Lowering her arms, Shea placed her hand in his. His hand was cool and firm. Hers, by contrast, was sweaty with nerves. As they walked to the cross, she hoped she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
The cross was made of dark, polished wood with leather straps set at strategic intervals. “Lift your arms to the cuffs at the top of the X and stand with your feet shoulder-width apart,” Steve instructed.
Shea did as she was told, extending her arms fully along the smooth wood. A jolt of excitement coursed through her body as he closed the leather and Velcro cuffs around each wrist. Though bondage had not figured largely in her fantasies, she couldn’t deny the sweet, dark thrill of being held captive in this way, bound and at the mercy of another.
She swiveled her head to follow Steve as he walked away from her and toward a long rack filled with various whips, floggers, paddles and canes. He selected a very large flogger with dozens of long, thick leather tresses.
“This one is suede,” he said as he ran the tresses through his fingers in a seductive way. “It doesn’t sting as much as some of the others. I think you’ll like it.”
Shea tried to focus on his face instead of the huge flogger in his hands.
“For this exercise, I want you to close your eyes and relax. I want you to focus on the sensations of the leather against your skin. I know your safeword is zirconium. I don’t expect you to use it, but I want you to know that I’m aware of it. This is really just an exercise. As I did with the spanking the other night, I’m going to start lightly and then slowly increase the intensity of my stroke. All I want you to do is accept the lash. Embrace whatever you’re feeling. Don’t try to censor yourself or stay quiet or tough your way through something that doesn’t feel right.”
He touched her shoulder. “You’re doing really well so far.”
“Thank you, Sir Stephen,” she whispered, her heart hurtling against her ribcage.
He stepped behind her. Using both his hands, he massaged her shoulders, kneading away some of the bunched tension in her muscles. Then he leaned closer, his mouth near her ear. “Close your eyes. I’m going to whip you now, Shea.”
She made an involuntary sound, something between a moan and a squeak. She closed her eyes.
The tresses landed lightly against her ass. They were soft, the stroke just a caress—it felt good. The second stroke landed a little harder, a slap of silky leather against her skin. He did this several times in a row, and Shea relaxed, un-curling her fingers and taking deep breaths to slow her rapidly beating heart.
The flogging began to intensify, the leather striking with a distinctive whacking sound that was at once arousing and unnerving. She was being whipped! It was like those online videos on the training site, except those weren’t real, were they? This was real. Authentic. Maybe the most authentic thing she had ever done in her life.
He began to flog her up and down her back, stroking between her shoulder blades, thwacking her lower back, whipping in a stinging caress along her sides. Then came a thundering crash of leather against both ass cheeks.
Shea emitted a startled cry, her body tensing for another blow. It came quickly, a dozen stinging leather snakes striking her skin and leaving lines of fire in their wake. Sweat broke out on her upper lip and beneath her arms. Her heart was beating in triple time, her breathing ragged and uneven.
She felt a presence in front of her. Opening her eyes, she saw Zach standing there, his expression kind. He stroked her cheek, pushing the hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ears. “Slow your breathing,” he counseled. “I want you to embrace the pain instead of fighting it. Take it inside of you. Make it a part of you.”
Steve struck again, a stinging fury of tresses over the backs of her thighs. What the hell did that mean to embrace the pain, to make it a part of you? A human’s natural instinct was to avoid pain. And yet, on some level, on the level that bypassed her intellect and training, Shea instinctively understood what Zach meant.
She managed to whisper breathlessly, “Yes, Master Zach.”
The flogger moved up and down her back, the focus primarily on her ass. Each stroke was hard now, stinging against increasingly tender flesh. It hurt. Oh, oh, oh, it hurt. She wanted to be good and strong and brave, but it was too much. It was just too much.
“I can’t,” she cried suddenly. “It’s too much.”
“It’s just enough,” Steve said from behind her. “Five more, Shea. Take five more for me. I know you can do it.”
Just five more.
Yes. She could do it.
