No Safeword

by Claire Thompson

  In spite of her fear, Jaime began to relax at the sound of Mistress Aubrey’s soothing voice and gentle touch. Her panic began to ebb away, a deep, accepting calm moving to replace it. When the Mistress removed her hand, Jaime opened her eyes. “Are you ready to continue?” Mistress Aubrey asked.

  Jaime opened her eyes. “Yes, please, Mistress.”

  Mistress Aubrey nodded toward Gene. The cold, gooey glass once more pushed between her ass cheeks. “Breathe,” Mistress Aubrey reminded her. Jaime dutifully tried to slow and deepen her breathing. The glass pressed slowly, inexorably into her tiny opening. It wasn’t really too bad, she realized with relief. She could do this. She could definitely do—

  “Ow!” she screamed, the sudden painful pressure in her rectum making her forget any promise to be courageous. But just as quickly as the pain had struck, now it subsided, replaced only by a sense of utter fullness.

  “Not so bad, was it?” Mistress Aubrey asked.

  “No, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

  Mistress Aubrey nodded. She stroked Jaime’s cheek, and Jaime had a sudden, nearly irresistible urge to turn her face so she could kiss Mistress Aubrey’s hand. The hand was withdrawn, however, as Mistress Aubrey’s eyes slid from Jaime to slave Gene, who stood naked between Jaime’s spread knees. Gene’s worshipful gaze was fixed on his Mistress. Jaime experienced a pang of longing as she watched the brief but loving glance exchanged between the pair.

  Mistress Aubrey turned back to Jaime. “You are doing well, Jaime.” As Jaime basked in this praise, the doctor continued, “The anus is quite elastic, as long as it’s given time to adapt. My slave can tell you, anal torture can be quite erotic. He’s learned to climax from anal play alone, isn’t that right, slave Gene?”

  “Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress,” the naked man replied fervently, his erect cock bobbing.

  “Now,” Mistress Aubrey continued briskly, ignoring her lover’s erection as she addressed Jaime once more, “we’ll test your sexual endurance, your obedience, and your ability to control your body, more specifically, your orgasm. Gene is going to stimulate you again. You will not come unless or until instructed. Is that all quite clear?”

  “Um, I think so,” Jaime said uncertainly, her heart skipping several beats.

  “You forget yourself.” Mistress Aubrey’s voice, so kind a moment before, had turned hard. “You must always address your superiors with proper respect. You must always include a Sir, Ma’am, Master or Mistress in your reply, no matter how confused and nervous you might be, or how much whatever is happening distracts you. It must become second nature. Now is as good a time to learn that lesson as any.”

  To Jaime’s shock, Mistress Aubrey struck her right cheek with a well-placed, stinging blow. “Now,” she said brusquely as Jaime blinked back tears she couldn’t wipe away in her bound position. “We’ll try that again. Are you quite clear on your instructions?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Jaime replied breathlessly.

  “Repeat them to me.”

  “Um, I’m to take whatever you give me,” Jaime said nervously. “I won’t come unless or until instructed, Mistress Aubrey,” she added hurriedly, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything.

  To her relief, Mistress Aubrey nodded. “Better.” She looked at Gene, who stood quietly at the foot of the exam table, his expression calm. “Get the wand. Set it on low,” she instructed.

  Jaime started to lift her head to see what Gene was doing, but Mistress Aubrey, still standing beside the table, pushed her back down. She closed her hand over Jaime’s throat and squeezed lightly. Jaime’s breath caught in her chest, her nipples aching, her filled cunt throbbing. A hand on her throat had always been a submissive trigger for her—a button, her ex-boyfriend had called it—and now was no exception.

  Something spongy pressed against her vulva. The wand clicked to life, its vibrations moving through her stuffed pussy and anus, sending a deep, shuddering tremble through her loins. Jaime began to pant, mews of pleasure pushing up from deep inside.

