BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  Ignoring her, Phil slipped a hard finger between her labia and frowned. “What the hell?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you wet? You live for this shit. I thought you’d be soaked by now.”

  How in god’s name could this bastard think she’d get off on what he was doing?

  And then it hit her.

  Slave girls don’t talk back to their Masters. I know all about you and your dirty little games, you filthy slut. I know all about the sick shit you and that pervy male nurse get up to…

  “My laptop,” she whispered, staring at him with dawning horror. “That day in my office. You did something…”

  Phil looked up at her, his laugh derisive. “You’re just figuring that out?” He shook his head. “Jesus, and here I thought MDs were supposed to be smart!” He stood, his face hovering close to hers. She squeezed her eyes to blot out the unwelcome sight as he breathed his whiskey breath in her face. “I know everything about you, slave girl. I know the disgusting porn sites you like to visit. I know the nasty stuff you get up to with Nurse Pervo.”

  He took a step back and reached with both hands for the neck of her camisole. He ripped the silky fabric down the length of her torso as if it were no more than tissue paper in his hands. His tongue flicked over his lips with reptilian rapidity as he ogled her bare breasts. He reached for them with both hands, grasping and twisting her nipples until she winced with pain. “Because I know what I know,” he said in a soft, dangerous voice, “you’re going to let me do just exactly what I want, whenever I want, and never say a fucking word, not now, not ever. You hear me?” He twisted harder. “Answer, slut!”

  It was too much—her predicament, the pain, the threats, the terror. The last semblance of control burst like a bubble inside Marissa and erupted in a howl. “Ooooow!” Marissa wailed. “Stop it! Stop it! Let me down!”

  “Damn it!” Phil shouted, fury mottling his face. “I told you to keep it the fuck down!” He sprinted back to the bed and returned a moment later holding the ball gag. He shoved it roughly against Marissa’s mouth and then fumbled behind her head, catching her hair painfully in the buckle. He pulled it tight, forcing her mouth open with the foul-tasting rubber ball, which pressed her tongue back toward her throat.

  Tears were running down Marissa’s cheeks as she implored him with an unintelligible gurgle to let her go. Ignoring her garbled protests, Phil went back to the bed and returned with the riding crop. Shoving the handle in his back pocket, he reached for Marissa’s arms, lifting them from the hook. He spun her around so she was facing the door and yanked her wrists up, again draping the taut chain over the hook. “You,” he said, punctuating the word with a sharp smack of the crop against her ass, “are”—smack—“a very”—smack—“bad”—smack—“girl!”

  The crop flew over her ass and thighs in a steady, hard rain of stinging leather—no erotic buildup, nothing even remotely sensual. At first Marissa tried to stay still, not wanting to let the bastard have the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her. But after a while her feet began to dance of their own accord as she bleated ineffectually against the invasive gag. He hit her again, and again, and again without variation or finesse. It was a beating—pure and simple—and it went on and on, until Marissa felt as if she were being flayed alive.

  Finally it stopped.

  Marissa couldn’t feel her hands or arms, and supposed she should be glad of that. She only wished her stinging ass were numb as well. Her chin and chest were wet with drool, her face streaked with tears. Her jaw ached from its forced and prolonged open position.

  When Phil lifted her arms from the hook, they flopped heavily down, her lifeless cuffed hands hitting her in the stomach as she stumbled backward. He was just behind her, and he half-lifted, half-dragged her toward the bed. He threw her roughly down onto her stomach. Her arms and hands began to tingle painfully to life beneath her.

  She felt the give of the mattress as he sat heavily beside her. When he flipped her over onto her back, she closed her eyes and turned her head away. She heard the click and then felt the relief of the metal cuffs being opened and lifted away. This was followed almost instantly by a sharp, throbbing bracelet of pain around each wrist. She stared down at the reddened, abraded skin, relieved at least to note there was no bleeding.

  Phil tossed the cuffs carelessly aside and reached for a hank of rope. Marissa came suddenly alive, the possibility of escape once again leaping into her mind. If she could get off the bed and sprint to the bathroom, she had a pair of barber scissors in the drawer. She wouldn’t hesitate to gouge the son of bitch’s eyes out if she had to.

