BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  Chapter 2

  Eva lifted her head sharply at the sound of tiny skittering feet behind the wall. She must have dozed off for a few minutes. She wriggled her fingers. They weren’t numb—that was good. He hadn’t bound her wrists as tightly this time. Her legs hadn’t fared as well. They felt numb from knee to ankle, but that was better than the stabbing pain of the raw rice he’d made her kneel on last time. That had been worse than a whipping. Fortunately, she’d managed to be a good girl since then, and he hadn’t found the need to punish her.

  She lifted her shoulder in a partially successful effort to scratch the tip of her nose. Her scalp tickled and she did her best to ignore it. Her bladder felt full, painfully full. Don’t think about it. Don’t focus on it. She was getting much better at holding it in. She hated kneeling on wet newspaper, hated the pungent smell of stale urine, hated the humiliation when he entered the small room, his icy blue eyes gleaming with a combination of malicious pleasure and fury. She hated the inevitable punishment that followed.

  Her gaze shot to the door as she heard the scraping click of a key in the lock. The door opened and Master Phillip appeared. She looked down quickly, not wanting to be caught staring, his most recent admonishment still stinging on the backs of her thighs from her last disrespectful act of failing to keep her eyes properly downcast.

  Though she knew it made no sense, she still found it hard to reconcile his angelic good looks with such an evil heart. He looked like an ad for fine cologne, all golden perfection and masculine beauty from his wavy blond hair and brilliant blue eyes down to his perfectly sculptured physique. But she’d learned all too well what cruelty lay behind the beautiful features.

  “I would have been up to check on you much sooner,” he said as he approached her. “Some unexpected guests.” The thought of other people somewhere in the house made Eva nearly sick with longing. Somehow—somehow she had to get out of this room! But how? He always left her bound in some way, even if just tethered to her bed. Though he no longer gagged her, she couldn’t risk calling out when she was alone, not daring to risk his wrath. But the thought, the realization there were others in the house, others who had no earthly idea she was imprisoned in this attic room, subject to this monster’s every sadistic whim—it was almost worse than being completely alone.

  A heavenly scent of fresh coffee and warm, yeasty cinnamon bread assailed her nostrils, jumpstarting her cramped, empty stomach. Oh, let it be for me. Let it be for me! Please, please, please. She clamped her mouth shut, realizing with dismay she’d made a small, involuntary mewling sound. Had he heard it? Would it count against her? Would he turn around and leave, taking the promise of sustenance with him? She blinked back tears.

  Show me your submissive grace, slave. Strive for serenity in the face of suffering. Back straight, cunt offered, breasts thrust proudly forward. You belong to Master Phillip. You exist to serve and please him. Remember that, and he will reward you. Forget it and you will suffer.

  These words had been drummed repeatedly into her head over the past days—weeks—months? How long had she been held in this small, windowless room by this monster? It was terrifying to realize she had no idea. Time had ceased to have meaning in a linear sense. Her life was marked only by when he entered and when he left. When she would be permitted to eat, to drink, to use the bathroom, to sleep. When he would beat her, when he would make her come—the forced orgasms sometimes wrenched from her until she passed out. And those occasional moments of kindness, of gentleness, that were almost more terrifying than the abuse, because she had come to treasure them so, to long for them, to almost feel a certain pathetic, twisted connection to the Master who controlled her world.

  The sound of his boots moving over the floor recalled her to herself and she arched her back, spreading her knees wider and trying to thrust her hips forward as best she could in her kneeling position. Keeping her eyes down, she lifted her chin as he’d taught her to signify her slavish pride. She almost shook back her hair—the habit still there, though the hair was not. All that was left was the prickly fuzz of new growth.

  How she had cried when he cut it off, her tears partly for the loss of what she had always considered her best feature—thick, shiny blond hair tumbling in a cascade of gold down her back—and partly because he’d been so uncharacteristically gentle and kind as he’d done it, explaining it was necessary to help her get in touch with the essence of her submission. He had to break through the arrogance of vanity, he’d said. It was essential to tear her down, to reduce her to nothing, in order to build her back into something worthy of his training and care.