The flogger exploded against her ass in a shower of pain. One.
She began to dance involuntarily, twisting her body in a vain effort to avoid the lash. Two.
Her safeword formed on her lips, but she pressed them together. She would not give up. Three.
“Ah!” she cried out as the flogger struck between her shoulder blades. Four.
The last stroke curled around her side, the tips cruelly striking her right breast. Five.
She was trembling from head to foot, tears rolling down her cheeks, her chest heaving. But something else was happening too—a kind of wild, crazy, careening joy was lifting her nearly off her feet.
This was it. This was what had been missing all her life. This moment, the stinging, perfect stroke of the leather, the cuffs embracing her wrists, keeping her centered, the heady scent of her own arousal mingled with bay rum, lime and male musk.
She was connected—she was alive—she was no longer alone.
As she came back to herself, she saw that Zach and Steve stood on either side of her, each reaching up to release a wrist cuff. When she staggered back, Zach caught her in his arms and helped her walk toward the couch. Instead of allowing her to sit, however, he pushed her gently to her stomach along the length of it.
They had draped a white sheet over the cushions, and the cotton was cool and smooth beneath her overheated, sweaty body.
“Just rest a few minutes,” Zach said. “I’m going to smooth a little lotion onto your skin, more to relax you than anything. There are no marks, just some redness.”
Steve approached, a tube of something and a small towel in his hand.
He crouched on the floor beside Zach. With a happy sigh, Shea closed her eyes as two pairs of masculine hands moved over her, spreading something soothing and fragrant into her skin.
“Did I pass the audition?” she murmured sleepily.
“With flying colors,” Zach replied.
Chapter 4
“Wow, I didn’t realize it was so late,” Shea said, glancing at the wall clock over the kitchen sink. She and Steve were seated at the kitchen table, while Zach busied himself at the counter. Shea was again fully dressed, her hair pulled demurely back from her face.
Normally, they would have waited until a prospective trainee had left before making a decision about whether to take them on in a formal capacity, but this one was a no-brainer. As they’d rubbed salve into Shea’s heated skin, they’d exchanged a look and a nod over the prone girl that had said it all—let’s do this.
There was something about her—something so fresh and innocent, so completely without guile—that had captured Steve’s full attention. Usually he went for the hardcore masochists with zero limits—but there was just something about Shea, something he was surprisingly eager to explore.
Zach came to the table, carrying three glasses. “Fresh OJ,” he said. “Nothing better.”
“Thanks,” Shea said, accepting a glass. “I am thirsty.”
Zach handed Steve his and took a seat at the table. Lifting his glass to his lips, Zach swallowed the entire contents in one long gulp.
Steve, cupping his cold glass in both hands, watched Shea as she sipped her juice. She was staring into the middle distance, a dreamy expression on her face—the rosy, unfocused look of a satisfied lover, or, more accurately in this case, a well-used sub girl. She seemed lost in a daze, and Steve found himself wondering just what she was thinking about, but h
e didn’t want to disturb her reverie to find out.
“So, Shea,” Zach said, startling both Steve and Shea with his big, powerful baritone. “Let’s talk a little about what you experienced tonight. You clearly had a powerful reaction to the flogging. Is it what you were expecting?”
Shea blinked several times. The dreamy look faded as she focused on Zach’s face. “It was a fascinating experiment,” she replied in a professorial manner. She closed her eyes a moment as if retrieving data. Opening them again, she said, “The DSM-IV defines masochism as when the individual experiences recurrent, intense sexually arousing fantasies, sexual urges, or behaviors involving the act of being humiliated, beaten, bound, or otherwise made to suffer.
“I’ve always had trouble with that concept, even though I was undeniably attracted to BDSM. Especially when you add in the concept of sexual submission. I mean”—she looked from Zach to Steve, lifting her hands, palms up, for emphasis—“how do you reconcile conscious subjugation of your will—allowing yourself to become the passive object of another—with feminism and self-actualization? I’m just as good as, or better than, any man in my field, and yet…and yet the idea of erotic submission, the thrill of it, the rightness of it—I can’t deny it. Not after meeting the two of you. Not after what you’ve shown me so far.”