  Girding herself, she rolled toward the edge of the bed, but hard fingers curling around her throat stopped her cold. “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Phil snarled. “The party’s just getting started.” His fingers dug into the skin just below her jaw, effectively cutting off her ability to breathe and, like a cornered animal, Marissa froze in terror.

  Keeping one hand tight around her throat, Phil unraveled a hank of rope single-handedly. He let go of her throat and Marissa gasped for air as he grabbed her throbbing wrists once more. He wound and knotted the rope around the damaged skin and then pulled her roughly upward on the bed. Jerking her arms over her head, he looped her wrists over one of the posts of her bedframe.

  He reached for another hank of rope. Forcing her to spread her legs wide, he busied himself tying her ankles to the bottom posts. When he was done, he stepped back, his eyes raking insolently over her body. “You are hot, Doc. I’ll give you that.”

  He reached for the hem of his T-shirt and lifted it over his head, shaking out his white-blond hair like a model on shoot as he flashed a movie-star perfect smile to the middle distance. He flexed his bulging biceps and pecs as if Marissa should admire his body. If she hadn’t been gagged, she would have spit on him. Instead she just closed her eyes and turned her head away.

  “Look at me, cunt!” Phil demanded. “I’ve got a better body than that faggot you hang out with. I can bench press two hundred and forty pounds. Not to mention, I’m built like a racehorse.” She heard the sound his zipper sliding down. “I said, look at me.”

  Not daring to refuse, Marissa turned her head again toward the monster holding her captive. She opened her eyes. Phil’s jeans were down around his muscular thighs, a long, thick cock fisted in his big hand. He smiled a slow, arrogant smile. “And to think,” he said with a grin, “this could have been yours, bitch.” He stroked himself, his tongue again flickering over his plump lips, spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth.

  “I’d fuck you,” he continued, “but knowing what a dirty whore you are, I’m afraid my dick might fall off. Instead, you get to watch me come all over you. Keep your eyes open—you won’t want to miss a single second, I’m sure.”

  Marissa stared at his face, shooting daggers with her eyes, her rage so palpable it made her entire body shake. Phil just smiled.

  He moved closer, his hand now flying over his shaft. “Filthy cunt,” he panted. “Dirty whore. Fucking sicko bitch.” The words took on the tone of a chant interspersed with piggish grunts as Phil jerked off in front of her. When his eyes rolled back, Marissa shut her own eyes and tried to retreat to that quiet, safe place inside her where nothing and no one could hurt her, but the gag was too foul in her mouth, the drool soaking her chin, neck and chest, her wrists throbbing, her ass stinging, her outrage like a live thing skittering and slamming inside her.

  Phil gave a loud groan and she felt the hot splash of his jism on her stomach, her breast, her cheek. “Aaaah!” he groaned. “That was good. So fucking good.”

  She opened her eyes to see him pulling up his pants. He reached for her face and Marissa tried to twist away, flinching in anticipation of whatever he was going to do next. He chuckled. “Relax, babe. I’m nearly done with you—for now.”

  He reached behind her and unbuckled the gag, pulling it from her mouth. Marissa opened and closed her aching jaw and tried, unsuccessfully, to wip
e some of the drool from her chin onto the bed. Phil pulled his T-shirt back over his head and again shook his hair back with a practiced toss of his head.

  He sat on the bed and untied her ankles. Marissa brought her legs together, watching mutely as he tossed the rope into the messenger bag. He picked up the handcuffs and the riding crop, placing them into the bag. Finally he released her wrists. Marissa grabbed at the sheet with shaking arms. She used an edge to wipe the man’s disgusting ejaculate from her face and body. Then she curled in on herself on the far corner of the mattress, though she kept her eyes on her tormentor.

  Phil put his hand into his jeans pocket. “That was fun, babe. Let’s do it again sometime.”

  Marissa stared at the handsome monster standing in front of her. No matter what he knew, or thought he knew, about her, nothing would stop her from going to the police about this. Didn’t he know that?

