The Fire Saga (The Club)

by Katherine Rhodes

  Gramma had given her a look to kill. But Claire wanted to talk to her other grandparent. And Jesus was all about family.

  She sighed into the phone, scolding herself. That was not nice. She couldn't keep mocking religion. Just because she didn't like how her grandmother kept pushing it down, her throat didn't mean it was wrong. She just wished Bitsy would let her make her own decisions about God and what if, any church, she went to.

  “Claire, cheri. I heard that sigh. What's on your mind, child?”

  “I'm at church with Gramma, and I'm not happy to be here. But I just had a wicked thought, and I feel bad.”

  “A wicked thought? My sweet cheri? Say it isn't so! And tell me, little soumis, is the building still standing?”

  “Mamere, did you just call me submissive?” Claire's eyes bugged out of her head in shock, and her hand fluttered in front of her mouth.

  “Mais oui, cher. You think I didn't know? This lady might be old, but she is not dead, and certainly knows how to pay attention.”

  “Mamere…” Claire wanted to die.

  “Ma cher, what have you to be ashamed of? So you like the kink. Bien. Enjoy. Also, you're a screamer.”

  “Grandmother!” Claire really wanted to die.

  “Child, you're beautiful. Whatever way you enjoy sex, enjoy sex.” There was a note of amusement in the old woman's voice. “Your Mamere was not such a prude herself.”

  “Oh, fuck me, mamere. Really?”

  “I won't embarrass you with details. But there are many, many women who are so afraid of liking what it natural, they never have a chance to enjoy. So if you are soumis, c'est la vie. Now, I didn't call about your kinks, ma cheri. I want to know how you are.”

  Claire did her best to recover from the beginning of that conversation and put it out of her head. “I'm okay, mamere. Gramma is being a--”

  Mamere laughed on the other end. “Shall we go with the middle of the road 'jerk,' ma cher?”

  “Oui, bien.” Claire smiled. “She's being a jerk. I'm not a whore or someone who should even be looked at twice, but she needs me to pray for everything. And praise Jesus. I don't need to do that, mamere. Honestly. I know that God is good. I just need to go to school and eat.”

  There was a deep sigh from the other side, and Claire knew that it wasn't the good kind of sigh.

  “Cheri, is it really so much to ask to take a few hours with her on a Sunday?”

  “Oh, mamere. If it were only a few hours on Sunday. Sundays are a pray-a-thon. Four, five hours in church and then lunch and prayer with the blur haired crew.”

  The sigh was tired. “Claire. Your gramma is just asking you to show your love.”

  “I have homework. I cannot spend eight hours on a Sunday on my knees.” There was a snort from the little old woman on the other side, and Claire shook her head. “Mamere! Please.”

  “Cheri, your gramma doesn't love God the way we do. We celebrate His creation. We believe there is a balancing female presence as well. We find joy in the everyday. Your gramma doesn't. She finds her peace in worship and prayer. Neither is wrong—though some might say it is. They are just different facets of the same gem.”

  Claire pursed her lips. “I have a lot of homework, all the time. This is my dream, mamere. I cannot pray the way she wants without sacrificing that.”

  “I think your gramma just wants to see your worship, child. She doesn't have to be convinced of anything.”

  “If I picked a different church, one that aligned better with my schedule and beliefs, you think that would keep her happy.”

  “A la nez, cher.” She could see her grandmother taping the tip of her nose. “Give her that much, Claire. Just that much. And for the love of little green apples, don't join a coven. She'll kick your ass out in a heartbeat.”

  Chapter Two

  Sir leaned down and kissed her hard. “You are such a good little sub, Claire. Such a good girl. You take everything Master wishes you to.”

  The pinch of her nipple was sharp, and she sucked in a breath as he kissed again.

  Sanctuary. That's what this place was. She hid here to keep real life away, if only in this room. She adored everything this man did to her body. There was little more she wanted than drifting off after his last promised orgasm of the night and waking sated in the morning.

