BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  There was a commotion behind her, and then Aaron’s deep, rich baritone cut across her panic. “What’s going on here? Get out of the way.” In a moment, he was beside her, sliding back the bolt and lifting the top half of the stocks.

  “She was just being a pussy,” she heard Stuart say from a distance, his voice a whine. “You had no right to intervene in our fun.”

  Aaron pulled Morgan upright, and she fell against him, losing her balance on the high heels as the blood rushed away from her head. His strong arms came around her as Master Michael appeared, a frown on his face. “What’s going on here?” he, too, demanded as he looked from Aaron to Stuart and back to Aaron.

  “The trainee was using her safeword,” Aaron said in a hard voice. “Master Stuart here apparently didn’t understand.” His tone was scathing, and Morgan would have applauded and cheered if she’d dared. As it was, she just leaned weakly against him, trying to catch her breath. Her forehead was clammy and she was a little sick to her stomach. Her ass and thighs were on fire, but it was all almost worth it to be held so gently in Aaron’s warm embrace.

  “Hey, I didn’t think she was serious,” Stuart said. “She said she was experienced with a cane, sheesh.”

  Morgan’s mouth fell open at this blatant lie, but Master Michael spoke first. “A safeword is always serious.” He turned to Aaron. “You can take her for aftercare, if you think it’s necessary. Stuart and I need to talk.”

  “Come on, Morgan,” Aaron said. “You need a little time to regroup.”

  He led her through the dungeon, past several scenes already in progress, the party clearly in full swing. Only Laura, who was wiping down a spanking bench near the door, looked up as they walked by. “You okay?” she mouthed, her brow furrowing with concern.

  Morgan nodded as they passed, though she wasn’t entirely sure.

  Chapter 8

  Aaron took Morgan into the recovery room just off the main dungeon. She was disheveled, her lipstick smeared, mascara smudged beneath her eyes.

  He led her first to the sink. “Wash your face and then I’ll examine the welts on your ass,” he instructed. He stood behind her, forcing himself to resist the impulse to pull back the silky waves of her hair as she splashed water on her face.

  When she was done, she turned to him. “Permission to speak, Sir?”

  “Yes. What is it?”

  Her blue-green eyes softened, her full lips lifting into a pretty smile. “Thank you, Sir, for saving me.” She batted her eyes, the lashes still thick and full, despite the removal of the mascara. Christ, was she flirting with him again at a time like this? Had she used her safeword without just cause?

  Instead of acknowledging her remark, he said brusquely, “Take off the heels and stockings and go lie down on the divan.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She kicked off the shoes. Perching gingerly on the edge of the divan, she bent forward. He could see it was difficult for her in the tight cinch of the corset, but he did nothing to assist her.

  When she’d managed to remove the tattered stockings, she lay down on her stomach, and Aaron crouched beside her to examine the welts. There were marks, but nothing too severe. He ran his fingers lightly over her skin and she shuddered at his touch. “There’s no broken skin, and these welts will fade quickly. I’ll put some Arnica on the worst of them.”

  She lay with her face resting on her arm, her eyes following his movements as he took a tube of salve from a drawer in the end table beside the divan. Crouching again beside her, he daubed the gel over her skin.

  She sighed and wriggled her sexy ass in a provocative way that made his cock begin to stiffen, while irritating the shit out of the rest of him. Apparently she was going to keep pushing that particular envelope, and he needed to put a stop to her seductive, inappropriate behavior once and for all.

  He rose abruptly to his feet. “Get up. You’re fine. Kneel up on the rug.” He pointed to the floor. “We need to talk about safewords.”

  Morgan rolled from the divan with thinly disguised reluctance. As he stared her down, she assumed the position, her hands resting lightly on her thighs.

  “Palms up, knees wider,” he ordered, taking a seat on the divan. “Lower your eyes.” He waited as she obeyed, ignoring how hot she looked in that corset, her pretty little cunt on display.

  “Tell me, Morgan. What does a safeword mean to you?”

