BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  “Thank you, Master Mason, for your gift.”

  “You’re welcome, slave Jaime.”

  She turned next to face Master Anthony, though she could feel Master Mark’s warm, intense gaze on her. Master Anthony held a silver leash. “Will you wear this chain, slave Jaime, as a symbol of your submission and service to The Enclave?”

  “Yes, Master Anthony,” Jaime breathed, much of the tension that had coiled inside her unspooling beneath his calm, steady gaze.

  Master Anthony clipped the leash to Jaime’s collar and led her to the row of kneeling slaves, indicating she should kneel in the spot at the center, the space reserved just for her. He draped the leash over her back as Jaime, still clamped and plugged, sank to her knees between Danielle and Lucia.

  The Dominants, save for Master Anthony and Master Mark, had moved to sit on the chairs facing the arch. Jaime bowed her head as she struggled to get a grip on the emotions churning within her—the thrill and honor of being accepted as a staff slave warring with the excited, anticipatory fear of what was to come next.

  Master Anthony stood in front of the row of slaves and faced the seated members of The Enclave. “It is my pleasure and honor to welcome Jaime as a full-fledged staff slave.” There was applause and a few cheers. In spite of her jitters, Jaime felt her face warm with happiness.

  Master Anthony smiled broadly at Master Mark and then turned to face the Dominants. “There is more good news. After living and working with us these past months, Mark has agreed to join the community as a full-fledged Master.”

  “Yeah!” called out Master Mason, amidst laughter and more applause.

  “I tell you this during Jaime’s ceremony,” Master Anthony continued, “because I have very special news to share with regard to these two young people. Slave Jaime will be joining us not only as our communal property, but as Master Mark’s personal slave. To commemorate their union, Master Mark and I have chosen a boundary-pushing experience, with the full knowledge and consent of slave Jaime.”

  Murmurs of excitement and approval rippled through the space, and Jaime’s heart began to pound. At a nod from Master Anthony, the other slaves rose and moved to stand in a neat row behind the seated Dominants. Master Mark appeared beside Jaime, his long, leather-clad legs so close she could have wrapped her arms around them.

  Reaching down, Master Anthony tugged gently at the leash, and Jaime rose, striving for the grace she’d practiced in Mistress Marjorie’s training room, in spite of the fact her legs had turned to rubber. He handed the leash to Master Mark, and Jaime turned with the chain to face the man she’d fallen in love with in so short a time. He looked gorgeously dominant, dressed in full leather from his boots to the leather vest he wore over his broad, bare chest.

  She forced herself to resist the urge to melt against his body, fully aware she needed to muster all her courage for what was planned next. Though she had participated in the planning, and agreed to what was to come, that didn’t stop her heart from smashing like a crazed bird against the window of her chest. How could a heart pound with fear and croon with joy at the same time?

  Master Anthony stepped away as Master Mark led Jaime to the center of the arch. Looking down into her eyes, he reached for the nipple clamps “Are you ready?” he asked quietly.

  Jaime stiffened but nodded. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, as ready as she would ever be. She managed to stifle the cry of pain as he released the clamps, allowing the nerve endings to shriek to life as the blood flow returned. Master Anthony stood nearby, the plastic bowl in his hand. Master Mark dropped the nipple clamps into the bowl and turned his attention back to Jaime.

  The removal of the labia clamps wasn’t as difficult to handle. Depositing them in the bowl, Master Mark gestured with his hand for Jaime to bend over. Happily, the butt plug slid easily from her body after the initial tug and was added to the bowl for later cleaning and sterilization. The two men moved together toward the table. They returned a moment later holding several coils of Shibari rope.

  “Arms behind your back,” Master Mark commanded, and Jaime obeyed. The two men worked quickly as they wrapped and twisted the supple rope around Jaime’s arms, binding them together from elbow to wrist. Moving to stand in front of her, Master Mark coiled the ropes in pleasing patterns and knots around her breasts, her nipples jutting like ripe cherries at their centers. Jaime could feel Master Anthony’s steadying hands on her shoulders from behind. A potent mixture of sensual peace and throbbing lust wove its way through her blood as it always did when she was properly bound.

