BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  “Oh, gosh. Right!” Mark could hear the chagrin in Katie’s voice. She leaned close to his ear, the spanking halted for the moment, which was just fine with him. “Slave Mark,” she said softly, “how are you doing? Are you remembering to breathe? To flow with the pain?”

  “I’m trying, Mistress,” he answered honestly. “This is new for me. Thank you for reminding me.”

  “You’re welcome, slave boy.”

  Mark smiled at the incongruity of sweet, submissive Katie referring to him as her slave boy, though he managed to hold his grin at bay until she was again behind him.

  The smile fell away when her hard palm cracked once more on his now quite tender flesh. It took concentration not to cry out, but he was determined to remain silent and stoic—to take it like a true sub.

  When she finally stopped, she demanded breathlessly, “Thank me, slave.”

  “Thank you, Mistress Katie,” Mark replied somewhat breathlessly himself.

  The flogger was next, and the sensation was almost pleasant when compared with the sharp, hard sting of Katie’s palm. The flogger was a long-handled suede model, ideal for an introductory flogging. She was wielding it in a steady, swinging motion that was more sensual than painful, and Mark began to relax beneath its onslaught. His cock actually rose in response to the erotic pain, rubbed pleasurably against the leather horse with each thuddy stroke. He nearly protested when she stopped, but caught himself in time.

  “Thank me,” she demanded once more, and he did.

  The cane was another story.

  Though she began with the traditional light tapping to acclimate the skin, he wasn’t ready when the first searing stroke sliced across the top of his ass just below the tailbone. It fucking hurt!

  That’s the point, he could almost hear himself say aloud, which was what he would have said to a protesting sub if they’d voiced their complaint. The second and third strokes landed with better aim, catching him across the fleshier part of his ass, though the cut was still biting and quite painful. Without the overlay of masochistic hardwiring that made such an experience easier to bear, Mark found himself clenching his fists once more. Though Katie appeared too focused on her task to notice, Mark recognized in himself that he was taking the pain in and failing to release it—to let it go, as he so easily counseled his submissives.

  “Breathe,” Katie said, stopping a moment to place her hand comfortingly on the back of his neck. “You can do this. You’re doing so well, slave Mark. I’m so proud of you.”

  Mark realized he had, indeed, been holding his breath. He let it out and drew in several calming breaths as she lightly massaged his neck with cool, strong fingers.

  But she wasn’t done yet. Once more the cane sliced in a line of fire against his ass and thighs. “Stop resisting and give yourself over to the process. Embrace the pain. Become one with it.” Struggling to obey, Mark imagined a huge wave coming at him and, instead of stiffening and holding his breath as it crashed over him, he dove into it, seeking to ride it, to let it lift him high in its powerful arms.

  “Yes. That’s it.” Mark was dimly aware of a feminine voice behind him, though he was no longer sure if it was Marjorie or Katie. “Better. Much better.”

  He could still hear the steady, whistling thwack of the cane as it struck his flesh. He could still feel its sharp, insistent bite. But it no longer hurt. Or, no, that wasn’t right. It hurt, but the hurt was bearable. No, it was more than that. The hurt was good. It was necessary. He was riding it now, rather than drowning in panic beneath its undertow. It was lifting him, carrying him, pushing him forward and then…he was soaring, his arms spread wide, his heart lighter than it had ever been, his spirit free…free…free…

  “Mark? Master Mark, er, slave boy, Sir? Are you okay?”

  Mark slowly opened his eyes. Katie was crouching in front of him, her face twisted with concern. “Oh, phew,” she said, blowing out a breath as she pushed her springy curls from her face. “You had me worried there for a second, Sir, uh, slave boy.” She grinned. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  A slow smile lifted Mark’s lips. The sense of utter peace was still there, though amused surprise was now pushing it to the side. “What happened?” he echoed, his smile widening into a grin. “Why, Mistress Katie, I do believe you made me fly!”