  She hesitated a moment before responding. “Uh, it’s a way to stop scene action when it’s getting too intense and the guy, uh, the Master, isn’t getting the hint.”

  “Sir,” he reminded her.

  “Sir,” she promptly added.

  “Let me define it a little more clearly for you. A safeword is an absolute last resort. You are to use it only when nothing else is getting through, and you feel endangered or believe you’re going to experience serious harm. For example, someone is gripping your throat too tightly, and he isn’t getting it that he’s about to choke you out—possibly kill you. That’s the time for a safeword or hand signal. Or, let’s say you’re involved in knife play, and the guy is about to cut a major artery. That’s another instance where a safeword is entirely appropriate. A casual caning scene with a guest at a play party, where he hasn’t broken the skin and you’re not in any danger whatsoever, is not the time to use a safeword.”

  “But, Sir, he was—”

  “I did not give you permission to speak. Close your mouth and listen.”

  He waited as she struggled to control her obvious frustration, her cheeks flushing. Who was this girl, and why had anyone ever thought she was submissive?

  Leaving that question in the back of his mind, he continued, “Whether you like the guy or what he’s doing is irrelevant. While you’re in this house, you belong to this house, and that means you serve as a house slave when not in training. Yeah, I get it that you were scared. I get it that Stuart Reiner isn’t exactly the most refined or skilled Dom in the world, but that doesn’t matter. You were at the party to serve the guests. This wasn’t supposed to be about you, or for you. You were there for him, and you choked. You let your own fear get in the way of your submission. You failed to exhibit courage or grace. You embarrassed Michael and Gerard as the hosts, and you embarrassed me as your trainer. Frankly, Morgan, though we’ve only been working together for a short time, I expected more of you.”

  Her lower lip protruded, tears welling in her pretty eyes. One of them rolled down her cheek, and it took all of Aaron’s willpower not to reach out and wipe it away. “I’m sorry, Sir. You’re right. I was afraid. I didn’t like the stocks and I didn’t trust him. I’ve never been caned before, and he scared me.”

  “I understand,” Aaron said, his tone gentler. “We haven’t done a proper pain assessment yet, but from how you handled the paddling, I’m confident you could have taken quite a bit more from the cane. It’s not easy to submit with true grace and courage. I know that. If it were easy, you wouldn’t need the training.”

  He got to his feet. “Let’s go back in there, and you can apologize to our guest. You will ask him what you can do to make amends, and then, assuming he wants anything to do with you, you will do whatever he asks. Understood?”

  Morgan drew in a deep breath, her emotions again playing over her face. She had yet to achieve the placid mask of serenity worn by both Claudette and Laura. In his heart of hearts, Aaron preferred the honesty of Morgan’s emotional displays, though he understood it wouldn’t do at the Chateau. “Yes, Sir,” she said in a defeated voice.

  In spite of himself, Aaron grinned at her hangdog expression. “You’re getting a chance at redemption, not going to the guillotine. You should be thanking me.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” she said quickly, and this time he almost believed she meant it.

  ~*~

  Aaron had her put her heels back on, sans stockings. The garters flapped uselessly against her thighs as they walked back to the main dungeon. Any fantasies of her trainer pulling her into his arms and kissing away the ordeal of
the caning had vanished when he’d ordered her to kneel and then began lecturing on how she’d fucked up.

  She ran her fingers through the mess of her hair as they reentered the dungeon, not looking forward to facing that asshole, Stuart, again. Claudette approached as they entered, her expression serious. “Is all well?” she asked Aaron. “Is your trainee all right?”

  “She’s just fine,” Aaron said. “A case of Chicken Little, but it turns out the sky wasn’t falling after all. She just got scared. She’s back to apologize, and service our guest in whatever way pleases him.”

  “Ah, I see,” Claudette said gravely, though her eyes twinkled. “Master Stuart is enjoying a glass of champagne. I believe he was about to use Laura in Morgan’s absence.”