“I don’t know about all that,” Zach said with a shrug. “Seems to me what matters is how you actually feel, not how you think you’re supposed to feel.”
“I agree with Zach,” Steve said. “I don’t think there’s a conflict here, Shea, not once you get past all the fancy language.” While amused she had slipped once more behind her intellectual shield, he didn’t want her to retreat there for too long. “Submission is the very antithesis of passivity. In fact, it’s a supreme act of courage. What you did tonight—baring yourself for us—not only your body, but your fears and desires—and allowing yourself to be bound and flogged—that wasn’t the action of a passive, timid person. It was a courageous act. I know I speak for both of us when I say we’re very impressed with what we’ve seen so far.”
He glanced toward Zach, who nodded enthusiastically. “I guess the question now is, would you like to continue with us? Are you interested in more formalized training with Zach and me?”
The shining light had returned to Shea’s blue eyes. As he stared into them, Steve noticed the irises were ringed with gold. They were the most extraordinary eyes he had ever seen. He held his breath as he waited for her to answer, as he silently willed her to consent.
Shea didn’t keep them in suspense. “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed eagerly. Then, looking slightly embarrassed, she added in a softer tone, “Yes, please.”
“Hey, that’s great,” Zach said with such exuberance Steve had to smile. “Why don’t you text us tomorrow and we’ll figure out a schedule, okay?”
“Sounds good,” Shea agreed with a smile.
“Good.” Steve held up his glass. “To new adventures,” he said with a grin.
“Thank you,” Shea said. “Thanks for this chance.” She lifted her glass to touch his and then ducked her head as color began to seep over her cheeks. Setting down her glass, she pushed back in her chair and stood. Zach and Steve rose along with her.
“Do you know the way from here?” Zach asked as they walked her out through the garage and to her car.
“I’ll GPS it,” Shea said, holding up her phone. “Thank goodness for this thing. I get lost on the way to my apartment parking lot.” She clicked her key fob to unlock her car door. “Thanks again for tonight,” she said, looking first at Zach and then at Steve. “It was”—she paused, as if searching for the right word—“amazing.”
“You were great,” Zach said enthusiastically. “Next time,” he added, “be ready for anything.”
~*~
As they had been that night at Hardcore, the guys were wearing black leather pants and boots. Shea liked the contrast of Steve’s sun-streaked blond hair and very blue eyes against the silky black of his button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, the top unbuttoned at the throat to reveal his smooth, tan chest. He was at once elegant and devastatingly sexy. Zach wore only an open black leather vest, perfectly tailored over his broad back and shoulders. He had luxuriant, dark curling chest hair that tapered down past rippling abs, drawing her eye to his bulging crotch. The guy could have been a cover model for a romance novel.
“Uh-uh.” Steve placed a restraining hand on Shea’s shoulder as she started to enter the dungeon. “Trainees strip at the door unless otherwise directed.”
Shea froze. Yes, of course she knew she’d have to get naked again, but hadn’t realized it would be right off the bat. At least she would get to control the order of clothing removal this time.
It was seven o’clock on Wednesday evening, and Shea had spent every waking and most of her sleeping hours since she’d left their dungeon on Monday night anticipating this moment. She’d been too jittery to eat much, not even the hidden stashes of ice cream and cookies she kept on hand for emergencies. She had been subsisting on coffee and apples, her stomach tied in knots.
Work had actually been a saving grace—giving her something to focus on so she wouldn’t jump out of her skin with nerves as she veered between thrilled excitement and dubious anxiety about what she was signing up for. She’d come in very early and stayed late, so now she was actually ahead of the game—her big project completed, save for some last tweaks to the formulation.