  Apparently he did, because he said, his fingers moving in his pocket, “In here is my guarantee that you’ll keep your pretty little mouth shut about what happened tonight. You’ve given me enough ammunition to assure not only your silence, but your ongoing cooperation.” His mouth curved into an evil grin. “For a doctor, you’re pretty fucking stupid, I have to say. Leaving all that stuff on your laptop.” He shook his head with a look of amused disdain. “Don’t you know what someone like me can do to someone like you?”

  Marissa stared him, feeling sick. “It’s simple,” Phil continued blithely. “If you say a word about this to anyone, I’ll destroy you. When I give your boss the information I’ve gleaned, you’ll lose not only your cushy job, but that precious medical license of yours, mark my words. If you dare go to the cops, copies of your homemade porn video will be sent to the chief of staff at the hospital, as well as to the New York Post and the New York Times, plus I'll post it on YouTube. I have everything ready to go with the push of a button, babe. One false move on your part, and you can kiss your career and your reputation goodbye.” He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. Hoisting the messenger bag over his shoulder, he added, “See you later, skank. Next time I better find you wet and ready.”

  Turning on his heel, he strode out of the bedroom. A moment later Marissa heard the click of the deadbolt, and then the door slammed.

  She looked down at what he’d thrown onto the bed. It was a small red plastic rectangle with a sliver of metal showing on one end. It took her a moment to realize it was a computer flash drive.

  Marissa’s hand shot out, her fingers curling around the drive. Without realizing what she was doing, she hurled it with all her strength toward the wall. Then she fell back against her pillows, a dam bursting inside her as she curled in on herself and began to sob.

  Chapter 11

  Cam turned the key quietly in the lock in case Marissa was sleeping. When he'd left the hospital he'd been bone tired, but somehow each stop of the subway seemed to lift a layer of fatigue from his shoulders as it brought him that much closer to Marissa. By the time he'd reached her apartment building, he didn't even bother with the ancient, impossibly slow elevator, but instead took the stairs two at a time until he reached her floor.

  When he stepped into the living room, he saw a bouquet of roses tightly wrapped in green tissue paper lying on the floor. A few feet away lay a single stem, its petals scattered nearby. While his brain struggled to process and provide a reason for such a strange sight, his body went into instant alert mode—his muscles tensing for a fight, his gut clenching into a fist.

  “Marissa!”

  He sprinted the short distance to her bedroom and pushed past the door, which was ajar. The room was lit only by the light emanating from the bathroom. Marissa was huddled in the center of the bed, curled in upon herself like a child. Something was very, very wrong.

  Flying to the bed, he reached for her shoulders. “Marissa, what is it? What happened? Who was here? Did they hurt you?”

  Marissa lifted a face swollen from crying, her eyes rimmed red, her lips trembling. Mutely she held out her wrists. Each was circled with red, ravaged skin, the marks of metal cuffs or very rough rope. Fear, fury, and the desperate need to know what had happened, however horrible the knowledge, clattered and jangled inside Cam in a cacophony of emotion.

  “Oh my god,” he whispered. “What happened to you? Baby, why didn't you call me? Did you call the police? Are you okay? Please, talk to me.”

  Marissa met Cam's eye. “I’m okay. I didn’t call the police.” She blew out a tremulous breath. “I don't want them involved. I wanted to call you but I didn't know what to say. He threatened if I told, he would...I didn't want... Oh Cam, I don't know what to do.” She wrapped her arms around Cam's neck and began to sob.

  He gathered her close against him and held her tight, tears spilling down his own cheeks as he gently rocked her in his arms. He forced himself to be patient, to let her cry, let her gather her thoughts, catch her breath. Finally she spoke in a whisper against his neck. “It was Phil. Phil Mitchell. He came here. He—it—what he did… It was horrible.”