  Her eyes fluttered open to see Mistress Aubrey regarding her with a knowing smile, her hand still circled lightly around Jaime’s throat. “You need to be controlled. You need to be tied down, whipped, and thoroughly used, don’t you, slave girl?” Mistress Aubrey spoke in a soft, sensual voice, her words sending a rush of hot, sweet desire through Jaime’s veins.

  “Yes, Mistress,” she admitted with a gasp, a hair’s breadth away from a climax. “Oh, yes, please…”

  You will not come unless or until instructed.

  Jaime drew in and expelled a shuddering breath, and then another. She clenched her hands into fists and tried, unsuccessfully, to twist away from the constant barrage of sensation at her cunt and ass. Another sharp smack to her cheek distracted her in her efforts, its sting heating her face.

  “Control yourself,” Mistress Aubrey admonished.

  The stinging pain had counteracted Jaime’s impending climax. The respite was short-lived, however, as the wand continued its inexorable pulse against her swollen, aching cunt. It wasn’t long before she began to tremble with the effort of resisting the climax that was threatening to roll over her like a twenty-foot wave.

  “Oh god,” she moaned. Mistress Aubrey placed her hand once more around Jaime’s throat, pushing her fingers hard against the jawline. Jaime shuddered, her hips arching involuntarily upward. Mistress Aubrey released her grip, only to slap Jaime’s face again. The wand moved up and down her vulva, the vibrations exploding like firecrackers against her poor, swollen clit.

  It was too much. She bucked in her bonds, her voice rising in a wail.

  “You will come now.” Mistress Aubrey’s low voice cut through the cries and the blood roaring in Jaime’s ears.

  Thank god.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” Jaime managed, before sliding into the second most powerful orgasm of her life.

  Mercifully, the wand was removed, as were the dildo and the plug. She was a rag doll, her limbs flopping uselessly as they were released from the stirrups. The end of the exam table was extended, Jaime’s legs positioned by capable hands along its length, a soft sheet pulled over her naked body. Mistress Aubrey’s cool fingers caressed her once more, stroking her cheek, pushing her hair from her face.

  “She’ll do,” Mistress Aubrey said, and Jaime, eyes still closed, smiled.

  Chapter 3

  As Jaime entered the small, elegant bistro on Tuesday evening, a tall, slender blonde in a black dress stepped forward with a smile, looking past Jaime, presumably in search of her nonexistent date or husband. “I’m meeting someone,” Jaime said. “I see him.” Anthony was seated at a small table near the bar. He was watching her, and as they made eye contact, he lifted his arm in greeting.

  Jaime made her way toward him, her heart fluttering. Anthony had called earlier that day to inform her she’d passed all aspects of her exam with Mistress Aubrey, as well as the background check. “If you’re ready to move forward,” he’d said, “I’ll bring the contract this evening. We can discuss the details over dinner.”

  Anthony stood as she reached the table and moved behind her to pull out her chair. As Jaime sat, he expertly pushed it into place. Jaime couldn’t remember when a guy had done that for her, and it both charmed her and highlighted the fact they were from different generations.

  “A pleasure to see you,” Anthony said, his dark eyes moving over her in that soul-searching way he had that made her feel as if her clothing was see-through. A martini glass sat on the table in front of him, two fat green olives skewered on a toothpick soaking in the gin. Following her gaze, he asked, “Would you care for a drink?”

  As if waiting for his cue, a waiter appeared. He handed them menus and took Jaime’s drink order. “Just some club soda with lime,” she said, wanting to keep her head clear for what was to come. They perused their menus silently for a moment. Jaime was too excited and nervous to have much of an appetite. When the waiter reappeared, Jaime’s drink in hand, he regaled t
hem with the specials of the evening, and Jaime chose the pasta dish, Anthony the steak, along with a bottle of red wine for the table.

