The aromas of leather, citrus, and sex filled the air. All around, there were D/s scenes taking place, while members either participated or observed. Cries, sobs, cracks of whips, the clap of leather or hands hitting flesh, and shouts of ecstasy were heard over the muted murmur of conversation and hard rock music coming from the sound system.
While Tiffany silently trailed one step behind and to his right, Sir made his way around the club, greeting several members and stopping to talk to a few. When Master Noah approached, holding a leash attached to a blonde female submissive named Lola who was crawling behind him, Sir shook his extended hand. Master Noah was Club Domain’s owner and head Dom and reminded Tiffany of Billy Dee Williams, the actor who played Lando Calrissian in the Star Wars movies. His voice was deep and rumbled through those surrounding him. “Master Cordell, it’s nice to see you this evening—your submissive as well. I understand you two will be leaving us soon.”
Sir gently placed his hand on the nape of Tiffany’s neck, with her leather collar between them, and pulled her to his side. “Yes, we will. But if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to just put our memberships on hold—in case things don’t work out in Florida.”
“Of course, you’ll both always be welcome here.” From what Tiffany had heard from some other subs, Master Noah gave reduced membership rates to respected Doms who were past and present members of law enforcement and the military. Having them in the club was another way of keeping the members safe if anything went wrong and all hell broke loose. Not that it’d ever happened in Club Domain, but, nowadays, one could never be certain they were truly safe, even with every precaution taken. “But are you expecting things to not work out?”
“Not at all,” Sir replied. “Just being my usual, cautious self.”
“One of the things I’ve always liked about you.” A security guard stepped up to Master Noah’s side and whispered in his ear. The head Dom nodded and then addressed Sir. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s something I need to attend to. Please join me for a drink later if you can, both you and your submissive.”
“It’ll be our pleasure.”
Master Noah glanced down at his current sub. “Stand, little whore.” Some women liked public humiliation and being called names like whore or slut. Lola was one of them. Tiffany, on the other hand, hated it. Bruce had used both vile names whenever he’d been pissed at her for something—which had been more often than not toward the end of their relationship.
As Master Noah walked away, leading his leashed sub across the club floor, Sir glanced at the black watch he always wore on his wrist. “It’s time for us to head to our playroom. Come, pet.”
Cordell led Tiffany to the playroom he’d reserved for their scene. While they still had the no-sex contract in place, that didn’t mean he couldn’t take things further than they’d ever gone before. He knew his submissive’s limit list backward and forward, inside and out, but he’d stared at it for about a half hour that morning, deciding which limits of hers he’d push during tonight’s scene.
Locating the correct room, he checked the schedule posted on a tablet attached to the wall at the left of the door. It indicated whoever had used the room earlier had left and everything had been diligently cleaned by the submissives who worked for the club. Cordell picked up the attached stylus and scribbled his signature and member number next to his name on the digital list. He liked the system and made a mental note to tell Mitch and Ty to consider using it at the resort. That way, a Dom didn’t have to worry about someone walking in and interrupting a scene or that some bodily fluids had been left behind by the previous occupants. It occurred to Cordell that he’d been mentally keeping a checklist, since they’d first walked through the front door, of things he liked about Club Domain that he’d wanted to see implemented at the resort. He was also tracking things he’d like to do differently, since he now had a say in how Master Key Resort would be run.
Opening the door to the playroom, he gestured for Tiffany to enter, then followed her in, shutting out the rest of the club. He turned a dial on the room’s sound system, and the noise level dropped dramatically. “Let’s get your punishment over with first, pet.” He took her hand and led her to a leather couch on the opposite side of the room.
Usually, Cordell would put the sub on a spanking bench to dole out a punishment, but he wanted to try to start building a closer rapport with her. He still hadn’t told her he planned to have her stay in his cottage, and in his bed, when they reached Florida. They would be driving his truck, with an attached U-Haul, across the country, and Cordell wanted to spend some of that time renegotiating their contract. A friend of his from the police department was going to drive Tiffany’s car down for them the following week and then fly home on Cordell’s dime. A few days earlier, before it had fully formed, Cordell had immediately nixed the idea of having her follow him in her vehicle for a couple of reasons. One, it was a really long trip for her to drive solo, and, two, he wanted her next to him, with no chance to escape the conversation he was going to have with her, unless she said her safeword.
Taking a seat on the couch, he said, “Over my knees.”
Her eyes widened a bit. “But, Sir, your hip. Wouldn’t it—”
“Thank you for your concern, pet, but my hip is fine. Now, unless you want me to add to your punishment, I suggest you do as you’re told.”
Biting her lip, she nodded and then complied. Cordell shifted his legs and winced. Maybe he should’ve put her on the spanking bench but seeing her across his lap quickly made the pain in his hip less intense. He wished he could say the same about the pain in his groin.
