Four Beautiful Letters: BDSM

by Thompson, Claire

  Whatever, she told herself. She returned her focus to the scene. Maybe Mistress Ella would take volunteers after the demo, and Sophia would raise her hand.

  When the scene ended, Mistress Ella did, indeed, ask for volunteers. Several hands shot eagerly in the air, but Sophia’s was not among them. What if Nick texted during the scene and she missed it? Even as the thought kept her from raising her hand, she mentally chided herself.

  He was the one who had cut the evening short, or at least bisected it with his need to conduct his business. Why should she let his issues affect her fun? She raised her hand, but the selection had already been made. She watched as another girl shed her clothing and took her place as Mistress Ella prepared a new whip.

  Sophia watched a while longer, but then drifted away, her heart no longer in it. She went to the tiki bar and ordered a frozen piña colada. While she was sipping, a nice-looking guy with light brown hair and light blue eyes slipped onto the stool beside her. He wore a tight black tank top, a black leather collar with an O-ring at the throat around his neck. He ordered a beer and then swiveled toward her. “Hi, there,” he said in a drawling Southern accent. He had an overbite but it was kind of cute, and his eyes were kind. “I’m Kenny. I just arrived this afternoon. I’m a sub boy. Would you like to be my Mistress?”

  She grinned and shook her head. “Sorry, Kenny. I’m in your camp.”

  His face fell, but then he shrugged with good humor. “Figures. You’re lucky, you know. It’s much harder to find a Mistress than a Master, even on Desire Island.”

  They talked amiably for a while about the scene in general and their own experiences in particular. “Maybe you can talk to the staff,” Sophia suggested. “I bet there are dominant women here who would love the chance to get their hands on you.”

  Kenny looked hopeful. “You think so?”

  “Sure,” Sophia agreed. “You’re a good-looking guy.”

  His face split in a broad, open grin. “Why, shucks, ma’am,” he said with an exaggerated drawl. “Thank you kindly.”

  As they sipped their drinks and talked, Sophia’s hand kept slipping of its own accord into her pocket. But her phone remained silent and still.

  After a while, an older woman, maybe fifty or so, dressed in a too-tight black latex minidress and thigh-high boots slid onto the stool on Kenny’s other side. Leaning across him, she addressed Sophia. “This boy toy belong to you?”

  “No, ma’am,” Sophia replied, infected by Kenny’s southern accent. “I do believe he’s available.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kenny agreed eagerly, swiveling toward his potential Mistress.

  She looped her finger in the O-ring on his collar and pulled him closer. “Get on your knees, boy, and tell me why I should consider you.”

  When she let go of the collar, Kenny slipped at once from the stool and knelt up, hands behind his back, eager as a puppy dog.

  With a rueful grin, Sophia gulped the rest of her drink, set down her glass and rose from the stool. “Have fun,” she said to the pair, who now only had eyes for each other.

  She thought about returning to the dungeon for a little action. But the drink had gone to her head and she was tired. Back inside the resort, she selected a homemade cookie from the plate on the reservation counter and went up to her room. Once inside, she lay on her bed, still fully clothed, and munched on the delicious butterscotch oatmeal cookie. She pulled the phone from her pocket and set it on the nightstand.

  If and when Nick texted, he could come down to her. She would get up in a minute to get changed and wash up. But first, she would just close her eyes for a little while…

  Chapter 5

  Nick awoke with a start. He lifted his head, groaning aloud at the painful crick in his neck. He was still seated at the desk in his hotel suite, the laptop open beside a pad of paper covered in his messy scrawl. It was dark outside. Where was his phone?

  He glanced over the desk and lifted the pad of paper as he massaged his sore neck. No phone. Pushing back the chair, he finally spotted it under the desk. He leaned down to retrieve it. A glance at the screen showed him the time: 2:35 AM.

  “Fuck,” he swore softly. “Sophia.”

  He tapped the phone’s screen to wake it up. There were no missed calls or text messages. Should he text her? Was it too late?