  When the waiter had gone, Anthony reached into his sport jacket and retrieved an envelope, which he handed to Jaime. “Inside you’ll find two copies of the candidacy contract.” As Jaime opened the flap with trembling fingers, he continued, “As you can see, it’s only a single page. But take your time and read it carefully. After we eat, and you’ve had a little time to process the contents, you can decide if you still feel this is something you want to do. If you decide it’s not for you, the invitation to use The Garden’s facilities as my guest at any time remains in full force.”

  Jaime’s mouth felt dry. She reached for her soda and took a long drink before focusing on the words in front of her. She began to read, keenly aware of Anthony’s steady gaze as she perused the fine print with her legally trained eye. The document had clearly been drawn up by an attorney, with its herewiths and wherefores, and yet this was certainly like no other contract she’d ever seen. Such an agreement between “Master” and “slave” could never be legally enforced.

  As if reading her mind, Anthony said, “I’m sure you understand such a contract would never stand up in a court of law, but that’s not why this was developed. Rather, we’ve found when our submissives, and our Dominants for that matter, sign such a document, it makes the commitment between them that much stronger. Expectations and requirements are clearly laid out, and adding one’s signature makes the pact more binding than a mere listing of the rules.”

  Jaime nodded. This reasoning made sense to her, and she agreed with the underlying rationale. Yet she understood, whether or not such a document could be enforced by the courts, if she signed, she would be handing over complete control of her body, her actions and her rights for the next two weeks, without recourse or limits, save for protection from actual bodily harm. She could sever the contract at any time, but that would result in immediate and permanent expulsion from The Enclave, a place she’d yet to lay eyes on, but had fantasized about endlessly in the days since she’d first learned of its existence.

  The waiter arrived, food in tow, and Jaime refolded the pages and slipped them back into the envelope, which she set aside. The food was delicious and the wine took the edge off her nerves. By tacit agreement, they didn’t discuss the contract or The Enclave during the meal, instead engaging in small talk about Asheville and the BDSM scene there, such as it was.

  When the plates were cleared and coffee was served, Anthony placed his hand lightly on the envelope and lifted his eyes to meet hers. “We want you, Jaime. There is no question in my mind you will make an excellent slave candidate. Have you made a decision?”

  Jaime swallowed. She reached for her wine glass and took another fortifying sip. Though she’d told herself she wouldn’t decide right away, a part of her, the most basic and essential part of her, had made the decision at the club. It was as if she’d been waiting all her life for this. As if her life had only been a rehearsal to this point. The real show was about to begin.

  She gave a small nod, and Anthony reached once more into his jacket, this time retrieving a pen, which he set down beside the envelope. Jaime reviewed the contract again, finding as her eyes skimmed the words that she’d already memorized them. Her hand, she was glad to note, was steady as she lifted the heavy gold pen.

  She signed her name over the words slave candidate on both copies. Expelling a breath, she pushed the pages toward Anthony. He took the pen from her with a nod, and signed above the Master on the signature line. “There you go,” he said, taking one of the copies along with his pen and slipping them the inside pocket of his jacket. “A copy for you and a copy for me.”

  He withdrew a second envelope and placed it beside Jaime’s coffee cup. “Inside you’ll find a cashier’s check for ten thousand dollars. I will have a car sent for you on Friday morning. I trust this gives you enough time to prepare?”

  Jaime stared at the envelope. As astounding as it might seem, she’d actually forgotten about the money. While it would be an incredible relief to be able to pay off her past due rent and debts, financial gain was definitely not the driving force behind her decision to enter the slave-training program. Still, there was no question it would leave her free to focus on what really mattered. She looked up with a grateful smile. “Yes, thank you. I’ll be ready.”

  Friday morning Jaime stood in the parking lot of her apartment building, clutching the small duffel she’d been instructed to bring as she waited for the driver to appear. The overnight bag contained only her purse, toiletries, birth control pills, cell phone and laptop. Anthony had told her not to pack any clothing, which prompted her to fantasize endlessly about what she would be required to wear (or not wear!) during her training.