  “Kneel, Claire.”

  His big body loomed over her, dressed impeccably in his pinstripe suit, crisp cuffs, straight tie and pressed pants. He was the vision of a perfect Dom. She knew that as the night wore on, the tie would go first, then the jacket. Eventually, the shirt would be unbuttoned and then gone. And he would stand there, watching her, his cock pressed against his pants, tenting them, waiting for the time when he was truly ready to fuck her and fuck her hard. By that time, she would be exhausted from the climaxes he visited upon her.

  If it weren't for the rules the of the club, she'd beg him to just come in her. She wanted to feel his hard cock against her skin.

  Sir sat in the chair as she knelt, waiting for him. She could kneel all day for him.

  “Claire, you always seek me out when you are here. Why?”

  “I enjoy what you do to me, Sir.”

  She sensed him nodding. “Anything else?”

  A thought stuttered in her mind, and she tried to push it away, but them again--why should she. “I like you, Sir. I look forward to our time together. My trust of you has grown.”

  “Look at me, Claire.”

  Lifting her chin and looking up, he caught her gaze as he leaned forward. “Would you be bold enough to say that you might want a relationship with me?”

  “Yes.” Her heart jumped. She hadn't meant to say it, but her mind ran away with her heart.

  He smirked. “You weren't expecting that. I have questions. Answer honestly, and we'll talk more. Keep your eyes on me.” She agreed with a quick nod. “You enjoy our time together, very much. You're a very good submissive, and I can tell you really like what we do. Are you pleased with what we've done so far?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You trust me?”

  “Implicitly, sir.”

  “You plan on retaining our relationship here?”

  “Yes Sir, as long as you'll have me.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five, sir.”

  “Do you live in Karim?”

  “No sir.”

  “Nearby?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You have a touch of Cajun in your twang. You're from Louisiana?”

  “Yessir. Well, mostly.”

  “You can tell me about that another time. Did you go to college?”

  “Yes, Sir. Tulane for Chemistry, and currently at Prairie View for my masters.”

  “Well.” His eyebrows rose a bit. “Then let me also ask you this… do you have any interest in a full submissive lifestyle?”

  Claire was caught off guard. She knew what that was, what went into it. She and her ex had tried it for a while when she wanted to learn more. They had broken up for her to move in with Gramma before they had really analyzed how it had worked. But sitting there she made a decision and hoped that it was the one he wanted to hear. “No, sir. It's not something I care for. I will submit fully in the bedroom, but I am an independent woman outside of that.” She paused. “May I rephrase that?”

  “Of course.”

  “I would prefer a partner. Not a Dom and not someone who let's me walk on them. Equal partners.”

  Sir leaned back in the chair. “You're a fascinating woman, Claire. You realize that if we pursue a relationship outside of the club, it will take us both time to adjust to our vanilla roles.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  Standing, Sir offered her a hand. She took hold of it, and he helped her to her feet. “Would you like to have dinner with me, Claire?”

  Holy shit, he'd asked her out. Dinner. With Sir? “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  “Excellent.” He leaned in and caught her mouth in
a soft, thorough kiss. “For now, I want to make you scream when you come.” She shuddered against his toned, hard body.

  With his hands guiding her where he wanted her—tonight the paddle horse-—she marveled that she would catch the eye of someone as powerful and self-possessed as Sir. She wasn't a mouse, but that this handsome, perfect specimen saw her was amazing.

  Sir was, as always, a perfect match for her. He bent her over the paddle horse and secured her wrists to the legs. His hand was on her ass, and within minutes, he had her screaming in an orgasm from the paddle.

  “Claire…” His words were whispered in her ear as she came down from her high. “Claire, I want to fuck you.”

  She nodded. He'd never asked that before. Ever. For as many times as they had been together, this was the first time those words had left his lips. And she wanted it. Wanted him.

  She heard the foil pack rip, and he entered her from behind a moment later. Her sex, still recovering from the last orgasm, willingly pulled his cock in. He was thick, and it felt ever-so-mazing to have him pushed all the way to his hilt inside her.