  Maybe she was still up. Maybe she was down at a party on the beach. Or maybe she’d hooked up with someone else…

  He blew out a breath, shaking his head at the thought. He had no claims on Sophia. They’d only known each other for a couple of days. But what a couple of days! He couldn’t remember ever connecting with someone so quickly or so completely as he had with Sophia.

  If only work hadn’t gotten in the way.

  Which reminded him…

  He pulled the laptop closer and tapped a key to see if anyone had responded. While crunching a new set of numbers to try and salvage the Cabot deal, he’d also called and emailed various potential investors who might be willing to come in at the last minute to cover the shortfall left by the skittish bankers who’d baled on them.

  “Yes,” he cried triumphantly, seeing the email reply with the subject line: Count me in! Maybe he could save this deal yet.

  He opened the email, read it and began to type…

  The next time he opened his eyes, he was in the bed, or rather, on top of it, still fully clothed. The sun was streaming in through the glass, the sky a sparkling blue. He sat up abruptly, pushing his hair from his eyes.

  His phone was beside the bed. He grabbed it and tapped the screen. It was 10:22 in the morning—over twelve hours since he’d said he’d text Sophia ASAP. What an ass he was. He’d let work get in the way of his vacation, damn it.

  At least he’d saved the Cabot deal. Or rather, he’d gotten enough ducks in a row, if they all swam fast enough, to keep it afloat for the time being.

  Thumbs poised, he quickly shot off a text.

  “Good morning, Sophia! I’m so, so sorry I didn’t text last night. I got insanely involved in trying to salvage this deal, and then I must have conked out. I just this second woke up. You still around? Can you forgive me? Want to meet for late breakfast? Early lunch? Skip food and head straight to the dungeon? Xxxooo”

  He hit send and then stared at the screen nearly a full minute, willing her to reply.

  The screen remained blank, the text unread.

  “Fuck,” he breathed, hoisting himself off the bed.

  He shucked his clothing as he headed toward the bathroom. He turned on the shower and then used the toilet and brushed his teeth. Before climbing into the stall, he checked his cell once more.

  Blank as a slate. Silent as a tomb.

  He stood under the hot spray for a while, letting it pummel his head and shoulders. Then he soaped up, rinsed and climbed out. As he dried himself, he reached for the phone. No missed texts or calls.

  While he was shaving, the phone dinged. Dropping the razor, face still half-covered in shaving cream, he grabbed it and tapped the screen. A text from Sophia!

  “Yes, I forgive you. :-) Sorry, can’t meet until this evening. Not knowing if/when I’d hear from you, I made other plans… See you at dinner around seven?”

  Whew—she forgave him, and had even included a smiley face. But other plans? That sounded ominous. Did those other plans involve other guys? Not that he should be surprised—or even upset. After all, he was the one who’d dropped the ball. He could use the time to make a few more calls and to walk Brian through some things he needed for him to handle.

  He typed back, “Dinner sounds great. And what about after? You up for some sensory deprivation play?”

  This time her response was immediate. “Always! What did you have in mind?”

  “I have something diabolically delicious in mind…” he texted, grinning. “You want to hear it now, or should I surprise you?”

  “Oooh… I love surprises,” she texted back.

  “Excellent. See you at seven.”


  Sophia looked both sexy and adorable in a low-cut red top over a long, flowing skirt, her unruly curls framing a face kissed by the sun. She was hard to pin down, style-wise, sometimes appearing in fetish-wear, other times, like tonight, in hippy-chic. It was another thing Nick liked about her—she was her own woman.

  He rose from the table as she approached him, relieved to see she was smiling. When he held out his arms, she stepped into them. He pulled her close, enjoying the feel of her soft, unfettered breasts against his chest.

  They sat as a wait person appeared to take Sophia’s drink order. Once he had left them, Nick asked lightly, “So, what have you been doing all day?”

  “I went surfing,” she replied.

  Nick raised his brows. “Really? I had no idea you knew how to surf.”

  “I don’t. But Dylan and this really nice lifeguard named Josh were offering lessons for beginners.” She grinned. “Not that I progressed much past hanging onto the board while they towed me around, but it was fun. I also attended a branding demo.”

