BDSM Connections - The Complete 4 Novel Series

by Claire Thompson

  Rylee yawned suddenly, reminding Taggart again of how exhausted he was, too. He cupped the back of Rylee’s head, gently pressing it back to his chest. Reaching out with his free arm, he turned off the lamp.

  “Let’s sleep now, sweet girl. In the morning, we begin.”

  ~*~

  Rylee opened her eyes, the sensual dream she’d been caught up in evaporating as the deep, gravelly voice penetrated her consciousness, though the dream’s lingering eroticism remained.

  “Wake up, R. Get on your knees and suck my cock.”

  Instantly awake, Rylee rolled from the bed to the floor. Taggart stood naked before her, his large, thick cock fully erect. She reached eagerly for his shaft and balls, but Taggart stopped her with his words.

  “No. Hands behind your back. Just use your mouth.”

  Rylee crossed her arms behind her back and gripped each forearm with the opposite hand as she leaned forward to take the fat head of Taggart’s cock between her lips.

  As she slid her mouth over his shaft, the long vein on the underside of his cock pulsed against her tongue. His hand touched the back of her head, exerting gentle but firm pressure as he held her in place, the crown of his cock lodged at the back of her throat.

  Rylee’s nipples tingled, her cunt swollen and wet. She couldn’t breathe and the helpless feeling thrilled her.

  When he released the pressure on the back of her head, she pulled back far enough to draw in a breath before plunging forward once more. As she licked and sucked Taggart’s shaft, she had to resist the urge to cup his balls and grasp the base of his shaft with her hands. Instead, she tightened her grip on her arms.

  It wasn’t long before Taggart’s breathing quickened, a small moan pulled from his lips. Rylee thrilled to his reaction, savoring the power of pleasing this strong, sexy man.

  He gripped her head again, this time using both hands, one on either side of her face. He pulled her toward him, impaling her with his cock, again holding her in that position for several seconds, her windpipe blocked, her heart beating furiously in her chest and pulsing at her temples.

  Still keeping his hands on either side of her head, he began to thrust in and out, fucking her mouth with his cock, taking control of the process away from her. All Rylee could do was keep her mouth open, her body upright, her arms behind her back, as Taggart took his pleasure.

  All at once, he stiffened. A moment later, he spurted in several warm streams against the back of her throat, his body convulsing in a series of small spasms.

  He remained as he was for several long moments, his cock still heavy and hard against Rylee’s tongue before finally dropping his hands from her head. He took a step back, pulling his cock from her lips.

  Reaching out his arms, he bent down and pulled Rylee to her feet. “You may lower your arms, R,” he said a little breathlessly. “You have pleased me.”

  He pulled her into an embrace, and Rylee wrapped her arms around his broad, strong back, surprised at how warm and happy his statement made her.

  As he held her, she became more acutely aware of the throb in her nipples and cunt. Could a sub ask to be fucked?

  She recalled his words the night before about only speaking when spoken to, and doubted her question would be well-received, no matter how sexually frustrated she was at the moment. Instead, she took a step back toward the bed, attempting to pull Taggart with her, hoping to fall back onto the mattress with him on top of her.

  To her dismay, he didn’t move. Instead, he dropped his arms and pulled away from her embrace. “Stop that,” he said quietly. “You don’t run this show, R. Not this week.”

  Heat washed over Rylee’s cheeks as Taggart stepped away from her and walked to the bedroom door. “Go wash up. Don’t get dressed. Meet me in the dungeon.” He turned to leave the room, but then turned back. “Oh, and bring your fuck-me heels.”

  Chapter 10

  Taggart stood at the back counter in the dungeon, arranging the items he had selected for Rylee’s first day of training. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a woman in his dungeon at this hour of the morning. On the rare occasion when he brought a girl home for private play, it was usually late at night, and someone he only knew from Hardcore or had met at one of his whipping demonstrations. Had he made a mistake in inviting her to stay?

  At the sound of footsteps, Taggart turned around. Rylee stood just inside the doorway, an uncertain expression on her face. She was naked, as instructed, her damp hair combed back from her face, a pair of shoes with pointy toes and spiked heels dangling from her hand.