  Master Phillip crouched in front of her. The heady aroma of the coffee and buttery cinnamon nearly undid her, and she bit down on her lower lip, so hard the metallic taste of blood seeped onto her tongue. She could see the small tray he had placed on the ground between them. Beside a mug of coffee was a breakfast roll sticky with plump, sugared raisins and swirls of cinnamon. A dollop of melting butter had been pushed into its center.

  A gush of saliva pooled in her mouth. Her stomach growled audibly. Oh god, would he punish her for that?

  She flinched as he raised his hand toward her face. But he didn’t slap her. Instead, he caressed her cheek, his touch gentle, even sensual. “You please me.”

  Thank god. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips. She swallowed hard, silently praying for a taste of the roll, a sip of the coffee, not daring to even wish for more than that.

  His hand moved from her face to her groin. He pushed his fingers against her full bladder and she gasped with the effort of controlling herself. Don’t fuck up now, Eva. Not now! Thankfully, he removed his hand before she wet herself.

  “Do you know why you please me?”

  Eva nearly looked up at his face, but caught herself in time. “I wouldn’t presume to say, Sir.”

  “Nor should you. I’m glad to see you’re finally learning your place, cunt.”

  Eva forced her face to remain without expression, though she couldn’t stop the sudden rush of heat that always flowed into her cheeks when he called her that. Beneath was a flash of rage, quickly extinguished. She waited, her eyes fixed on the food and drink.

  “I’m pleased you held both your position and your bladder, in spite of the very large glass of water I had you drink. It wasn’t that long ago you wouldn’t have lasted more than an hour at most. You would have been curled up on your side in direct violation of my command, lying in your own filth like an animal. See how far you have come, slave?”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Eva forced out the words, the earlier spark of rage suddenly whooshing into a flame deep in her belly. Her hands clenched into fists behind her back. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, cleansing breath, then let it out slowly.

  Strive for serenity in the face of suffering. Back straight, cunt offered, breasts thrust proudly forward. You belong to Master Phillip. You exist to serve and please him. Remember that, and he will reward you.

  The rage in her gut eased and her fingers uncurled. She watched with rapt, canine attention as he tore a piece of the roll and lifted the morsel to her mouth. She licked her dry lips, which parted in anticipation. He placed the food into her mouth—warm, sweet bread and melting butter sending an explosion of pleasure through her senses. She chewed rapturously, grateful tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Miraculously, he placed another piece on her tongue, and followed it with a sip from the mug of coffee, its contents perfectly flavored with cream and sugar, the brew strong and delicious. Astoundingly, he let her eat the entire roll and drink all the coffee. And though her bladder ached and her limbs were numb, her stomach felt full and her face split into something it took her a moment to recognize.

  She was smiling.

  She was happy.

  “Thank you, Master Phillip,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 3

  Nora smiled at Jack as they climbed the stoop together to Hawthorne Dungeon. When Charles and she
had volunteered to serve on the selection committee, they hadn’t counted on one of Charles’ high profile architectural clients demanding sudden changes that required his pulling an all-nighter. “I really appreciate your stepping in for Charles. I don’t like to travel in the city alone at night.”

  “Hey, not a problem,” Jack said.” I feel privileged to be part of the process.” Though she hadn’t been entirely sure how they would accommodate a third person in their small Manhattan apartment, in the few weeks Jack had been staying with them, he had turned out to be an easy and considerate guest.

  An early riser, he was usually gone before they woke up, eager to work on the renovation of the loft he’d purchased in Chelsea, which he was converting from an old warehouse into a studio/living space. Nora was the next to leave for her job as a biologist for a pharmaceutical company. Charles’ hours as an architect were less predictable. As a result, Jack was often home before either Charles or Nora, and they frequently found a simple but delicious meal prepared upon their arrival, along with a good bottle of wine. He kept the guest bedroom he occupied spotless and managed to discreetly fade away when Nora and Charles wanted alone time.

