upset subbies. Currently, you’re all too new to each other for things to disrupt routines, routines that haven’t had enough time to be established. But still, there are questions, and worry.”

The little woman looked up into Margo’s face.

“Remember, Madam, while your subbies aren’t your children, they are similar to children in some ways. No child feels secure when their parents are fighting.”

“Thank you, Jester,” Margo said, ignoring the tears leaking from her own eyes. “You’re doing your job, and doing it well. I apologize...”

Amanda’s fingers gently landed on Margo’s lips.

“Madam, no apology is necessary. You’re still relatively new to all this, and most of your staff has little to no time with you and your family’s way of doing things ... I know it’s an old cliche, but this is going to be a learning experience for all of us.”

The two were still cuddling in the chair when Carol came in, leading Kelly by the hand.

“Madam,” Carol said, “our wife has learned her lesson. I cut out the middle man and released her myself.”

Amanda slid out of Margo’s lap a fraction of a second before her Madam rose to her feet. As Amanda left the room, the four spouses were in a tight group hug.

Kendry

Kendry missed Eddie. Finding a man she could respect, and put herself in a subservient relationship with had been a most unexpected turning point in her life. From being a complete loner, she had gotten used to having him, as well as the rest of the household, around. She wasn’t silly enough to think she missed him anywhere near as much as Tamara, who constantly amazed her by maintaining a cheery, upbeat disposition, but Kendry missed him all the same.

She’d had to fill her time with her new role as overall security head for Chorale South. She was happy with the progress the staff had made, and most evenings she relaxed after a pleasantly tiring day with a reasonable expectation that nothing was going to surprise the household during the night.

And that was no small achievement. The problem wasn’t a lack of at least adequately trained security personnel. It was too many, trained in different ways, that had never worked with each other before. It was a joy to watch the Karghold’s people work together, but compared to them, the rest of the staff had started out looking like a rolling clusterfuck. So she’d started with the basics, in more ways than one.

She’d never planned on becoming a Drill Instructor, but be damned if she didn’t spend most of her days looking an awful lot like one. Not something she’d imagined, but Kendry found she was enjoying herself.

But there was a conversation coming with Chorale’s heads, and that she was dreading.

The “kitchen council” was in session – the four spouses, Thad and Vida Newton, Nancy Velacourt, Karen Pinard, Galena Pessino, Nicki Grimes ... and the visible hole where Eddie should have been.

“All right, I’ve asked to speak to you tonight because we have a ticking time bomb sitting down in the bunker...” Kendry held up her hands to forestall the questions, “and I’m only being slightly dramatic.

“There are weapons from the former owners’ armory that are illegal for anyone without a Class 3 Firearms License. We’re already more than odd enough to attract federal attention, and should the ATF, or God forbid, the DEA decide to raid this place, we’re in a metric fuckton of trouble when they search the bunker. Up to 10 years in federal prison and $100,000 fine per weapon.”
“She’s not wrong,” Thad Newton said. “The Feds are inordinately interested in the Karghold, and there’s nothing we can do about it, so we are very careful to ensure we don’t have anything like illegal weapons around for them to find. House Wexler were idiots.”
Kendry watched Harry and Margo lower their heads, almost in unison, and rub their temples. She wasn’t sure who was unconsciously mimicking who, but it was cute ... something she’d never dare say out loud.

“What are our options?” Kelly asked.

“Way I see it, we don’t have the provenance paperwork on the weapons, so they were purchased illegally, and without that, there is no reason in Hell for any of us to go through the rigmarole of applying for a Class 3 Firearms Dealers License. That means we either get rid of them the same way Wexler acquired them, or we simply turn them in to the police. Both options have their drawbacks. I might know someone who could move them, for a percentage of the sale. That way the weapons disappear, and more than probably, no one will be the wiser. Our other option is to turn them over to the police, which will certainly put us on any law enforcement radars we aren’t already on. This method has the benefit of legality, but puts us under a spotlight ... and, if the local law, or the feds, are in a pissy mood, we could still be investigated and prosecuted for possessing them at all at any time, no matter how prompt, and we aren’t being all that prompt, we were in turning them in. I also know a couple of cops I could talk to about the likelihood of us getting in any kind of shit by turning them in.”

“It might also have people looking at the transfer of this property to us ... and raise questions,” Harry said. “If they want to speak to the previous owners, that will draw attention to a very old and well-established House in the area where said owners are living miserable lives as slaves.”

“Yeah ... that could go badly in so many ways,” Vida agreed.

Kendry leaned back while the ‘kitchen council’ discussed. She was pretty sure she was going to end up contacting Johnny Ray, and making the family some money, but she’d let them come to that conclusion themselves.
She was amazed by how painless the discussion had turned out to be. She was still getting used to House Chorale, and continued to be pleasantly surprised by them.

“Johnny Ray, long time, no talk,” Kendry said, standing out front of the mansion with phone in hand. “You feel like having some killer Tex-Mex and swapping lies?”