She’d left work that afternoon at five, ignoring Jeff’s sarcastic comment of, “Where you headed off to in such a rush? Got a big date?” and then his guffawing laugh, as if such a thing were remote in the extreme. Imagine his shock if he knew where she was actually going?
She’d taken a long shower, carefully grooming every inch of her body and deep conditioning her hair. It had taken her forever to select an outfit, the entire contents of her wardrobe scattered across her bed by the time she was done. In the end, she chose the first thing she’d put on—a pair of tailored black pants that a salesperson had once assured her gave her a slim line, and a simple cream-colored button-down blouse so she wouldn’t have to pull anything over her head. She’d even sprung for a second lacy bra and panties set at Victoria’s Secret during her lunch break the day before, spending way more than she should have on a sexy push-up bra that made her breasts look like two cantaloupes on a plate, but which the saleslady had assured her would be the envy of every woman and the object of lust of every man in any room she walked into.
Shea wasn’t entirely comfortable at the thought of being such an object of scrutiny, until she reminded herself the only room she’d be walking into in this bra was Zach and Steve’s dungeon.
Master Zach and Sir Stephen.
She’d masturbated herself to sleep Monday and Tuesday night with those words on her lips, as wild, new scenarios involving the two guys superseded her old and, she now realized, much worn previous erotic fantasies.
“Fold your clothing neatly and place it in the cubbies there beside the door,” Steve continued, pointing to a tall, narrow shelf comprised of four wooden cubes stacked one on top of the other. “You can leave your purse there, too. Oh, that reminds me,” he added. “Did you bring your medical record?”
Shea reached into her bag and pulled out the envelope with the copy of her last physical and the results of her most recent comprehensive blood work. When they’d scheduled the session, they’d asked if she could bring what she had. She understood this was a natural precaution, and indeed, approved of it. After all, they were going to touch her in intimate ways—the thought sent a tremor of thrilled terror and delight through her—and they needed to know she was healthy and not somehow contagious.
Steve took the envelope and opened it, while Zach, who had already entered the dungeon ahead of them, handed Shea two pieces of paper. She took the pages, which were printed on official-looking stationary from a doctor’s office and attested to Zach’s and Steve’s clean bills of health.
<
br /> Barely able to focus on the information, she gave it a cursory glance and handed the pages back to Zach, aware she could no longer put off the inevitable. After placing her purse in the top cubby, she slipped out of her flats and put them in the bottom cubby.
She took a deep, cleansing breath and blew it out slowly. Reminding herself they’d already seen her naked and hadn’t run screaming for the hills, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse. Before taking it all the way off, however, she unzipped her pants to eliminate any possible fat roll issue.
She removed the blouse, letting it fall from her shoulders, both pleased and slightly alarmed by their admiring, openly lustful gazes at her breasts, lifted and offered in very expensive satin and lace cut so low it barely covered her nipples. Hands only trembling slightly, she folded the blouse and placed it carefully in the cubby just below her purse.
Next came the pants, which she pushed down her legs, trying to suck in her gut as much as possible as she bent forward and stepped out of them. She put them on top of the blouse and turned again to face the guys.
“Bra and panties,” Steve said brusquely. “And that barrette thing, too. We will put your hair up as necessary during bondage, but that will be our decision.”
Bondage.
A shiver of anticipation moved through Shea as she reached for her barrette and released the catch that held it closed. She ran her fingers through her thick, unruly hair and tried to push it away from her face, but then gave up. At least it was shiny and clean. She placed the barrette beside her purse.
Finally, and again reminding herself they’d already seen the worst, she reached back and unclasped her bra, letting it fall forward as she slipped the satin straps from her shoulders. Her heavy breasts bounced free.
Her mouth was dry, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth as she tried to swallow. Heart pounding, she pushed the tiny panties down her legs. With trembling hands, she shoved her underthings into a cubby. Finally turning to face the trainers, she tried to breathe, aware her face was turning tomato-red as heat washed over her cheeks like scalding water.
BDSM Connections - The Complete 4 Novel Series Page 45