  He was easy to look at, too, with curly reddish brown hair that flopped appealingly into clear green eyes. He was a little over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and long, lean lines. His features were angular, with high cheekbones, a straight nose and a firm jawline. If Nora weren’t head-over-heels crazy in love with her own Dom, not to mention married to the guy, she would definitely give Jack more than passing consideration. How, she found herself wondering, had this thirty-something guy stayed single?

  As she lifted her hand to the large front door, key at the ready, it was pulled open by an imposing man in his sixties with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and a perennial golf tan. “Nora,” he boomed, “wonderful to see you, dear. And this must be Jack McQuade.” He extended a beefy hand in Jack’s direction as they stepped inside. “I’ve heard a lot about you, most of it good.” He guffawed, and Jack grinned good-naturedly.

  Jessica Dade, a petite woman with a sweet smile who wielded a wicked single tail, was just taking off her coat. Apparently overhearing the introductions, she approached, thrusting out her small hand. “Hello, Jack. I’m Jessica Dade. Ben belongs to me.”

  “A pleasure,” Jack said as he shook Jessica’s hand.

  The last of the selection committee, Harry Fuentes, arrived a moment later, and introductions were made. Harry was famous in BDSM circles for his Shibari workshops, which he regularly conducted at functions all over the country. Though he’d recently passed his fortieth birthday, Harry gave no indication of settling down anytime soon. He loved to play the field, and rarely brought the same submissive to the dungeons more than once or twice.

  “Greetings. I’m glad you could all make it.” All heads turned at the sound. Phillip stood at the top of the stairs, smiling down at them. He wore black leather pants that molded perfectly to muscular legs, a white silk pirate shirt unbuttoned to show his smooth, tan chest. “The applicants are waiting in the main dungeon.”

  “That boy is too gorgeous for his own good,” Jessica murmured to Nora. “I’d like to get his ass up on the cross and whip some of that arrogance out of him. He seems to forget submission is a gift, not something to which he, or any Dom, is entitled.”

  Nora flashed a grateful look at Jessica, pleased the older woman had picked up on Phillip’s negative vibe. Maybe she should enlist Jessica’s support and talk to Charles again about her reservations. But did she have any hard evidence, beyond her own gut feelings, to get the guy fired?

  Phillip’s eyes flickered over Jack and settled on Nora. “I’m sorry, were arrangements made of which I wasn’t aware?” The smile remained fixed on his face, but his tone was strained, even disapproving. “I thought we’d agreed on a closed selection committee?”

  “Charles couldn’t make it. It was a last minute thing,” Nora began, her face heating as it often did when she talked directly to Phillip.

  “I really appreciate this opportunity for an inside look, Phillip,” Jack interjected gracefully. “Thank you for hosting this demonstration. I’m sure we’re all looking forward to it.”

  “You got that right,” Harry enthused. “Show us what you got, Phil.”

  Phillip winced a little at the nickname, and Nora barely managed to suppress her smile. “Of course, of course,” Phillip said smoothly, apparently content to let the matter lie. Addressing the group as they headed up the stairs, he added, “I’ve met with nine candidates this week, and I’ve weeded them down to three potential subs. They would be available on an on-call basis, with a fee structure based on the level of service provided.”

  They walked in a group down the hall toward the main dungeon. Phillip had rearranged the space so the recovery sofa that was normally placed against a side wall was facing the two St. Andrew’s crosses at the front of the room. Three young women were kneeling up on a large yoga mat in front of the crosses, arms behind their backs, eyes properly downcast. Each wore a red silk robe tied closed with a matching sash.

  Jessica and Ben entered the dungeon first, moving away from the door as Jessica directed her sub to undress. Harry strode into the room and flopped down in the center of the sofa. Jack followed him, looking back to Nora with a question on his face.

  Nora hesitated behind them, suddenly not sure of her position. If she’d been with Charles, though she would have remained dressed if they weren’t doing a scene, she would have naturally knelt on the floor beside him on one of the cushions placed in front of the sofa. He would have put his hands on her shoulders as she leaned back against him, and she would have sighed her contentment.