  He drove slowly at first, his hands gripping her thighs. Claire heated, tired body enjoyed the slow, sweet sensation of his rhythm, not wanting more than he was giving at that moment.

  His finger crested over her puckered entrance, and she couldn't stop the hiss of want that escaped her.

  “Tu es tres jolie, ma cher.”

  “Rouge! Red!” The word came out reflexively in French at first.

  He froze. “Quel problem?”

  “Mamere calls me cher. It does not feel right to use it in our scenes.”

  “Oui, c'est vrai. Then you shall be mon oisillon, non?”

  “Oui, sir.” She liked that—his pet, his little bird.

  “Coleur?”

  “Vert, green.” His use of French immediately kicked off her Creole roots and had her answering with the same.

  “Tres bien, mon oisillon.” He wrapped his hand in to her hair and tugged back. “You like a little rough in your fucking?”

  “Yes, sir.” Shit did she ever.

  His hips pumped into her while he fisted her hair, pulling hard but not yanking. She could feel her body winding up again, and it was thrilling.

  She adored this—every inch of her surrendered to the pain and control he had over her. There was nothing but his hand, his crop, his paddle, his whip when he had her here. There was nothing but his cock moving in her pussy. Nowhere could find the complete surrender Sir gave her.

  Part of her—a very small part of her—protested. The idea of finding pleasure in such perversion tried to raise it's head, telling her she was going to hell. The fire and brimstone preachers Gramma loved assured her that carnal pleasures were her ticket to hell.

  And the other part of her welcomed the fires that pleasure like this would bring. She loved sex, she loved the lifestyle, and as her Sir fucked her hard on the bench, she thought that she might be falling just a little in love with him.

  * * *

  Claire twisted the hair tie around and around her wrist. She sat in the trattoria, nervous as a virgin on her wedding night. Which was a bit ironic.

  But she hadn't been out on a date in a long time. Mostly she stuck to the club, tuning down even the hottest guys st school because she knew they wouldn't get her.

  And for her first date in a long time to be Sir—Maddox—she was as twisted up as her hair tie.

  Though, the sweetest thing was it seemed he was just as nervous as she was when they spoke on the phone the next day. He was definitely still her alpha Sir, but there was a twinge of trepidation in his voice. She found it endearing.

  Purposefully, she sat with her back to the door. She didn't want to stare at it, waiting and waiting. She knew what he looked like, and staring and waiting for him was not good for her nerves.

  It was just a few minutes after six when a shadow fell over the table, and Claire looked up.

  “Bonsoir, mon oisillon.” Sir—Maddox stood over her, a light smile on his face. He was wearing khakis and a blue button-down with light brown loafers. The blue of his shirt heightened the blue of his eyes, and for the first time, she noticed his hair was sandy brown.

  He sat with the same dignity she had come to expected from him, taking her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles. “I apologize for being late.”

  “Just a few minutes, sir… Maddox.”

  He smiled. “I like my real name on your lips.” He cleared his throat and shifted in the seat he had just taken. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

  “That's what she said.”

  Claire slapped a hand over her mouth, mortified she had let those words escape. Maddox was unreadable and then burst out laughing, grabbing her hand. “Oh, Claire, you have sealed a second date with that!”

  Claire took her hand away from her mouth and started giggling. “I'm so sorry! I forgot that not everyone has a sense of humor like me and mamere.”

  “Your grandmother?!”

  “Yes. Mamere and I are two peas in a pod. She has a wicked funny sense of humor, and just enough social filter to be respectful in public.”

  “And you live with her?” Maddox was still chuckling.

  “Oh, no. Not right now. She's outside of Shreveport. I'm here with Gramma.”

  “You're from Shreveport?”

  Claire nodded. “Not originally, but that's where my home is now. Where are you from? You're awfully taken by my Creole roots.”

