BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  To distract herself as much as anything from the turmoil raging in her brain, Marissa said, “Come over here. Let me examine your skin.”

  “Yes, Dr. Roberts.” Dana gave her a mock salute, but she moved obediently to stand with her back to Marissa, who was seated on the bench between the lockers. Marissa gingerly touched the skin on Dana’s thigh, which was welted but not broken. She could feel the slight heat radiating from the affected areas as Dana’s skin rallied to heal itself.

  “What do you use to care for the wounds?” Marissa asked.

  “They’re not wounds,” Dana retorted, flopping down to sit beside Marissa. “They’re marks of courage and honor, and I cherish them.” The flippancy was gone from her tone. “But to answer your question, we treat my marks and bruises with arnica cream. It’s part of Tony’s aftercare ritual.”

  “Aftercare?” Marissa was always fascinated by the glimpses Dana gave her of their lifestyle, and, if she were honest, not a little jealous. The way Dana talked about BDSM made it sound like the most romantic thing on the planet, which confused Marissa, but intrigued her nonetheless.

  Dana pulled on her thigh-high stockings as she spoke, reminding Marissa she needed to get ready as well. She rose from the bench and busied herself in front of the mirror, but she was all ears.

  “Well,” Dana said, moving to stand beside Marissa, her makeup bag in hand. “After the intensity of a play session, Tony rewards me for what he calls the gift of my submission.” She smiled dreamily. “A scene can really take it out of you. It’s not just about the physical thing—the whipping or bondage or what have you.” Just these words sent a shiver through Marissa, and she marveled as she always did at Dana’s ease and comfort in tossing around what for Marissa were highly charged words. “Submission can also take a huge emotional toll. When you do it right, you give of your whole self—it’s a complete exchange of power, and it can be incredibly intense, and, frankly, exhausting. Sometimes I can’t even move for, like, ten minutes. I mean, I’m conscious and everything, but I’m off floating somewhere, and I lose the capacity to think or use my muscles or anything. Other times I might burst into tears.”

  “Tears?” Marissa echoed, looking at Dana in the mirror.

  Dana shrugged. “Not sad tears. It’s more of a release. Tony will just hold me and whisper sweet things in my ear. He tells me to take my time and come back to earth when I’m ready. He’ll do stuff like put the arnica cream on my skin, or wash my body with a warm washcloth, or give me a massage. I love the aftercare almost as much as I love the play, if you want to know the truth. Everyone loves to be touched, but it’s more than that. Tony makes me feel cherished and adored.”

  Marissa busied herself with her makeup, trying to recall the last time a man had held her in his arms, a man who made her feel cherished and adored. Let’s see, she mused as she applied her lipstick, I guess that would have been…never.

  ~*~

  Cam cursed softly under his breath. Not again, he thought. His aide, Becky, had just called in at the last minute to say she was sick and wouldn’t be coming in. It was the third time in the ten days he’d been in the new job that she’d done that, and always at the last second. Cam knew the aides were paid next to nothing, and he also knew you got what you paid for. In every hospital he’d ever worked in there was always a problem with aides not showing up or leaving mid-shift or just not doing a good job. As a registered nurse, Cam’s plate was more than filled with direct patient care duties and supervising his healthcare team. While he hated to complain, he flat out didn’t have time to change bedpans and fluff pillows.

  Cam finished the chart he was working on and glanced at his watch. If he worked quickly, he’d manage at least to make sure his patients were clean and comfortable, and maybe he could get another aide to cover by the afternoon. Armed with a pile of fresh linens, Cam began to move down the corridor. As he walked past Mrs. Watson’s room, he heard a soft moan of pain and stopped short.

  Mrs. Watson had just arrived the day before, brought in by a concerned neighbor who found her lying on the floor of her bathroom, where she’d taken a tumble while stepping out of her tub. Fortunately, the only immediate thing wrong with her was a broken wrist—a broken hip would have been far more serious. But beyond the fracture, Mrs. Watson was elderly, frail and clearly disoriented. She was malnourished and probably barely eking out an existence on her social security check. She had no family to speak of, and, Cam suspected, suffered as much from loneliness as anything. Cam had made a request for social services, but meanwhile he hoped to make Mrs. Watson as comfortable as possible for as long as Medicaire allowed her to be in the hospital.