  She moved toward Jack and, as he patted the sofa beside him, she made her decision to sit there, though she could feel Phillip’s disapproving glare as she, a mere sub, sat on the furniture. She wondered if Phillip had ever owned a sub or fulltime slave, and shuddered at the thought, even while she knew she was being unfair. Maybe he was just what Charles called “old school”—very strict about protocol and proper rules of conduct, as he defined them.

  Jessica led Ben toward the sofa by a short leash she’d clipped to his collar. He was naked, save for the metal cock cage that fit snugly around his cock and balls. His chest and thighs, Nora noticed as they approached, were covered with a latticework of fresh whip marks, and her skin tingled with sympathy and desire, in equal measure.

  She crossed her legs in an effort to relieve the sudden throb at her clit and turned her focus to the women waiting so submissively in front of them. Nora knew from experience their knees were aching by now, in spite of the padded mat beneath them.

  Phillip approached the girls and faced the selection committee. “I present Leah, Gianna and Brooke. All three have experience in the scene, and have passed various tests I’ve presented them with reasonable grace and obedience. They have all been examined and tested and have a clean bill of health, as do all of us here at the dungeons,” he added, addressing these last words to the kneeling sub candidates. “I recommend we invite each of these young women to join the ranks of Hawthorne Dungeon as our first house subs. Of course, they will need additional training to be suitable to serve our esteemed members, but I will be happy to take on that responsibility, assuming these subs I have chosen meet with your approval.”

  He moved to stand behind them, and placed a hand on top of Gianna's and Leah’s heads. Gianna was a redhead, her hair cut pixie-short. Leah’s hair was honey blond, Brooke’s a rich, dark brown, and both wore their hair long and loose.

  “I will put the girls through a series of exercises designed to demonstrate their submissive skill and obedience,” Phillip continued,” and then I’ll invite questions and input from the committee.”

  As he spoke, his fingers had curled, gripping a handful of both girls’ hair and twisting hard. Gianna winced while Leah drew in a sudden, sharp breath. Phillip let go and stepped back. “Sub girls,” he said, his voice de
epening. “Rise and remove your robes. Let them fall behind you and then stand at attention.”

  The girls rose, each graceful in her movements. Leah shook back her hair, but Gianna left hers spiked from Phillip’s grip. Leah and Brooke undid their sashes and dropped their robes immediately, moving in time as they locked their hands behind their heads. Gianna hesitated, if only slightly, the color creeping up her cheeks as she untied her robe with hands that trembled, if ever so slightly. It took perhaps two seconds longer for her to assume her position, and Nora held her breath, certain she wasn’t the only one to notice.

  Phillip moved with the speed of a snake and struck Gianna’s cheek. He stepped back, the imprint of his hand darkening against Gianna’s fair skin. “Why did I do that, sub girl?” he asked softly, though the words were edged with steel.

  “Because I hesitated, Sir,” Gianna murmured in a small voice, barely audible. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “That’s correct.” He lifted his hand again and Nora tensed, but he only ran his fingers lightly over the reddened cheek. In a gentle voice, he added, “Apology accepted. Don’t do it again. Remember, you are on display. I have recommended you to the keyholders, so my reputation is at stake here as much as yours.”

  Add a little pressure, why don’t you, Nora thought irritably, though she was glad he’d gentled his tone.

  “Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir,” Gianna breathed, lifting luminous eyes for a moment to meet his. Her nipples were fully erect, and her lips were softly parted, a look of unmistakable longing in her face. Of course, Phillip was absolutely gorgeous, a veritable golden god in black leather. And Gianna was young, barely out of her teens, it seemed to Nora, though hopefully she wasn’t quite as gullible and stupid as Nora had been at her age.

  Phillip went to the whip rack and returned with a heavy flogger. He stood a moment surveying the women, each of whom stood at attention, eyes focused on the middle distance. All three were slender, all three shaven smooth. Gianna’s and Leah’s breasts were small and high, their nipples pink, their coloring fair. Brooke was darker, her skin a rich, copper tan, her nipples rosy brown on breasts heavier and fuller than the other two. All three were beautiful by any standard, and the men on the couch were both leaning forward, their body language clear even if they hadn’t been sporting obvious erections.