  Chapter 13

  Jaime hadn’t been able to stop herself from staring as the Masters had stripped in front of them. None of the four had seemed the slightest bit self-conscious about shucking their clothing. Julian was shaven smooth, and sported piercings in his nipples and cock matching those of his slave boy, Hans. Anthony’s chest hair was silver like the hair on his head, though his pubic hair remained dark. Lawrence’s chest was smooth, his body wiry but muscular, his flaccid cock quite large for his body, over heavy balls.

  But it was Mark who had captured and held Jaime’s surreptitious attention the longest. He had the long, lean muscles of a natural athlete, his chest hair curling in a dark, sexy V at his sternum and tapering down his flat abs toward his cock and balls. He had those indenting lines on either hip, like a statue of a Greek god, and Jaime wanted to run her hands along the perfect curves and planes of his body in the worst way. She focused instead on his tattoos—one that looked like a piece of Shibari rope running in a circle around his left bicep, the other a small single tail whip, curling around his right hip. She realized she was clenching her fists at her sides in her thwarted desire, and forced herself to relax her fingers and let go of her fantasies.

  As the temporary sub boys and Mistresses made their way to their assigned stations, Jaime’s position at the rear of the dungeon obscured her view of Master Mark and Katie. That was just as well. It would be easier to ignore her pangs of jealousy and focus on the task at hand—assisting Lucia in dominating the inimitable Master Anthony.

  Jaime wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about this whole Sadie Hawkins concept. In a way, it didn’t feel correct to dominate the Masters, and yet she understood the need to be prepared to serve as a part-time Domme, should her Master or Mistress require it. Beyond that, she recognized the process reminded everyone at The Enclave that the dynamic of Master, Mistress and slave was a fully consensual and sometimes fluid arrangement.

  Turning to Jaime, Lucia asked, “Do you know what this is?” She pointed to a steel apparatus, which was painted a shiny black. Beside it was a tray set on the ground with various cuffs, clips and clamps, along with a small single tail whip and a riding crop. Next to the tray was a large wooden block.

  “Some kind of restraint?” Jaime offered, eyeing the torture device, which consisted of a platform, about two feet square, with a sturdy, adjustable rod rising to about waist height from the center, metal ankle cuffs at the base of the rod, a vise at its top. She glanced at Master Anthony. “Uh, for guys,” she added, marveling at Master Anthony’s calm expression since, presumably, Lucia was planning to place him in this contraption.

  “Yes, restraint and also torture,” Lucia agreed with a devilish smile, her eyes also flickering toward Master Anthony. “It’s called a cock and ball crusher, and with good reason.” Her smile widened as Master Anthony grimaced slightly.

  “We’re going to give Master, uh, slave Anthony a taste of erotic suffering this morning.” Turning to address him directly, Lucia added, “It can be quite freeing, as you’ve taught me. The goal is both to transcend the pain, and to harness it, to take its power inside of you.”

  Master Anthony smiled as if to say touché, and Lucia grinned, something sparking between them that Jaime couldn’t quite define. “Slave boy,” Lucia continued, “position your ankles in the open cuffs.” As Master Anthony moved to obey, Lucia explained to Jaime, “The ankle cuffs are adjustable, and so is the rod. ” She crouched in front of Master Anthony and adjusted the rod’s height until she was satisfied. She reached for his shaft with one small hand, his balls with the other, and pulled his genitals forward into the vise.

  Jaime bit her lip in sympathy as Luc
ia slowly tightened the vise by turning the wing nuts on either side, catching Master Anthony’s cock and balls between the metal bars. “Does it hurt?” she asked him, looking up from her vantage point.

  “A little, Mistress,” Master Anthony replied calmly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Lucia offered another impish grin. “I could make this a lot more interesting by having him stand on the balls of his feet. Then I might adjust the vise so it would hurt like hell if he got lazy or tired and let his feet go down flat.” She drew a fingernail along the curve of Master Anthony’s balls, her dark eyes sparkling. Normally so quiet and submissively self-contained, Lucia was clearly enjoying her newfound, if temporary, role as Mistress. “But given the limited time and nature of the session, we’ll introduce erotic pain in other, more direct ways. The crusher, today, is primarily to keep our slave boy in position and focused.”