  He stopped at her open door and knocked lightly. “Good morning, Mrs. Watson. May I come in?”

  There was no response. Cam stepped into the room. Though her eyes were closed, the old woman’s mouth was twisted into a rictus of pain, one gnarled hand clenching the sheet.

  “Mrs. Watson?” Cam said gently, moving closer. “Can I make you more comfortable?”

  She moaned again. She didn’t move or open her eyes. Cam lowered the guardrail and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “Mrs. Watson? Emily?”

  At the sound of her first name, her grimace relaxed, if just a little. Cam reached for her hand in an effort to ease her death grip on the sheets. Like a child, she curled her cold, dry fingers around his index finger and sighed softly, though she still didn’t open her eyes.

  “Emily,” Cam said again, “can I get you something? Some water? A fresh pillow?”

  Mrs. Watson rolled her head in his direction, wisps of white hair barely covering her pink scalp. “George,” she croaked in a tiny voice, her eyes still closed. “George, I knew you would come.” She squeezed tighter on Cam’s finger.

  “Yes, Emily,” Cam said softly, his heart aching for the lonely old woman. “I’m here now. You can let go of the pain. You can sleep.”

  Her grip loosened on his finger and she sighed, her face slackening, her breathing deepening. Cam sat there a full minute longer, until he was sure she was resting comfortably. Carefully he eased his hand from hers. Raising the guardrail, he slipped quietly from the room.

  ~*~

  Marissa surreptitiously watched the new nurse as he leaned over a chart in the nurses’ station. His hair was a little long, curling around his ears and on the back of his neck, though it was neatly brushed back from his face. It was rich chestnut brown, and Marissa had a sudden fantasy of running her fingers through the thick, shiny locks. He wore dark blue scrubs over broad shoulders and muscular arms. Probably in his late twenties, he had a good face, she thought, with strong bones, sparkling, kind blue eyes and a ready smile.

  All the nurses and aides had been buzzing about “the new guy” since he’d arrived on the floor. A male nurse was still unusual enough for comment, but a seriously good-looking one was enough to set them all in a tizzy. “Probably gay,” Lawanda, Marissa’s favorite nurse on the unit, had informed Marissa on Cam’s first day. “A guy that hot, that in shape, and a nurse? Got to be gay.”

  Marissa wasn’t so sure, but firmly told herself it didn’t matter in the least what the man’s sexual orientation was, or anything else about him, as long as he did his job. She even told herself she was mildly annoyed he’d been assigned to her floor, since his presence distracted the staff, though they’d get used to him soon enough.

  Marissa’s phone buzzed and she reached into her lab coat to glance at it. It was a text message from Dana. Girlfriend, exciting news! Call me when you get a chance, k?

  Marissa ducked into her office to make the call. When she opened her office door, she was disconcerted to see someone at her desk. Phil Mitchell looked up with a smarmy smile.

  “What are you doing in my office?” Marissa demanded. “That’s my personal laptop. What do you think you’re doing?” She advanced quickly into the room. She distinctly remembered leaving her laptop on the credenza behind the desk, but now it was on the desk in front of Phil, his hand r

esting on top of it.

  He lifted his hands as if in surrender. “Relax, I thought it was one of the hospital-issued laptops, but I realized my error right away.” He flashed a boyish grin at her. “Fear not, lovely lady. All your secrets are safe with me.”

  Marissa frowned, angry with Phil for his presumption and overfriendly manner, especially after the debacle at that happy hour. She could feel the heat in her face and knew she was blushing, which just made her madder. Why had Nancy let this guy waltz in there like he owned the place? She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m sorry—what were you doing again in here? Does the secretary know you’re in here?“

  “Not to worry. I’m cleared through the tech department to install the latest upgrade on all physician and nursing station PCs. I’m just finishing up here, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Swiveling toward her office computer keyboard, he tapped a few keys and pushed away from her desk. “That should do it. You’re all set.”