  A jolt of pleasure shot through him at the sight of her, even though he’d just seen her a few minutes before.

  When she saw him looking at her, she smiled, her cheeks dimpling, her turquoise eyes sparkling. As Taggart tumbled into that smile, any lingering doubts vanished. He couldn’t wait to get started.

  “Come in, R. Place the shoes there by the mat, and get on your knees,” he directed, pointing to a small, thick yoga pad he had placed near the entrance of the dungeon.

  He watched as she lowered herself onto the mat. “Kneel up is the first position I want you to learn. Every time you enter the dungeon, you will immediately kneel on that pad while you wait for me to give you instructions. You have the basic concept down already, but I want you to spread your knees wider and rest your arms on your thighs, palms up, fingers relaxed. Make sure your back is straight and your shoulders are back.”

  He waited a moment as Rylee shifted to assume the position. He admired her long, lean muscles and flat stomach. Her breasts were full and round, and he wondered if her father had disapproved of this blatant manifestation of pure femininity. It bothered him that this man had dumped his thwarted expectations and disappointments onto his daughter.

  Taggart’s father weaved drunkenly into the back of his mind, and Taggart, annoyed, banished him at once.

  He approached Rylee with the collar he had selected for her. It was a simple black leather training collar with four O-rings embedded along its perimeter and a Velcro closure at the back. He could already imagine the turquoise-blue collar he would fashion for her if he ever claimed her as his own. The thought startled him, and he shook it away.

  He crouched in front of Rylee. “Lift up your hair. I’m going to put this collar on you now. You will leave it on at all times while you’re in this house, except when you shower or if I direct you otherwise.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Rylee said. She lifted her hair from her neck.

  Taggart stood and regarded her. “It suits you,” he remarked. “The O-rings will come in handy for restraining you.”

  Her eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.

  Taggart went back to the counter and returned to Rylee with a small canvas tote bag containing a pair of leather ankle cuffs with clips attached, a one-foot length of chain, a set of alligator nipple clamps and a four-foot leather dog leash.

  “Stand up, R,” he directed. “You may drop your arms to your sides.”

  He watched with amusement as she bounded to her feet. “We’ll work on grace of movement when we do positions training,” he remarked dryly.

  A look of indignation threatened briefly on Rylee’s face, but to her credit, she managed to wipe it away.

  “Before you start your tasks, we’ll have some breakfast.”

  Taggart pulled the leash from the bag and reached for the O-ring at Rylee’s throat. He clipped the leash in place. “Put on the heels.”

  Rylee appeared about to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. She stepped carefully into the shoes, one at a time.

  She looked incredibly hot naked in those heels and collar. She would look even hotter in the cuffs, chain and clamps.

  A worried look passed over her face and she caught her lower lip with her teeth.

  “What is it?” Taggart asked. “Is something wrong?”

  Rylee wobbled a little. “I’m not very good at walking in these things,” she said, holding out both arms now a
s if she were on a tightrope. “Sneakers are more my speed, uh, Sir.”

  Taggart suppressed a smile. “I can see that. But it pleases me to have you wear them right now. You’ll need to be mindful of how you walk and move while in the heels. Even when I’m not watching you, I want you to imagine that I am. That means you carry yourself proudly, as a submissive should. You endure the erotic discomfort of wearing those very high heels as a sign that you are willing and eager to suffer for me. Not because it turns you on, though if it does that’s fine—since you have to know you look as sexy as hell in nothing but heels and a slave collar—but because it pleases me. Do you understand?”

  Rylee, still biting her lip, nodded hesitantly.

  “R,” Taggart said sternly. “I asked you a direct question. You will answer with a proper reply.”

  Rylee’s eyes widened again. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

  “Good.”

  Slipping the handles of the tote bag over his arm, Taggart picked up the end of the leash and gave it a gentle tug. He led Rylee slowly out of the room and through the house toward the kitchen. He had already put the coffee on, and the welcoming scent of the freshly ground beans greeted them as they stepped into the room.