  Master Mark walked toward the folding table, returning with the piercing kit he’d shown her earlier that day, along with the small black velvet box that contained the nipple rings he wanted her to wear as a symbol of his ownership and her submission. Even her untrained eye could tell it was fine jewelry, exquisitely made. The hoops were twisted into a delicately wrought knot of gold, a conscious nod to the Shibari rope they both loved.

  As he opened the kit to reveal the piercing equipment, Jaime’s stomach lurched, but the snug, comforting embrace of the ropes, Master Anthony’s reassuring hold on her shoulders and Master Mark’s warm, loving gaze all gave her the courage to face what was to come.

  The clearing was silent, save for the slight swish of the leaves above caught in a gentle evening breeze and the hoot of a distant owl. Jaime could feel all eyes trained on her but she kept her focus squarely on her Master as he swabbed her nipples with a pre-treated gauze pad to ready them for the needle. Setting the gauze aside, he stroked her cheek. “Are you ready, slave Jaime? Will you take my needle and wear the jewelry that symbolizes my ownership of your body and soul?”

  “Yes, Master Mark.” Jaime had meant to speak loudly for everyone to hear, but her voice sounded as if it were coming from a distance, reedy and wavering.

  Master Mark regarded her, his eyes moving over her face as if he could read the thoughts and fears in her head. “You can do this,” he said with quiet certainty. “You are my strong, brave girl. You were born to submit, slave Jaime. And I was born for you.”

  With those words, the last of her fear snapped inside her, like a lock springing open. She watched with an almost detached calm as Master Mark pulled her right nipple taut with the forceps. She closed her eyes when the sharp point of the piercing needle touched her nipple. Though she was no longer frightened, dizziness suddenly assailed her, making her sway. Again she felt Master Anthony’s steadying hands on her shoulders.

  “Open your eyes,” Master Mark commanded, his voice soft but firm. “You will watch the needle pierce your flesh. This is your gift to me, and mine to you. You will participate fully, slave Jaime, as I claim you for my own.”

  His masterful words centered her once more. The dizziness left her, her balance and poise returning, her courage rising once more to the fore. “Yes, Sir,” she said, her voice steady. “Yes, please.”

  The pain as the needle pierced her flesh made stars explode across her vision. She would have screamed, but the shock to her nerve endings took her breath away. Mercifully, he was very quick, both nipples pierced and threaded with the jewelry in a matter of seconds. As she looked into Master Mark’s eyes, a joyous lightness of being suffused her. She imagined she might float away but for the ropes that crisscrossed her body and held her arms tightly behind her back.

  Master Anthony stepped from behind her and stood in front of her as Master Mark stepped aside. Master Anthony regarded her with a serious gaze, though his eyes were twinkling. “Welcome to The Enclave, slave Jaime. You belong to us all now. I hope you will serve with all the grace and submission I know you possess.”

  I will, Sir. I promise,” Jaime said fervently, tears popping into her eyes, which she blinked rapidly away.

  With a nod and a smile, the silver-haired man stepped once more behind Jaime. As he untied the knots and unwound the rope, blood flow returned with tingling insistence to her arms and fingers, which she flexed to ease the sensation. The release of the buckle a
t the back of her neck startled her. Why was Master Anthony taking away her slave collar, which she’d only removed, and then reluctantly, in order to shower? Of course, she was too well trained to ask or resist, but her neck and throat felt naked without the comforting wrap of leather, her world suddenly oddly out of balance.

  Master Mark appeared in front of her, an oblong velvet case she hadn’t seen before in his hands. He opened it to reveal a beautiful leather collar dyed a lustrous pearly blue-gray, a single diamond sparkling at its center.

  “Oh,” Jaime breathed, transfixed. “It’s beautiful, Sir.”

  “Master Brandon outdid himself with this one,” Master Mark said, glancing toward the leather master with a smile. “The leather captures the color of your eyes perfectly, and the diamond symbolizes the strength and endurance of the bond we’re forging together.”