  He moved past her in the small office, his arm brushing her shoulder. The unwelcome contact sent a shiver down her spine. Turning back at the door, Phil moved his eyes insolently from her face to her body and then back again. “Let me know if you have any problems. Any problems at all, Doc.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” Marissa said firmly. Over my dead body.

  She closed the door and moved toward her chair. Marissa would have to talk to Nancy about letting unaccompanied people into her office. The idea of Phil Mitchell being in her private space sent an unpleasant shudder of distaste through her.

  She sank down into her chair, her mind whirling back over the disastrous happy hour the week before. The IT company the hospital was using had arranged a “meet and greet” for medical and administrative staff most affected by the software changes. They had reserved a room at a nearby restaurant and had provided hors d’oeuvres and an open bar.

  Marissa had decided to attend, part of a promise to herself to be more social at hospital events. She’d barely eaten over the course of the day and made the mistake of having two Bay Breeze cocktails in a row, which slid down way too easily and then went straight to her head. When Phil Mitchell had appeared beside her at the bar with his blond good looks and ready smile, she’d been friendlier than she might have been without the lubricant of alcohol.

  He was maybe a little too full of himself, but what the hell, he was young, single and seemingly captivated by her. She could admit now in retrospect, she’d been flattered by his attention and apparent interest.

  Still, she had been stunned by his move when she came out of the women’s restroom toward the end of the event. The restrooms were located at the back of the restaurant in a darkened alcove. Without a word, he’d slammed her against the wall, pressed his mouth against hers and tried to force his tongue between her lips while grinding his erection against her body.

  She’d shoved him hard, sending him sprawling backward. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” she’d demanded, breathless with shock.

  He’d looked confused for a second as he righted himself. Then a flash of pure, venomous rage had flickered over his features before being extinguished by a conciliatory smile. “Hey, come on, baby. What gives? The way you were flirting with me back at the bar, I thought—“

  “You thought wrong,” she’d snapped, still taken aback by the guy’s nerve.

  “Hey, Doc, no hard feelings. Just crossed wires, huh?”

  Embarrassed by the whole situation, Marissa nodded. “Okay. Yeah, whatever.”

  She was still angry, not only him, but at herself for letting liquor momentarily affect her better judgment, and had decided it was time to leave. While saying her goodbyes to Fred Hession and the other top brass, she had felt Phil’s eyes on her. She’d glanced toward him, disconcerted by his cold, hard stare. Marissa had shuddered, glad she hadn’t made the horrible mistake of actually going out with such a creep.

  She’d managed to avoid him over the past week while he worked all the bugs out of the hospital’s computer systems. As he moved around the unit, he flirted shamelessly with the female staff, and most of them seemed to eat it up, giggling and batting their eyelashes at the handsome young computer technician. He hadn’t apologized to Marissa for his behavior, and she’d told herself it was just as well—she would put the whole sorry event behind her. It was over and done with, and soon, thank god, he’d be gone.

  Marissa got paged almost as soon as she’d shooed the unwelcome Phil out of her office. It was nearly five o’clock before she had a chance to respond to Dana’s text. Flopping into her desk chair, she tapped a message onto the screen. Hey, Dana. Crazy day. What’s up?

  A moment later her phone buzzed with an incoming call from Dana. Swiveling in her chair to face the tiny window of her cramped office that looked out over the vista of the Manhattan skyline, Marissa took the call. “Hi,” she said, trying and not quite succeeding to censor the image of Dana’s naked, welted body from her mind. “What’s up?”

  “Open invitation night, that’s what,” Dana said cryptically.

  When she didn’t elaborate, Marissa said, “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s open invitation night? Are you inviting me over to watch Master Tony in action?” As soon as the words tumbled from her mouth, she wished she could grab them back. She’d only been kidding as she said it, but what if that was what Dana was offering? Did she dare accept? Would they expect her to participate? Did she want to?