  Jaime glanced at Master Anthony’s face to see how he was handling all this. He still looked calm, though a small muscle jumped at his jaw, making Jaime wonder if he were clenching his teeth. Having your cock and balls caught in a vise, even for the most diehard masochist, had to be a definite limit pusher.

  Lucia stood and stepped back, her nipples erect beneath the sheer silk of her camisole. “Hands behind your back, slave boy,” she ordered. Master Anthony obeyed. Lucia handed Jaime a pair of leather cuffs with a clip already attached. “Secure him,” she said. “Then I’ll show you what I want you to do.”

  Jaime moved behind Master Anthony. His wrists were neatly crossed at the small of his back. Jaime closed the cuffs over each wrist and used the clip to attach one to the other. As she turned, the activity at the nearest station distracted her. Julian was stretched out on the padded spanking horse, his knees resting on the support rails on either side, his ass thrust out. He had a black silicone bit gag in his mouth, its strap buckled around the back of his head. Long leather reins were attached to the strap and draped over his bare back. Petite Ashley was standing on a wooden block behind him, the largest strap-on dildo Jaime had ever seen protruding from her groin, its leather belt secured around her small waist.

  Ashley was in the process of squirting copious amounts of lubricant over the shaft. Once satisfied, she dropped the tube and gripped her shiny, black cock, stroking it as she coated the rubber dildo with lube. “Spread your cheeks, boy,” Jaime heard her say.

  Julian reached back without hesitation and pulled his ass cheeks apart, wiggling his butt in obviously eager anticipation. Ashley moved forward, positioning the large cock until the head of it was nestled between his cheeks. Keeping one hand on the shaft, she reached for the reins with the other.

  “Hey!” Lucia’s voice startled Jaime. “Your focus needs to be here, not there. You’re my assistant, remember? Is our sub boy cuffed? Yes? Then get over here. I want to show you how to use the cock whip.”

  Jaime scurried around to the front of the pillory, where Master Anthony stood tall, chest forced out by his hands cuffed behind his back. His trapped cock and balls jutted forward in the vise, his ankles locked into the cuffs below.

  Lucia reached for the riding crop, which she handed to Jaime. “You’ve had lessons, right? You know how to use this?”

  “Yes,” Jaime said hesitantly. “But not on a real person.”

  “I watched you with the cane today,” Lucia said. “You have a natural sensibility. The key is to pay attention. Pay attention to the reaction of your sub. Pay attention to what they say and don’t say. If you’re not comfortable doing something, then don’t do it, okay? No pressure. This is about having fun and stretching our boundaries a little, both yours and his, comprendes?”

  Jaime nodded. She snapped the crop experimentally against her own thigh.

  “You got it!” Lucia enthused. “Excellent wrist action. I told you, you’re a natural.”

  Jaime smiled, not at all certain, but pleased with the encouragement.

  “Start easy,” Lucia continued. “You can touch and tease to get him hard, if he needs the help.” She glanced pointedly at Master Anthony’s cock, which, unlike a true masochist’s would have been in the same situation, was not erect. “Then bring on the crop. The object is to slowly build up the erotic pain, always watching and gauging, always listening to the cues.”

  “And what will you be doing?” Jaime asked, curious.

  Lucia brought over the wooden block and placed it just to the right of Master Anthony. Next she reached down and retrieved a pair of weighted nipple clamps, along with the single tail whip. She flicked the whip in the air with a snap that made both Jaime and Master Anthony flinch. “If I do my job right, I’ll be making this slave boy beg,” she said, her voice low and throaty, every inch a Mistress.

  “Oh,” Jaime said, the word uttered involuntarily. Was every sub in this place a switch except for her? Not Katie, surely, she thought, but the rest of them? Or were they just embracing the temporary role assigned to them, taking their submissive duty to the extreme of not merely obeying a dictate, but becoming that which their Masters decreed? Would she ever achieve that level of submission?

  “We begin,” Mistress Lucia announced. She instructed Jaime to kneel on Master Anthony’s left side, while she stepped onto the block, which raised her to eye level with the man.

  Jaime set down the crop and shifted on her knees to get a better angle. Reaching out a tentative hand, she lightly stroked his balls. They felt hard and smooth, compressed as they were by the vise’s grip. She took his shaft in her other hand. As she stroked and gently tugged, it wasn’t long before it stiffened in response.