  Her eyes widened as she placed a hand on Nick’s arm. “Oh, my god, Nick. Mistress Ella—she’s one of the owners—have you met her?” Without giving Nick a chance to reply, Sophia rushed on, “She branded her slave girl, Maya, right in front of us!”

  Nick instantly visualized Sophia naked and bent at the waist over a tall stool. How she would tremble as the red-hot poker moved closer and closer to her flesh. How she would scream as the fiery metal seared deep into her skin. While his brain instantly rejected even the possibility, his perverse cock tingled, his balls tightening at the thought of delivering such extreme erotic pain. But aloud, all he said was, “That sounds intense.”

  “Yeah, it totally was,” Sophia agreed, unaware of his dark imaginings. “First, she just talked for a while about safety and consent issues, and then she did a demo on a potato and let us all try it. It’s harder than it looks. And then, she showed us the iron poker with the brand design Maya had commissioned from this BDSM branding site—a heart with Mistress Ella’s initials inside it. You have to heat it up with a propane torch to exactly the right temperature—too hot and you can injure muscle tissue or cause too much scarification—too little heat, and the brand won’t set properly. One of the guys watching passed out when Mistress Ella did the actual branding.”

  “Whoa. How did Maya handle it?” Nick asked, back in control of his dark fantasies. He remembered the petite blonde who had checked them in upon arrival.

  “Like a champ,” Sophia said. “She didn’t make a sound. It’s like she was in another dimension or something—some kind of submissive meditative thing—it was awesome to watch. It’s not her first brand, either. She and Mistress Ella have been together for over ten years, apparently, and they’re legally married and everything. They’re both way into heavy erotic pain—Mistress Ella on the giving end, of course,” Sophia added with a grin.

  “You’re pretty good at taking erotic pain,” Nick offered, his cock hardening at the thought of flicking a single tail over her curvaceous ass. “Are you thinking of getting a brand?”

  Sophia hugged herself, a shudder moving through her frame as she shook her head. “No way,” she said emphatically. “I’ll stick to marks that fade after a day or two, thanks.”

  “Brands are definitely permanent,” Nick agreed. “Even more so than a tattoo—you can’t get a brand lasered off. You’re stuck with it.”

  “Yep. It’s for life. I can’t imagine that level of commitment.”

  “Agreed,” Nick replied staunchly.

  He’d spent most of his adult life avoiding commitment. He’d dated plenty, and there were lots of available women, both in and out of the scene. Yet, even with women who’d lasted longer than a few months, he’d always kept his metaphorical bags packed, one eye on the door. He told himself it wasn’t fair to expect some woman to sit around at home waiting for him all the time. His work always came first. At least until he’d made his first million.

  Yet, he’d made that, and quite a bit more besides, but nothing had changed. He was too driven—his focus on finding the opportunities others had missed, gathering the resources necessary to make it happen, and achieving his goals.

  Now he was forty—perhaps midway through his life—and what did he have to show for it, other than more money than he knew what to do with? Thinking about Mistress Ella and Maya, and the incredible level of commitment they must share, his heart did a strange sort of twist. Imagine loving someone so much you would want to claim them in such a permanent way. What would it be like to give your heart so completely to another?

  He was saved from further introspection by the arrival of their meal. Dinners in the formal dining room were family-style, the menu selected by the chef. Along with a delicious green salad and fresh bread, that night they were offered Cornish game hen stuffed with mushrooms and wild rice, or a vegetarian lasagna. Nick had chosen the hen, Sophia the lasagna.

  Over homemade lemon-ginger ice cream, Nick said, “So, you ready to hear about the surprise?”

  Sophia grinned, her dimples making small crescent moons in her cheeks. “About time. I was starting to think you were going to make me pull it out of you. I had an internal bet going with myself on how long I would last without demanding to know.”

  “So, who won the bet?” Nick asked, cocking an eyebrow and trying not to laugh.

  She paused a moment and then, still grinning, asserted, “I did, naturally. But since you brought it up, now you have to tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me,” she added with comic eagerness.

  Nick grinned back, anticipating the fun ahead. “I was able to reserve the vacuum bed chamber from eight thirty to nine thirty this evening.” He fixed her with an intent gaze. “You ever tried a vacuum bed?”