Later that evening, an unmarked panel van was waved through the gates. Several large bundles and long boxes were loaded into it, and a short while later it was waved out through the gates.

“You’re feeling better, aren’t you, dear?” Tamara asked as she and Kendry sat by the pool.

“More than you know,” Kendry replied. “Kinda like these people, really wasn’t looking forward to taking you, the girls, Rachel, and the Zhangs on the run.”

“You didn’t mention the rest of House Chorale...”

“Because I know my limitations, and they’d already be stretched to the breaking point with the seven of you. If I didn’t think Eddie would kill me, I’d leave Rachel and the girls behind, and hope for the best.” Kendry turned to look into Tamara’s eyes. “Never doubt, Milady, exactly where, and in what order of precedence, my loyalties lie. We, as a group, are part of House Chorale, but I serve House Janak. Period. End of statement.”

“I love you, Kendry,” Tamara said, getting up and kissing her on the cheek. “If you were interested in females...”

“I love you, too, Milady, or better said, I’m starting to. But alas, I’m not interested in females so at the moment...”

“You’re frustrated beyond imagining?”

“Not quite that bad ... there are always toys. But yes, I am frustrated.”
“Hopefully he’ll be home soon.”

“Yes, Milady.”

“You know, there are other men in this household, both holding the leash and wearing the collar.”

“Not even going there ... no, Milady.”

“Okay, just mentioning it...”

In her nightmares, Kendry dreamt Margo threw open Chorale South for a great Thanksgiving party, inviting any and all of Society to come. When she awoke, she was sweat-soaked, and after a quick shower hunted down Madam Grimes, finding her in the kitchen where Margo was enjoying a cup of coffee, Radhika kneeling by her side.
“Madam, please tell me we’re not holding a big party here on Thanksgiving?”
Margo looked up at Kendry, and smiled.

“No, we’re not. We are holding court at Dominique’s the next evening though.”

“All right, thank you. That I can handle ... I just...”

“No, dear, not nearly enough time to plan a party, and we’re all more than a little crispy around the edges lately.”

“I had a nightmare ... a Turkey Day party, and it scared the hell out of me.”

Margo smiled again.
“I don’t blame you, Kendry. Right now that would frighten me as well.”

Kendry sat down at the table and Magda brought her coffee.

“Big job, isn’t it?”

Alison Kendry looked at Margo.

“There are days I would gladly go back to my old life ... for maybe ten seconds. Then I remember what I had then, and what I have now, and I think it’s worth it.”

Margo got up, gave Alison a brief hug, and kissed her hair.

“We’re so lucky to have you, and so thankful for you.”

As she walked away, Alison sipped her coffee, and tried her best not to feel like a shit for her earlier comments to Tamara.

But no matter how she felt, her primary responsibility hadn’t changed - her Master and his family.

Daisy

The Order of Mary’s training had left Daisy very good at waiting, a good thing, as her time at Dominique’s had been little but waiting. She had performed whatever duties Dominique gave her, but with so many submissives taking shelter in the club, there were far more hands to keep busy than work to be done.

Once they’d all been moved out to Chorale South, she’d had more to do, but still had no interaction with her new dominants - Master, Madam, Mistress, and Milady.

This, too, was no problem for the tabula rasa ... although she wasn’t as much of a blank slate as she had been. Observation of, and exposure to, her fellow submissives had birthed the beginnings of a personality for Daisy. It was still a personality that could be erased by her owners’ commands, although she was reasonably sure she was going to be found pleasing by them ... whenever they had the time to spend with her.

Daisy was unpacking a crate of new cookware, as her House slowly replaced everything left-over from House Wexler, when Helen McReady approached her.

“Daisy ... it is ‘Daisy’, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss, it is.”

Daisy watched Helen’s eyes attain a thousand-yard stare. Daisy understood the effect she had upon others who had not been trained by the Order. She silently offered prayers to God, thanking Him for the chance to perfect her soul with perfect service.

“Was there something I could do for you, Miss?”

“Yes, Daisy,” Helen replied, coming out of her musings. “It’s been determined that those House submissives not trained in some specialty or other be taught massage, first aid, the rudiments of physical therapy, other skills as they occur to your Master, Madam, and Mistress. You’re called to class now.”

As Daisy had not been claimed by any of the House’s dominants, she obeyed the orders of anyone in a position of authority, and it was no secret that Helen McReady was very much in a position of authority. She could override any of the House heads when it came to matters of Master’s physical therapy.

Yet, she also served as the submissive Billy’s surrogate for Master when it was Billy’s turn to sleep with the four spouses.

The dichotomy of her position confused Daisy somewhat, but confusion was no excuse for disobedience. If she needed to understand, she had no doubt it would be explained to her.

In the end, there was nothing for Daisy to do but obey.

“Yes, Miss. Please tell me where I’m to go.”