  She told no one of her real plans, adopting Anthony’s suggestion that she tell friends and family she was taking a vacation in the mountains. She’d invented a local tour group with whom she’d ostensibly be traveling. Cell service and Internet would be limited to nonexistent, but she’d be in touch when she returned.

  Now, her heart jumped into her throat as a long, sleek sedan pulled up in front of her and slowed to a stop. The driver’s door opened and a man dressed all in black came around the side of the car. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with thick blond hair and narrow blue eyes over high cheekbones and a wide, sensual mouth. He wore a thick, black leather collar around his neck, which as he moved closer, Jaime saw was made from three strips of braided leather, the effect artfully beautiful.

  “You are Jaime Shepard?” he asked with an accent, possibly German.

  “Yes,” she replied, hoping her voice didn’t betray her nerves. She’d spent the past several days fixated on her experience at The Garden with Anthony and at the doctor’s office with Mistress Aubrey and slave Gene, reliving each astonishing detail. Each night she’d drifted to sleep with her hand between her legs, images of what life might be like at The Enclave providing endless fodder for her masturbatory fantasies.

  The man reached for her bag, and she let him take it. She moved toward the passenger door, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm, his grip firm. “No. You will sit in the back, please.” Yes. Definitely German.

  He pulled open the back door for her and Jaime slid onto the plump leather of the deep backseat. The man closed the door behind her and moved quickly back around the car. He shifted into gear and drove out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  He looked at her in the rearview mirror as he drove. “My name is Hans. I am a slave at The Enclave.”

  A slave! He said it so matter-of-factly, as if being a sex slave was an everyday, perfectly normal thing. “Nice to meet you, Hans,” Jaime said, hoping her voice didn’t betray her jittery excitement. A thousand questions leaped to her mind. This was a chance to pump someone who already knew the score, to find out just exactly what she was in for.

  But just as she opened her mouth to ask the first of many questions, Hans cut her off. “You will not speak during this journey, except in response to a direct question or order. You will listen and obey. For the duration of our forty-minute drive, I have been given complete authority as your Master. I will be giving a full report of your obedience upon our arrival. This is understood, yes?”

  “Oh! Yes.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Hans corrected. “You will address me as Sir during this ride.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Jaime amended, feeling a little foolish and a lot excited.

  “First,” Hans continued, his eyes flitting from the road to the mirror, “if you are wearing panties, you must remove them at once. These you will hand to me. You will then lift your skirt and sit directly on the seat.”

  Anthony had instructed Jaime to wear a simple blouse and skirt for the drive to The Enclave. He hadn’t said anything about underwear, and she was wearing panties and a bra beneath her clothes, her legs bare on this warm summer day. She glanced nervously at the rearview
mirror, but Hans now appeared to be watching the road.

  Jaime reached beneath her skirt and lifted her bottom so she could pull her underwear down. She adjusted her skirt as directed, settling her bare ass on the cool, soft leather. Without turning back, Hans extended his hand back toward her. She could feel the beginnings of a blush heat her cheeks as she handed him her panties.

  He took them without comment, his eyes still on the road. After a minute or so, he said, “Unbutton the blouse and remove it.”

  Jaime glanced anxiously out the window. They were still in the heart of Asheville, just pulling onto Route 694 North. “You do not obey at once,” Hans intoned in his accented English. “This will be reported.”

  Shit! Five minutes into the drive and she was already screwing up!

  At least the windows were tinted, and would hopefully afford some privacy. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m sorry, Sir!” she amended quickly, her fingers fumbling over the small buttons of her blouse. She yanked it from her arms, somewhat constricted by her seatbelt, very aware of her bare bottom on the leather seat beneath.

  She met Hans’ eyes in the mirror. “Now the bra,” he commanded.

  Jaime reached back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall forward from her body. She set it on the seat beside her, along with the blouse. It felt beyond strange to be riding topless in broad daylight, but the exhibitionist inside her—inside every submissive—was deeply aroused. Hans’ eyes flickered back and forth from the road to the mirror. “Tweak your nipples,” he ordered. “Make them hard.”