He adjusted her body until her feet were off the floor and her fingertips barely touched it. Lifting her skirt, he was surprised to see she’d gone without underwear. The last time she’d worn this outfit, she’d put on panties too, portraying the bratty schoolgirl in need of a spanking—a fun one. Today, in her rush, she’d either decided it was one less thing to deal with or had foregone them because she’d been running late and was already facing a punishment. His heart had nearly leaped into his throat and strangled him when he’d seen the bloodstain on her pure-white sock. Thankfully, the worst of the lacerations hadn’t needed stitches. As of this minute, razors were out for his pretty, little sub. He’d see to it that she got her legs waxed from now on. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure why she didn’t do that already, since she got her pussy waxed on a regular basis. Something he was pleased with. Pubic hair on a woman didn’t bother him, but bare, pink flesh turned him on even more. He also knew it increased a woman’s sensitivity and pleasure during play, so it was a win/win for both of them.
Rubbing his hand briskly over her naked ass, he brought the blood to the surface, reducing the risk of bruising her with his strikes. “Tell me, again, why you’re being punished, pet?”
“Because I didn’t set my alarm and cut my leg because I was rushing to be on time. I really am sorry, Sir.”
“I know you are, but that won’t get you out of a spanking. That’ll be twenty swats. Count them out and ask me for the next one.”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
He liked the hesitation he heard in her voice when she acknowledged him that last time. It hadn’t sounded fearful, like it had many times before, but, instead, it’d been more anticipatory. It was possible the little sub was a bit of a pain slut, but it was difficult to tell until she finally stopped associating any pain with punishment. He’d taken things slowly these last seven months, gauging her reaction to each of their interactions, whether they were playing or not. Once more, Cordell wished he’d taken Bruce Whitlow out to the desert and buried the sorry bastard out there with just his cock sticking out from the dirt for the buzzards to pick at.
“What’re your safewords?”
“Red for stop, yellow to slow down, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
Lifting his hand, he brought it down hard on her left ass cheek with a resounding slap, leaving a red print on her pale skin.
“Eep! One—one, Sir. M-may I please have another?”
Of course, he obliged. This time his hand landed on her right buttock.
Tiffany let out a soft hiss. “T-two, Sir. May I please have another?”
The next one was aimed at her left sit spot, where her thigh and cheek met. He continued to pepper her with strikes, moving randomly to a different spot on her upper legs and ass, while she counted and requested more. At number six, her voice began quivering, and she squirmed on his lap. He readjusted her. “Stay still, pet.”
“Ye-yes, S-Sir.”
By the ninth spank, she was sobbing. By the fourteenth, she could barely get the words out of her mouth as her body shook uncontrollably.
“What color are you, pet?”
“Ye-yell-ow, S-Sir,” she managed to squeak out.
Cordell stopped and gave her a few moments to collect herself. He rubbed her back and lower legs, knowing if he touched her ass and thighs it would cause her more pain than she was already experiencing. Punishments like this were not his favorite part of BDSM, but they were necessary for many subs. It was how they processed what they’d done wrong and learned to control any behavior that jeopardized their health or wellbeing. Once the ordeal was over, he would wipe the slate clean, move them forward, and not dwell on what had caused the need for the punishment in the first place. “Easy, girl. You’re almost done. Six more to go. Let me know when you’re green.”
She hesitated a few seconds before whispering, “I-I’m green, S-Sir.”
“I’ll make them fast. You don’t need to count.”
“Th-thank you, Sir.”
Without pausing, Cordell finished dispensing the punishment. After the last strike, he lifted her up in his arms, turned around, and laid her face down on the couch. As she bawled loudly into her hands, he stroked her hair. “Easy, pet. It’s all over. Stay there while I get some ointment.”
Her only response was a few nods of her head. God, he hated seeing her like that, however, she’d needed it as much as he had. But it was over now, and they could move on. After he soothed her burning ass and thighs with Arnica ointment, and she regained her composure, he’d reward her for taking the punishment like a trooper.
Keeping an eye on her, he stepped over to a nearby cabinet and retrieved a tube of the topical medicine. The OTC ointment was commonly used by those in the BDSM lifestyle to ease muscular pain and stiffness, as well as to reduce swelling and bruising due to impact play. Returning to Tiffany’s side, he perched on the edge of the couch next to her waist and began to apply the ointment. She gasped at the first touch, then took in a deep, shuddering breath and held it for a moment.
Cordell gently massaged the Arnica into every inch of flesh he’d reddened during the spanking. By tomorrow, Tiffany would be able to sit somewhat comfortably, even though her ass would still be sore enough to remind her of what she’d done wrong. “Better, pet?”
“Y-yes, Sir.” Her voice was stronger than it had been a few minutes ago.
“Good. Are you green for a scene?”
“I-I think so. What did you have in mind, Sir?”
He chuckled at the wariness in her voice. “Nothing that has to do with your ass or thighs, pet. I promise you’ll be in subspace soon, forgetting all about your punishment. Sound good?”
Turning her head, she gave him a watery smile. “That sounds very good, Sir. Thank you.”