  “Claudette, please join us,” Michael called from across the room. “I need you to hold down this lovely girl while I crop her pretty little pussy.”

  Claudette’s head whipped in the direction of her Master. “Right away, Maître,” she replied. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said quickly, and then glided away.

  Morgan followed Aaron reluctantly to the food table at the back of the dungeon. Stuart stood there, a plate piled with goodies in one hand, a glass of champagne in the other, his mouth full and working. He swallowed and grinned at them. “Look what the cat dragged in.” Then he frowned, his tone becoming almost sympathetic. “Hey, sorry if I moved too fast for you. I’m used to the properly trained subs here at the Chateau. Even the newbies usually have some idea what they’re doing. I didn’t realize I was dealing with a total amateur.”

  Morgan flushed at his words. Her fingers tingled with the desire to punch his smug face, and she had to consciously resist the urge to clutch them into fists.

  “Morgan is actually here to apologize to you, Stuart,” Aaron said. “She’s still learning about the proper usage of safewords. She wants to make it up to you by serving you now in whatever way would please you.”

  Stuart turned his gaze on Morgan, his tongue moving over his upper lip as his eyes narrowed. “Does she now?” He lifted his eyebrows. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  It took Morgan several seconds to understand what he wanted. Her face grew even hotter, but she forced herself to say, “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m sorry I messed up the scene. I’ll do better.”

  Stuart grinned. “I’m sure you will.” He turned to Aaron. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll take it from here.”

  Morgan glanced beseechingly at Aaron, silently begging him to change his mind—to tell Stuart he was a dick, and no way would Aaron allow him to touch her, much less scene with her. Her heart soared for a moment as he stood there, his face a curious study of indecision. He didn’t want her with this jerk any more than she did!

  But then his expression smoothed, his eyes going flat. “Have a good time,” he said as Morgan’s heart plummeted back to earth. Turning to her, he brought his mouth close to her ear and murmured, “Make me proud, sub girl. Do this for me.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she breathed, her heart fluttering. She turned to watch as he strode away, biting back a sigh.

  Her attention was drawn back sharply by Stuart’s fingers gripping hard into her shoulder. “I know exactly how you can make it up to me. Let’s go behind that privacy screen over there.”

  As she followed Stuart to a large wooden screen set up in the corner of the dungeon, she searched the room, hoping to catch sight of Aaron, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  As they stepped together behind the screen, Stuart put his hand on his fly and jerked it open. “I bet Laura wouldn’t use her safeword, even if I whipped her to shreds. Maybe next time I come out for a party, you’ll be just as good. Meanwhile, get down on your knees and suck my dick.”

  Make me proud, sub girl. Do this for me.

  This was going to be rough—an ordeal as hard to take as the caning had been, but she would do it with grace. She would do it for Aaron. Closing her eyes, she took Stuart’s short, stubby cock into her mouth.

  Fortunately, it was over in less than two minutes.

  It was late the next morning by the time Morgan was done with grooming, breakfast and positions training, which had gone, if she said so herself, rather well. Claudette left her in the positions studio with instructions to lay out her gear and wait, kneeling up, for her trainer. “You are to put on the wrist cuffs, though you don’t need to clip them together. Just rest your hands on your thighs and practice serenity and stillness while you wait.”

  On her knees as instructed, Morgan placed her hands on her thighs. Closing her eyes, she focused on emptying her mind, inviting serenity to take the place of her chattering thoughts.

  At the sound of footsteps in the hallway, her eyes sprang open, her heart skipping a little in her chest. Though she kept her eyes straight ahead, she could see Aaron in her peripheral vision standing in the doorway. He looked incredible in a dark blue T-shirt that appealingly hugged his muscular arms and broad shoulders, and set off the golden, honey blond of his hair. “Good morning, Morgan,” he said in that glorious British accent of his. “I trust you slept well?”

  Because she was asked a direct question, she turned her gaze fully on him. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” You look good enough to eat, Sir.

  “Good, because you’ll need your energy and stamina today. We’re going to do a full pain assessment.”