  “Nawlins.” The way he said the word it was clear he was born and bred in New Orleans. “We're very Creole. Don't call my mere 'cajun'--she'll hand you your duff.”

  “And she says duff too, doesn't she?”

  “M’ma is a genteel soul.”

  “Mamere is half Cajun, half Creole, and all sass.”

  Maddox studied her. “She has African in her?”

  “That she does. Get her going and she drops into patois and starts yellin' about gators and the spirits. She's half black… that's the Creole half.”

  “Hoodoo?”

  “Jes a little, t'aint many who come round looking for the hoodoo much no more. She's good, but it's tourists now, and she don't much enjoy conjuring for entertainment.”

  Maddox grinned. “That accent came out of nowhere. I love it.”

  “Gramma does not. She thinks it sounds uneducated. So most of the time, I just make sure I don’t. I don't want to listen to her whine about my lazy speech.”

  “Two very different women.”

  “Very different. What about you? The way you said Nawlins…”

  “Born and raised. Went to Princeton, came back, found a place over here.”

  “That's why you sound like a Yank sometimes.”

  “Six years up there, I picked up some words.”

  Claire studied her fingers. “You're not anti-Yankee, are you?”

  “No, no. Not at all. Perfectly nice people. Just a different way of life. Hurried. No time for dawdling! Get where you're going! But they'll give you the shirt off their back. That whole Yank-Rebel thing irks me.”

  “Whew. I don't like it either. I'm a Midwesterner by birth, and there were a few in the school who wouldn't let it go.”

  “By birth?”

  “Mom and dad lived in Kansas. They were killed in a car accident when I was 13. I came to live with Mamere then. Gramma didn't want to be bothered with me.”

  “Not bothered?”

  “She had Gramp, and Uncle Dave was still at home. Once Gramp died, she put Uncle Dave in a home fast enough to make your head spin. And then, she was all about having her granddaughter there. But I was seventeen and said no. I mean high school is bad enough.”

  “Isn't that the truth! High school was hell, in a manner of speaking. Being the preachers’ son? Oh, was I ever scrutinized.”

  Claire leaned forward and put her head on her hands. “Preacher's son. And you're…”

  He nodded. “Hard to believe.”

  “How do you recon
cile that in your head?”

  Maddox sighed. “I'll let you know when I figure it out.”

  Chapter Three

  Maddox bit down on her nipple, and Claire gasped tangling her fingers in his hair.

  “Oh, fuck yes.” She couldn't catch her breath. Maddox's cock drove into her, rocking the bed against the wall.

  She was glad the bed was against the bathroom wall-- they'd been kicked out of the last hotel at two in the morning for slamming the bed hard while they were fucking.

  “Damn, Claire.” It was all he could manage as she squeezed his dick with the wall of her sex.

  “Make me come again, Dox, please.”

  She wasn't sure how they had managed to separate the Club from their relationship, but she loved screaming his name while he rode her hard in the bed. She still called him Sir in the Club, and he called her mon oisillon, but outside those walls, he was Dox, and she was Claire, and she loved hearing their names.

  Dox grabbed her hands and held them above her head, nipping and nibbling at her throat, then her ear, and then finally delving in and possessing her mouth with his own.

  “I'm coming, Claire,” he breathed.

  “Come, please. I'll come with you.”

  He thrust into her pussy, hard, his goal to bathe her walls with his cum. They were deep, hard pushes reaching to the end of her, sending thrills of pain that weren't really pain through her. He arched on the latest one--he was going to climax, and she wanted him inside her so much.

  “Fuck.” The word was quiet and filled with lust, and on it’s tail followed the hot sensation of his peak spilling from his hard, thick cock.

  Claire's body craved the release, and finally, she was able to let go with his, and she came, hard. She arched her back, offering her aching breasts to his mouth. He willingly accepted, biting and licking, helping tease her climax further as he settled from his.

  She collapsed on the bed, sated and exhausted, smiling at Maddox who dropped to one side and pulled her to his chest. She could hear his heart pounding in his chest, and it was a wonderful sound.