  Color rose in Sophia’s cheeks—a good sign. “I haven’t personally tried one. I’ve seen them before, though. Definitely not for the claustrophobic.”

  “Which you’re not?” Nick asked hopefully.

  Sophia shook her head. “Crammed elevators and crowded subways don’t bother me. But then, I’ve never lain between two sheets of latex before and had all the air sucked out of them, so…”

  “Well, tonight’s your lucky night,” Nick said with a grin.

  He placed his hand over hers and leaned closer, lowering his voice as he stared into her blue-green eyes. “Just imagine, Sophia. Because the latex covers your face, you’ll have to keep your eyes closed. As the air is sucked out, the bed closes down around you, completely immobilizing you. But because the latex is thin and molded to your body, it creates an effect like the skin of a drum. Each caress, every flick of a whip will be magnified by the vibrations across your skin, heightening sensation.”

  “Gosh,” Sophia breathed, staring back at him. “How do I breathe?”

  “There’s a hole cut in the latex for your mouth. You stick your lips through it before I start the suction process. You’ll be able to make sound and draw in air. But you’ll have a safe signal, too, in case it’s too hard to speak.”

  Sophia pushed her empty ice cream bowl away and eased her chair back from the table. She flashed an impish grin. “It’s eight twenty-five. What’re we waiting for?”

  ~*~

  The sign on the doorknob was turned to the vacant side. As Nick opened the door, he flicked the sign over to read occupied. Once in the room, he turned on the light.

  He looked hot, as always, dressed tonight in black jeans and a simple black T-shirt of thick, soft cotton that strained across his broad shoulders and hugged his nicely rounded biceps. She’d been mildly pissed at him for blowing her off the night before, but she’d decided to take a philosophical approach. The guy was clearly a workaholic but, happily, that wasn’t her problem.

  Now, Sophia took in the space. There was a counter at the back with various items set out on it, along with a sink and a small refrigerator. There was a recovery couch set against one wall. But the main attraction was a simple rectangular frame made from PVC pipes set
out on a raised platform. A black latex sheet was already stretched taut inside of it, a second, clear sheet resting loosely on top of it. There was a round fitting secured to the bottom pipe, the vacuum hose already attached. The platform stood only about a foot off the ground. A small vacuum pump sat on the floor beside the platform.

  Nick headed toward the counter, where he set down his gear bag. Turning back to her, he said, “We’ll do a brief trial run with the vacuum pump, just to make sure you’re okay with this. The sensation can be pretty intense.”

  “Have you tried it?” Sophia asked, curious.

  “Not this particular one, but I’ve been in a vacuum bed,” Nick replied. “I think it’s important to experience everything I plan to do to my subs. Unless you’ve personally felt the cut of a cane, the stroke of a flogger or, yes, the intense sensation of a vacuum bed, how can you expect someone else to submit to it?”

  Sophia tried not to snag on his use of the plural subs. After all, it wasn’t like she wanted an exclusive relationship with the guy.

  As she removed her clothing, she thought more about what he’d just said. “It makes sense, the way you put it. Most Doms, at least the ones I’ve met, have no idea what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a whip.”

  “Then they’re idiots,” Nick said with a shrug. “Without that knowledge, how can you possibly give your sub the experience they long for?”

  Sophia nodded, liking him even more. So many dominant guys in the scene were just about the power and the sexual thrill of taking control. Most of them were people she wouldn’t have had anything to do with if they hadn’t had a gear bag and an erotically sadistic turn of mind. Nick was different. He was mature, confident and sexy, but also self-aware and sensitive to what made his partner tick. It made him not only a much better Dom, but a more compelling person.

  Nick’s eyes hooded in a sexy way as they moved over her naked form. Though she wasn’t shy about her body, something in his gaze made the blood rush to her skin, warming her all over. But there was something else there—something more than just physical desire. Was her romantic heart running away with her, or had she seen a flash of real longing in his dark eyes? Not just longing for a hot scene he could have with any sub girl—but desire for a connection with her?