  “A…pain assessment, Sir?” Morgan stomach lurched unpleasantly, while at the same time, a perverse thrill of desire shot through her.

  “After the incident last night with the cane, I want to thoroughly assess your tolerance and capacity for erotic pain. I need to get a better handle on where your strengths and weaknesses lie, so we can work on that in the short time we have together. If you’re going to be a successful house sub at that club where you plan to work, you’re going to need to be able to take more than you handled last night—that’s for damn sure.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  What he said was perfectly true, and it was why Tom had sent her for training in the first place. She tended to balk when the scenes got too intense, but was that really what was at play? She could handle a significant amount of erotic pain in the right circumstance—but what was that exactly?

  She’d thought she wanted to work full time at the club in order to have free access to the great equipment and enjoy plenty of BDSM play, and get paid in the process, but now she was no longer sure. What she’d thought she aspired to at the club bore little resemblance to the deep submissive satisfaction Laura and the other house slaves seemed to embody, or the obvious bliss that came from serving a Master you loved and adored, and who loved you in return, as Claudette and Master Michael clearly shared.

  Aaron drew her back to the present. “Get up. We’ll work next door because I want to restrain you so you’re not distracted with having to hold your position. Bring your flogger, your crop and your single tail. Oh, and bring the blindfold, too.”

  ~*~

  “You can place the whips on the spanking bench,” Aaron said as he pulled the portable bondage rig from its spot against the wall and opened it. The rig consisted of three ten-foot rubber-tipped aluminum rods that formed a teepee-like triangle when opened, with an adjustable chain and rings at the apex for securing wrist cuffs.

  He had her stand beneath the apex and lift her arms so he could adjust the chain and secure her cuffs. He left enough give so the position wouldn’t strain her shoulders or affect circulation. She didn’t say a word as he restrained her, except to reply in the affirmative when he asked if she was comfortable with the wrist height. She followed his movements with her eyes, which reminded him he needed to cover them.

  “You’ll wear this blindfold,” he said as he slipped the sleep mask over her eyes, “to help you focus more fully on the experience without visual distraction.” As he adjusted the mask, he leaned closer, breathing in the pleasant citrusy smell of her hair.

  “We’ll need to get your hair out of the way.” He went to the supply cabinet and returned with a large hai
rclip. Her thick tresses were soft and silky between his fingers. He twisted them into a ponytail and wound it on top of her head, using the clip to hold it in place.

  Stepping back, he tried not to dwell on the sensual curve of her breasts, pulled high by her position, or the rosy nipples at their centers. His eyes moved down her slender body to her smooth mons and shapely thighs, and he actually shook his head in an effort to clear away the fantasies that threatened to overtake him.

  It was strange—he couldn’t remember when he’d last been so distracted by a woman’s beauty. In fact, in the two plus years he’d been doing this, he’d become rather inured to having naked women around him, or so he’d thought.

  When he stepped behind her, his cock twitched in appreciation at her small but well-rounded ass. Extremely annoyed now at his lack of self-control, he grabbed the flogger from the spanking bench and returned to her.

  “I’m going to start with the flogger,” he informed her. “After you’re sufficiently warmed up, I’ll move on to the crop and then the single tail. What I want you to do is flow with the sensations. It’s as much a mental process as a physical one. You need to open yourself to the pain—to welcome it and take it inside you.”

  He lifted the flogger and began to brush her ass with broad, smooth strokes. She shuddered and sighed as if he were doing something sexual to her, and he understood that it was sexual on some level for a masochist—at least to a point. He planned to take her beyond that point—well beyond.

  “I’m going to increase the intensity slowly. I don’t want you to censor your reactions in any way. I want to get a real sense of how you process the pain—how you work through it, and what you can take. At the same time, I do want you to focus on acceptance. I plan to take you as far as you think you can go, and then just a little beyond that. Remember to breathe—slow, deep breaths, especially when it’s getting tough for you to handle. You good with all this so far, Morgan?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said throatily.