  “Wait, what?” Cam was thoroughly confused. “That computer technician who has been putting in the new system at the hospital? He did this to you? I don’t understand.” Even as Cam tried to reconcile the image of the guy, who had been strutting around the unit for the past few weeks getting in people’s way at their work stations and flirting with the female staff, with the person who had done this to his darling, he already knew he would hunt the bastard down if it was the last thing he did. It took every ounce of self-control not to roar out his pain and rage at the thought of someone entering Marissa's home and violating her, but Cam forced himself to remain outwardly calm for her sake. Now was not the time to go into macho bluster mode.

  He extricated himself gently from her embrace. He took her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “Tell me,” he coaxed. “Tell me what happened.”

  Haltingly at first, and then faster and faster, the horrible words came tumbling over themselves as Marissa told Cam what that vile monster had done, and threatened to continue doing. As she spoke, the fear in her voice was edged out by anger, and her eyes sparked with the same fury that burned in Cam’s gut.

  “Jesus, Marissa,” he swore when she was done. “We have to call the police! We can’t let this guy get away with this.”

  “He got into my laptop, Cam. He knows about the training video. He has a copy.”

  “What? How the hell did he do that? What are you talking about?”

  “I found him in my office a while back, and it was a day I had my personal laptop at work. He claimed he was just doing the software installation on the office PC, but I thought at the time something wasn’t right.” Marissa hugged herself miserably. “He left a flash drive here tonight to back up his threat. I haven’t watched what’s on it, but I’m pretty sure I know.” Marissa pointed toward the wall. “I threw it over there somewhere. We should probably watch it to know for sure.”

  Cam rose from the bed and moved toward the wall, scanning the floor until he saw the red plastic flash drive in the corner. He picked it up between thumb and forefinger like it was a dead cockroach and returned to Marissa. “I’ll watch it later, sweetheart. But whatever’s on there, we still should let the police know, don’t you think?”

  “No. No police.” Marissa crossed her arms across her chest. “We can't take the chance, Cam. This isn’t just about me. You’re involved too because of the video.” She outlined Mitchell’s threats if Marissa tried to take any action against him. “Phil has it all figured out. Even if I press charges and he’s arrested, if this goes to trial, our names and reputations will be dragged through the mud in the process. At the very least we’ll be publically humiliated, but we could end up losing our jobs over this, Cam. I don’t think his threat was an idle one. It could destroy our careers.”

  Cam was quiet as he thought about what Marissa was saying. She was right about the potential humiliation, though he didn’t care about himself. It w
as Marissa he was thinking of—of the relentless, invasive police questioning as they forced her to go over and over what had happened. And if it went to trial, it would become a matter of public record. Protected and somewhat insulated within the supportive BDSM community in which he was involved, Cam sometimes forgot just how judgmental and damning the outside world could still be regarding lifestyles they didn’t understand.

  He decided not to press the issue. He would respect Marissa’s decision and support her in every way he knew how. Phil Mitchell could be dealt with later. Right now his focus must be on taking care of his girl.

  Cam stood and lifted Marissa into his arms. He carried her to the bathroom and set her carefully on her feet. Closing the door, he turned on the shower. While the room began to fill with steam, Cam stripped off his clothing. He helped Marissa into the shower and stepped in beside her. Gently, soothingly, he washed her body from head to toe, soaping away every trace of that bastard, wishing he could expunge him from her mind as well. As he worked, he conducted a surreptitious exam to make sure she was really okay. He sucked in his breath when he saw the red marks on her ass, and the faint bruising showing just beneath the skin.

  He shampooed her hair and held her as she stood beneath the hot spray, his heart nearly breaking with love and concern. Only when the water began to cool did he turn it off and reach for a towel. Wet and dripping himself, he dried Marissa, gently patting her skin while she stood, compliant as a child, her beautiful blue-green eyes fixed trustingly on his face. He draped another over her shoulders. Only then did he grab a towel for himself.

  His arm around her, Cam led Marissa back into the bedroom. “Wait a second,” he said, moving quickly toward the bed. The thought of that bastard touching the sheets, terrorizing Marissa, spurting his ejaculate over her and the bedding, made him want to vomit. Yanking back the rumpled linens, he stripped the bed to the mattress and tossed the pile into a corner. He placed his towel on the bare mattress and gestured for Marissa to lie down.