  Jaime glanced shyly at Master Brandon, who beamed back at her from his seat. She closed her eyes, the world righting itself as Master Mark wrapped the soft leather collar around her neck and buckled it into place. The group erupted into spontaneous applause and happy laughter.

  Master Mark dipped his head close to Jaime’s ear. “Welcome to The Enclave, slave Jaime,” he murmured. “Welcome home.”

  No Entry

  Awaken your forbidden desires in the Inner Room…

  After a lifetime of suppressing her darkest erotic fantasies, Marissa dares to take the leap at last, unable to resist the rare and exclusive chance to train in the Master’s Inner Room…

  Master Cam has no idea the novice submissive he’s agreed to assess is none other than the new colleague at his day job. He doesn’t bank on the powerful reaction, both emotional and sexual, that ignites between them. Ignoring the risks, he takes her past her fears into the dark, edgy world of erotic submission.

  But there’s a lot on the line when Marissa is faced with unwanted attention from a player who refuses to take no for an answer—not just the risk to their careers, but a test of the fledgling connection between Master and sub.

  The passion is real… So is the danger…

  Previously titled: The Inner Room

  Chapter 1

  The naked woman in the video was on her hands and knees, a bucket of sudsy water beside her, a large sponge in her hand. Her face was obscured by her long blond hair.

  Marissa sucked in her breath as she watched Master Mark lift his heavy black boot and bring it to rest on the woman’s back. Marissa could sense the sudden tension in the woman’s body, though she continued to move her hand in wide circles over the stone floor. The online Dom pressed down with his boot until the woman collapsed onto her stomach on the cold, wet floor.

  “Why are you here, slave L?” Master Mark asked in his deep, sexy British accent. He moved his boot along her back until it rested on the nape of her neck.

  The camera moved in for a close-up of slave L’s face, capturing what seemed to be genuine fear in her wide blue eyes. “Because I was a dirty little slut, Sir,” she replied in a tremulous voice.

  Master Mark laughed. “We already know that, slave. What precisely did you do that resulted in this particular punishment?” He slid his boot to her cheek and then lifted it, leaving a wet streak of dirt behind. Crouching beside her, he tucked strands of blond hair behind her ear and Marissa was struck by the tender expression now on Master Mark’s face.

  “I was touching myself without permission, Sir,” the girl whispered.

  Marissa sighed and shifted on the bed. She slipped her hand between her legs, her fingers seeking her throbbing clit. Though intellectually she was repelled by the way the guy was treating the woman, emotionally she thrilled to it. Defenses lowered by her arousal, Marissa had to admit in her heart of hearts she yearned to be that naked girl lying on the wet stone waiting for her stern Master’s retribution.

  Master Mark wrapped his hand in slave L’s thick hair and twisted it back from her scalp. She winced but remained otherwise still. “That’s correct,” Master Mark said. “You touched my property without my express permission. Get up.” He tugged her hair to pull her upward.

  As the woman struggled to her feet, he continued, “Time for part two of your punishment. Stand at attention, hands locked behind your head, legs shoulder-width apart.” The camera pulled back, revealing the long, whippy cane Master Mark now held in his hand. “Twenty strokes,” he intoned. “You will maintain your position, and you will thank me for each stroke.”

  The slave cast a fearful glance at the cane. “Yes, Sir,” she breathed. Marissa could see the tremble in her limbs and the faint sheen of sweat on her face. Master Mark’s cock bulged in his leather pants. If these were actors, they were doing a hell of a job.

  The camera angle shifted again, giving Marissa a good view of the woman’s back, ass and long legs that ended in very high, shiny black heels. The cane hissed in the air. Marissa winced as it struck the backs of the woman’s thighs. “Thank you!” the woman yelped.

  Marissa rubbed herself with fingers lubricated by her desire as Master Mark struck the woman over and over, leaving red, angry stripes on her thighs and ass. When the camera moved to her face, it was twisted in an expression that could have been agony or ecstasy.

  “Oh, thank you, Sir. Thank you! Oh!” slave L cried.