Her ass was on fire. And, truth be told, her pussy was wet and wanting. It had been ever since Sir had asked if she wanted to play after applying the ointment to her reddened skin. God, what was it about this man? She could never get aroused after one of Bruce’s punishments, although, he’d never been tender afterward like Sir always was. Also, once she’d moved in with Bruce, he’d rarely oversaw her aftercare unless they were in the club where the staff tried to keep a close eye on all play. Whenever they’d played at home, she’d always needed to take care of herself after scenes. Whether she hit subspace or not—most of the time it was the latter—it was often hard to self-administer aftercare depending on the type of play that’d been involved. Before she’d left Bruce, it’d been close to a year since she’d gotten a euphoric high from one of their scenes. Thankfully, Sir had managed to override her belief that she couldn’t get into subspace anymore. Cordell Roberts was a master at getting a woman’s body to sing—pun intended.
When Sir held out his hand, she let him help her up from the couch. She followed him over to a modified massage table that was standing upright at the moment. Once a submissive was strapped to the table, the Dom could tilt it so the sub could be placed in a variety of angles, with either their head or feet higher than the other, or lay them completely flat. Part of the table, where the sub’s legs would go, was split down the middle and could be separated, spreading the sub’s legs apart.
“Strip, then stand in front of the table and relax for a few moments, pet, while I collect some things for our scene.”
“Yes, Sir.”
While Sir rifled through his toy bag and several cabinets and drawers on the opposite side of the room, Tiffany quickly shed her clothes, folded them, then placed them on the couch. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she got her emotions back under control and the last of her tears had disappeared as she took her place in front of the table. She sniffled and realized she needed to blow her nose. “Permission to get a tissue, Sir.”
Without turning around, he replied, “Granted.”
On a nearby table, there was a stash of items a Dom or sub might need before, during, or after a scene, including condoms, baby wipes, and a box of Puffs. Tiffany snatched two tissues and blew her nose as quietly as possible. She hated when people honked so loudly everyone in the room turned to stare at them. A quick peek in a nearby mirror on the wall revealed no stray boogers were in view, so she tossed the tissues into the room’s garbage pail and returned to the massage table to await whatever Sir had in store for her.
Sir faced her, holding a set of headphones and a blindfold. A shiver coursed through her. Whatever he was planning didn’t include her ability to hear or see. She’d never lost both senses when playing before.
“I’m going to push a few of your limits tonight, pet. What’s your safeword?” When she responded, “red,” he stalked forward. “Eyes closed.”
Biting her bottom lip, she did as ordered and sensed when he came to a stop in front of her. She could hear his soft breathing, the cracking of his leather pants and vest as he moved, and the faint thumping of the music from behind the room’s closed door.
The first thing he did was put the blindfold over her eyes and secured it with a Velcro strap behind her head. Next came the bulky headphones over her ears. There was a click, as he activated the noise reduction switch, and then there was nothing but silence. Without her sight and hearing, she began to panic, but Sir ran his hands up and down her arms, then kneaded her shoulders. His lips brushed over her forehead, and the tension and fear ebbed from her body.
This was Sir, not Bruce. This was a man who’d showed her nothing but kindness and understanding. She could trust him with her body and mind but, unfortunately, not her heart. She couldn’t trust anyone with that. Not anymore. Anytime she’d ever given a man her love, eventually, it had been tossed aside like a piece of garbage. It’d started with her father and then had happened again with several of the men her mother had dated or married. Tiffany had stopped trying to get close to any of them, knowing there would come a time when they left for good, only to be replaced by someone new. That same self-preservation had carried over into her own relationships when she started dating. Usually, she was the one to end things before the guy had a chance to. But that had been before she’d discovered the BDSM lifestyle and had met Bruce, who she’d misjudged horribly. She’d taken a risk by opening her heart to him. It had been the worst thing she could’ve done, and she was still paying for that mistake.
Keeping one hand on her arm, grounding her, Sir did something behind her then urged her to
step backward. When she made contact with the soft leather mat covering the table, there had been something else placed in the area where her ass and thighs rested. She recognized it as one of the towels that were in every room for the members’ use. More than once, Tiffany had wondered what detergent they washed the towels in because the fabric was softer than she could ever get her own towels at home to be, no matter how many fabric softeners she used.
While the towel still irritated her tender skin, it was better than sticking to the leather. Quickly and efficiently, Sir slipped her wrists and ankles into the attached restraints before wrapping a strap around her torso, then checked to make certain they weren’t too tight or too loose. Once she was secure, the table began to tilt backward. She gasped at the sudden weightless feeling before her body adjusted to the sensation. It kept moving, until it went past being parallel to the floor, then stopped when her head was lower than her feet, but not to where she felt she would slide off headfirst. Blood rushed to her head, making her slightly dizzy.
The entire time, at least one of Sir’s hands had been touching her, but now she felt their loss. The panic began to return. What if he left her there, naked and restrained?
“S-Sir?” While her own voice was muffled due to the noise cancellation feature, she still heard it, which meant she’d probably screamed it.
The headphone on her left ear was gently lifted, so she could hear again. “I haven’t left you, pet. I promise I would never leave you helpless like this. Relax and let me know when you’re good to go.”
Again, she was pulled back from the edge of hysteria, Sir’s soothing tone and words settling her down. “Yes, Sir. S-sorry. I-I’m green.”
Master Key Resort: A Novella Page 5