  He led Rylee toward the table. She started to slide onto one of the benches, but Taggart stopped her with a sharp tug of the leash.

  “Remain standing until I tell you,” he said.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, a crestfallen look moving over her face. “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m not very good at this.”

  Taggart smiled and reached to stroke her cheek. “That’s okay, R. That’s why it’s called training. Just pay attention and do the best you can.”

  He unclipped Rylee’s leash and set it, along with the canvas tote, on the table. He pointed to the cushion he’d placed on the floor for the purpose. “Kneel up on that cushion. You may remove your shoes first.”

  Rylee took off her shoes, again executing an amusing balancing act in the process. Taggart waited until she had lowered herself to the floor, spread her knees and placed her hands, palms up, on her thighs.

  Satisfied, he walked over to the counter, looking back at the kneeling girl as he asked, “How do you like your coffee?”

  “Cream and one Equal,” Rylee replied, adding after a beat, “Sir.”

  Taggart decided not to call her on the hesitation. She was already doing better than he had expected. He pulled two mugs from the cabinet, poured and prepared their coffee and brought it to the table, sipping his as he walked.

  He perched on the bench nearest to her and held her mug to her lips, tilting it until she was able to take a sip. He gave her a second sip, and then lifted his own mug for a long swallow of the strong brew.

  “More?” he asked.

  “Yes, please, Sir,” she replied, licking her upper lip with her tongue in a way he found incredibly sexy.

  He held the mug to her lips, allowing her to drink the entire cup before asking, “What would you like for breakfast? We still have a couple of those croissants from yesterday. I have fresh berries and yogurt in the fridge, or I could make some eggs.”

  “Fruit and yogurt sounds good, Sir,” Rylee said. She fidgeted on the cushion and Taggart could sense her desire to move—to get up, to do things for herself.

  He stood and reached for the tote. “You seem a little antsy,” he remarked. “I’m going to help you focus. A submissive needs to learn patience and grace.” He pulled the alligator clips from the bag and reached for Rylee’s right nipple.

  Pulling the nipple taut, he positioned the rubber-tipped ends of one of the clips at its base and twisted the little screw to tighten it just enough to keep it in place. The focus was not on causing her pain, but on heightening her awareness. He did the same to the second nipple. Straightening, he took a step back, admiring her nipples caught in the clips, and the way the chain hung between her beautiful breasts.

  Stepping closer once more, he tugged lightly on the chain.

  Rylee winced but otherwise remained still.

  “Sweet,” Taggart murmured, enjoying both the beautiful sight of the naked girl and the fact she was suffering, if just a little, for him.

  He retrieved plain yogurt and berries from the refrigerator and prepared a generous portion for two in a large cereal bowl, stirring in honey for sweetness. Grabbing a spoon, he returned to the table and sat down.

  He gave Rylee the first bite.

  “Hmm,” she murmured appreciatively as she chewed.

  He alternated, feeding first her, then himself, until the bowl was empty. As he fed her, a sense of tenderness wove itself between and around his sadistic, dominant impulses. He wanted to take care of this woman—to nurture and protect her as he took her on this submissive journey.

  Eager to get started with her first task, he asked, “Did you have enough? Would you like some more, or anything else?”

  “No, thank you, Sir. That was delicious.”

  Taggart took the dishes to the sink. He went to the pantry and pulled out the broom and dustpan, the mop and the bucket that contained rags and cleaning supplies. He brought them to where Rylee knelt. She eyed the stuff, but said nothing.

  “Stand up, as gracefully as you can,” he instructed.

  This time Rylee moved more slowly as she lifted herself upright on those long, strong legs, her eyes fixed on Taggart.

  “Much better,” Taggart said, impressed. “Now, put the heels back on.”

  She slipped her feet, one at a time, into the high heels, holding out an arm as she did so for balance. His cock pulsed as he watched her.

  He reached again for the canvas tote and crouched in front of her as he pulled out the restraints. He wrapped the cuffs around her ankles and attached the length of chain between the clips on either cuff. Standing, he took a step back to regard his handiwork.