  Dana laughed. “Even better. You know that BDSM club we belong to? Once a month we’re allowed to bring guests and prospective members to see what the place is about. Tony asked me if I’d like to bring you and—”

  “Tony knows about me?” Marissa blurted, not quite sure how she felt about that.

  “Sure. I tell Master Tony everything, you know that. He’s always interested in anyone who’s curious about the scene. He’s got this personal mission to bring BDSM to the world.” She laughed and continued, “He’s suggested before that I bring you around, but I was pretty sure you weren’t ready. Then after I saw the way you were looking at me this morning, your tongue practically hanging out, your eyes so full of longing I thought you were going to cry—”

  “What?” Marissa exploded, embarrassed she’d been so transparent. “I never did any such thing.”

  Dana’s voice was kind. “Hey, Marissa, honey. I’m sorry if I’m pushing buttons. I do tend to just blurt things out, you know. Master Tony says that’s what gags are for.” Again she laughed. “Anyway, seriously, can you honestly tell me you weren’t, if not turned on, at least intrigued about those cane marks?”

  When Marissa didn’t respond, Dana went on, “You’re thirty-two years old, right? In the three years I’ve known you, I’ve watched you date the occasional guy and lose interest in like five minutes, no matter how nice or good-looking or rich or hung or whatever the dude might be. You’ve talked before about wishing you could find a guy you connected with, but that it’s virtually impossible to meet anyone, given your schedule and the dwindling supply of decent single guys in the city.”

  “Yeah,” Marissa admitted, though she knew the issue went deeper than mere availability of single men. Several times over the course of the day, Marissa had found herself falling into a daydream in which she was the cherished and adored sub girl, lying in the arms of her Dom after an especially intense play session, as Dana called them. She didn’t just want any available guy in the right socio-economic bracket. She wanted what Dana had.

  Dana continued, unwittingly giving voice to Marissa’s thoughts. “Every time I talk about the scene, or you witness the latest evidence of Tony’s and my delicious games, you look like a kid with her face pressed up against the glass of a candy store. Yet, as far as I know, and please correct me if I’m wrong, the only thing you’ve done to find out if the lifestyle is for you is masturbate to BDSM porn videos, am I right?”

  Marissa’s ears felt hot, and she was glad this was a phone conversation, instead of face to face, as she knew she was blushing. “Oh, I, um,” she stammered, though Dana had in fact hit the nail on the head.

  “Want to know what I think?” Dana continued, thankfully not pressing Marissa for a more coherent response. “I think you’re just not looking in the right place. I think it’s time for you to take the bull by the horns. Stop acting like a little girl and find the courage to explore your true feelings and desires. The Power Exchange is opening its outer room to guests tonight, and I’m inviting you.”

  Dana had mentioned The Power Exchange before—a private BDSM venue for folks who were seriously into the BDSM lifestyle. Dana and Tony engaged in what Dana called public scenes, which Marissa surmised from Dana’s occasional descriptions included whips, chains, rope, gags and lots of naked bodies. Marissa imagined something out of a gothic horror film—whipping posts, torture racks, manacles protruding from crumbling stone walls, everything cast in a blood-red light, the only sound that of cracking leather and anguished cries.

  Marissa felt the heat rising in her crotch. Her breasts ached and she reached her free hand into the cup of her bra to tweak the suddenly distended nipple. She shifted in her chair and pressed her thighs together in an effort to ease the ache in her sex, glad her office door was closed.

  “Marissa? You there?”

  “Yeah,” Marissa said hoarsely. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m here.”

  “So, how about it? You ready to stop being the kid with her nose pressed to the glass and step on inside? Shall we come by your building at nine o’clock to pick you up?”

  Dana was right. Marissa’s excuses all her life about why she had no time for a relationship were pretty worn at this point. She was done with medical school. She was done with residency. She had a good staff position at a well-respected city hospital. She understood intellectually there was nothing wrong with being a sexual masochist. Was she ready, at last, to finally begin her own erotic exploration into BDSM?

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