  Marissa’s mouth was dry, her breath a rasp in her throat, her fingers flying in the wet heat between her legs as the Master with the hard eyes and cruel smile struck the willing masochist on the screen again and again. A warm tingling sensation rose deep in Marissa’s belly, culminating in a shivery burst of sensation as her cunt spasmed in release.

  Her hand fell away and she closed her eyes with a sigh. She lay limp, no longer focused on the scene still playing on her laptop screen. When she could rouse herself sufficiently from her orgasm-induced lethargy, she reached for the laptop, where slave L was now on her knees slurping and sucking Master Mark’s huge cock with enthusiastic abandon.

  Marissa clicked away from the site and closed down the laptop. Her immediate urges satisfied, the usual vague feelings of shame and dissatisfaction began to reemerge in her psyche. Why was she like this? She was a medical doctor, a professional who had always held her own in her romantic relationships. What was wrong with her that she got off watching women be degraded and sexually tortured? Even worse, why did she long with such a deep and abiding intensity to be one of those women?

  Oh, get over yourself. Marissa could almost hear her friend Dana’s voice in her head. It’s a consensual act. They both like and want what’s happening. Stop beating yourself up for your feelings. If only she could be more like Dana, who was completely comfortable in her own skin and fully accepting of her masochistic tendencies and sexual needs.

  Maybe if I found the right guy, Marissa thought, not for the first time. Someone who would just know what I want without my having to spell it out. She snorted at this line of thinking. If there was a Prince Charming, or rather a Master Charming, out there somewhere waiting to sweep her off her feet, he sure was taking his sweet ass time about it. Or maybe he just couldn’t find his way to the hospital where she spent most of her waking hours.

  Pushing these unproductive thoughts from her mind, Marissa reached for her smart phone and set the alarm for five a.m. That should give her time to get to the gym for her workout before hospital rounds at seven. She reached for the lamp and turned it off. Pulling the covers to her chin, she closed her eyes.

  ~*~

  “Hey, Dana, I didn’t see you out there this morning.” Marissa reached for a second towel and wound it around her head. Her workout had been good, and she’d already decided she would permit herself a muffin later that morning.

  Dana, who had been coming to the same Manhattan health club for the three years Marissa had been a member, stepped from the shower stall beside Marissa’s. They had become friends, and they met for lunch whenever their busy schedules permitted. Though they only managed to get together a few times a month, Marissa had found herself opening up to Dana in
a way she rarely had with anyone else.

  “Oh, hey there, girlfriend,” Dana replied. “Yeah, I got here early so I could soak in the hot tub after my workout. How’re you doing?”

  “I’m good,” Marissa said automatically. “How are you?”

  “Great,” Dana said with way too much enthusiasm for six in the morning. She turned away to reach for her towel and Marissa’s heart did a little flip in her chest.

  Dana’s ass and the backs of her thighs were striped with brownish-red welts. Dana glanced back. “What are you looking at?” She followed Marissa’s gaze and shrugged. “Oh, that. We had a totally hot session last night. Tony got a little, uh, overenthusiastic. I loved it.”

  Dana had always been open with Marissa about her lifestyle, as she called it. In fact, once Marissa had finally gotten up the nerve to admit she was curious, Dana was the one who had turned her on to the BDSM training sites that now provided the secret fodder for Marissa’s late night masturbatory activities. Dana was unapologetically submissive and masochistic, and claimed she was “owned” by her husband, Tony, a concept that at once baffled and deeply intrigued Marissa.

  “Are those cane marks?” Marissa whispered, though the other women in the locker room were busy dressing, blow-drying their hair and applying makeup. No one was paying them the slightest bit of attention.

  Dana grinned proudly and nodded as she reached back with one hand to touch her welted thigh. “I earned each stroke, thank you, and the orgasm Tony gave me afterward would have blown my socks off, if I’d been wearing any.”

  Marissa felt suddenly hot. The skin on her own thighs and ass actually tingled with sympathetic longing. What would it be like to experience the sharp cut of a cane, the stroke a whip, the feel of a heavy boot pressed against her cheek?