  Collared, clipped, cuffed and chained, she was a living work of art, and Taggart, suddenly unable to control himself, reached for Rylee’s shoulder and turned her so her back was to his chest.

  Reaching around her naked body, he tweaked her compressed nipples, twisting them until she gasped. Releasing them, he cupped her cunt, savoring the damp heat against his palm. He could feel her small clit harden as he moved his fingers up and down her labia.

  She gasped again, this time from pleasure as he pushed his fingers into her wetness. Her cunt muscles clamped down on his fingers, and his cock gave an answering throb in his jeans. He wanted to throw her down right there on the kitchen table and fuck her hard, but he held himself back.

  First things first.

  He pulled his hand away and Rylee made a small, petulant mewling sound.

  “Control yourself, R,” Taggart admonished from behind her, though he was smiling. He reached for her shoulders, this time turning her back to face him.

  Her eyes were bright, her lips parted, her sweet, unspoken entreaty plain on her face. Her sexual arousal was as much an aphrodisiac as the leather and chain, and Taggart very nearly gave in to his desires.

  Instead, he blew out a cleansing breath and said, “Your first task this morning will be to do some household chores upstairs. You will make the bed, tidy the bedroom and thoroughly clean the bathroom. When you’re done, you will come find me in the workshop.

  “The goal in having you clean isn’t about me getting a free housekeeper,” he added. “It’s about helping you get in touch with the service aspect of your submission. The heels, nipple clamps and hobble chain are designed to keep you mindful of your position as my submissive. Any questions?”

  Rylee furrowed her brow. “How do I know I’m doing it right? The cleaning, I mean.”

  “Just do your best. If there are any issues, I’ll be sure to let you know when I conduct the inspection.”

  ~*~

  Taggart left Rylee alone in the kitchen. She tottered toward the supplies. It was hard to walk in the hobble chain and heels, but she had to admit she felt sexy in the getup, and the clamps only added to her arousal. The cl
ips on her nipples were tight enough to get her attention, but not so tight she couldn’t tolerate them.

  Taggart’s teasing had nearly reduced her to begging, pleading, even demanding that he fuck her then and there. She’d bitten down on her lower lip so hard to keep from giving voice to her need that she’d actually broken the skin. She licked at the tiny wound, tasting the salty iron of her blood.

  Her nipples hurt in a good way and her cunt ached to be filled. She dropped her hand to her freshly shaven mons and lightly touched the hard, throbbing marble of her clit. “No,” she told herself softly, pulling her hand away. “He said no.”

  With renewed resolve, she bent and retrieved the supplies, tucking the broom and mop under one arm and then grabbing the bucket. Walking with careful, mincing steps, she clicked her way down the hall toward the stairs.

  At the base of the stairs, she toyed with the idea of removing her heels just long enough to climb the steep steps. She glanced back toward the open door of the workshop and then back at the stairs.

  Taggart’s earlier words floated into her mind: Even when I’m not watching you, I want you to imagine that I am.

  She left the heels on her feet.

  She moved up the stairs one step at a time, the hobble chain clinking as it hit the wooden treads. At the top, she silently congratulated herself on not tripping and falling in a heap to the bottom.

  She shuffled toward the bedroom, moving into the bathroom to set down her supplies. Returning to the bedroom, she made the bed, walking awkwardly around it in the heels and chain as she smoothed and straightened the bedding and plumped the pillows.

  After dusting the surfaces in the otherwise already clean room, she made her way back to the bathroom, cleaning the shower, sweeping, mopping and wiping down the counter, the sink and the marvelous antique tub with its brass eagle talons clutching brass balls for feet. She scrubbed the toilet and mopped around the base of the commode since Taggart was, after all, a guy.

  Nearly finished, she stopped in front of the mirror over the sink and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were fever bright and her cheeks were flushed, as if she’d just had an orgasm, instead of cleaned someone’s bathroom. Her clamped nipples were dark red, numb now in the grip of the clips, and her clit still ached between her legs.