  He uttered a soft cry of pain and Jaime dropped her hands, confused. Glancing up, she realized his cry had nothing to do with her. Alligator-style clamps with black vinyl-coated fishing weights dangled from Master Anthony’s nipples. “There, there, slave boy,” Lucia crooned. “You can take it, I know you can.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he managed, flaring his nostrils. Lucia stroked his cheek and it seemed to Jaime he leaned into her touch.

  Lucia, glancing down at Jaime, snapped, “Focus on your task. You’ve got the sub boy hard. Now make him suffer.”

  Jaime looked down at Master Anthony’s cock, which was still erect. Picking up the crop, she started with his balls, slapping lightly with the leather rectangle against the taut skin. She shifted her focus to his shaft, using a little more force in her stroke as she smacked at Master Anthony’s cock. Despite their directive, she couldn’t think of him as a slave boy or sub, or even Anthony. He was Master Anthony to her, and always would be.

  His erection flagged a little as she smacked him, the shaft reddening. She gripped his balls lightly in her other hand and continued the cropping. She resisted the urge to lick the head of his cock, not sure what was acceptable in her apprentice position.

  The flicking crack of the single tail reached Jaime’s ears, followed an instant later by Master Anthony’s second tortured cry. Startled, Jaime lowered the crop. Looking up, she quickly realized once again she’d had nothing to do with his cry of pain, though she knew the crop had to sting. It was the single tail, which snapped again as she watched, causing the teardrop-shaped weights at his nipples to sway. She stared, transfixed, as the whip snaked again against his skin, leaving a third red line along his well-muscled chest.

  Lucia, whip still in her small hand, glanced down again at Jaime with a reproving look. Embarrassed, Jaime refocused on the man’s captured cock and balls. She sought to mix the pleasure and pain, stroking his shaft when it flagged until it hardened once more, and then striking it in a flurry of stinging leather.

  Mistress Lucia continued to torture her slave boy above Jaime’s head while she focused down below. Master Anthony’s limbs had begun to tremble and Jaime could hear the ragged pant of his breathing. Following her instinct, she dropped the crop and wrapped her arms around his legs, resting her cheek against his muscular thigh as Mistress Lucia continued to whip him. Despite what was happening to him, Master Anthony’s cock remained har
d, bobbing tantalizingly beside Jaime’s face.

  “Oh, god,” he moaned finally. Jaime released her grip and leaned back on her haunches, looking up. “Please, Lucia, I want… I need…” He trailed off.

  “I know what you want,” Lucia replied in a soft but fervent tone. She dropped the whip and stepped off the wooden block. Standing directly in front of Master Anthony, she fell to her knees beside Jaime. Her chin was lifted, her eyes on Master Anthony’s face. “I know what you need,” she added in a whisper.

  Jaime felt superfluous, invisible, as Lucia closed her mouth over Master Anthony’s shaft and leaned forward, taking it in as far as she could, given his tethered state. Her hand came up in a tender cup around his compressed balls as she worshipped her Master’s cock.

  Yes, Jaime thought. Her Master, not her sub boy. Though no words had been spoken, no new directive given, it was clear Lucia had slipped off the mantle of Mistress, her true nature as submissive reasserting itself, her desire for the man before her raw and exposed.

  It wasn’t long before Master Anthony bucked and shuddered, groaning as he came. No permission was requested and none was needed. Master Anthony took what was offered, what was already his. Lucia, still apparently oblivious to Jaime’s presence, rose from her knees, her tongue moving over her lips like a cat licking away the excess cream. Stepping once more onto the wooden block, she took the still-bound man’s face in her hands and, without missing a beat, kissed him full on the mouth.

  Master Anthony held himself stiffly at first, and then seemed, all at once, to melt against Lucia, leaning into her kiss with a heartfelt sigh. It wasn’t the kiss of a Mistress and her slave, or even of a Master and his sub. The two were sharing a lovers’ kiss, and Jaime saw the passion and the tenderness, the spark and the raw need. She had become a trespasser, an interloper on something that was too private, too personal, for her to witness.