No Safeword

by Claire Thompson

  Jaime moved as directed toward a large double sink. One side was filled with sudsy water, a number of pots and pans soaking within. There was a pair of rubber gloves beside the sink, along with dishwashing soap, sponges, brushes and cleaning pads.

  She turned on the cold tap and splashed some water on her face. Cupping her hands, she let them fill with water and drank deeply. Reaching for a nearby dishtowel, she wiped her face and hands and then pulled on the rubber gloves, ready to work.

  When she was done, she removed the gloves and set them neatly where she’d found them. She turned to face the room. Her hair was still damp from her cold shower, long, curling tendrils falling forward into her face. She tucked the tangled mess behind her ears as best she could, not sure what to do next.

  Master Mason was bent over the open door of the bottom of the double ovens. He stood and turned, a large roasting pan in his hands with a huge pot roast on the rack. He set it down and turned back toward the ovens, closing the bottom door and opening the top. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted tantalizingly into the room.

  Master Mason looked over at her with a nod. “All done? Good. Hang your apron on that hook by the door and then go out to the dining room and see if Lucia needs any help with the table settings. You may then wait behind your chair for dinner, which is in”—he glanced up at the wall clock that hung above the double ovens—“six minutes.” Ashley, who was now tossing a salad in a huge wooden bowl, kept her eyes on her task.

  Jaime hung her damp apron on its hook and pushed through the swinging doors into the dining room. The long table was beautifully set with china, silverware and crystal. Uncorked bottles of red wine and glass pitchers of ice water were placed at intervals along the table. Fresh flowers were artfully arranged in a large vase at the center. Lucia was pouring water into the glasses.

  “Hi,” Jaime said shyly. “Can I help?”

  Lucia looked up and smiled back. “I’m just about done, thank you.” She set the pitcher on the table. “I have to go back into the kitchen in a second. You can just wait behind your chair until all the Masters and Mistresses arrive.” But instead of heading back to the kitchen, Lucia regarded Jaime with an appraising gaze. “You know what? I have a minute. Let me see if I can do something with your hair.”

  Jaime touched her head self-consciously. “Thanks,” she said gratefully. “Whatever you can do is great.”

  Lucia stepped behind Jaime. She stroked Jaime’s hair smooth with her fingers and began to deftly weave large strands together, pulling them back in what Jaime realized must be a French braid.

  “Your hair is like my daughter’s—it has a mind of its own,” Lucia said.

  “Your daughter?” Jaime was startled to think of this woman having a daughter. Somehow she had just assumed all the subs at The Enclave were single and unattached. Did a daughter mean a husband? How old was this daughter? Did they live nearby?

  As if reading her mind, Lucia offered, “She’s grown now. Lives in California. Has a daughter of her own with the same unruly hair.” She laughed softly. “My husband was the same, though he let me cut it short for him.” She sighed a little, adding in a quiet voice. “I’m a widow.”

  “Oh,” Jaime said, touched and saddened by Lucia’s revelation. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. He was the love of my life, but I’m coming to realize, slowly, that the world goes on, even when someone you love leaves it. This place—The Enclave—saved my life. It’s given me direction and happiness. Love will come again, in its time.”

  Jaime pondered these wise words, curious to know more, but sensing now wasn’t the time to ask. Lucia patted her shoulder and stepped back. “There,” she said. “All done.”

  The hair was pulled neatly back from Jaime’s face, the end of the damp braid hanging between her shoulder blades. She wished she could see the overall effect—she’d never managed to master a French braid on her own—but knew it was better than the tangled mess Lucia had had to work with. She imagined a younger Lucia kneeling behind a little girl, fingers moving rapidly as the child shuffled impatiently. The image made her smile.

  “Thank you, Lucia,” she said to the already retreating woman.

  “De nada,” Lucia replied with a smile before she disappeared behind the swinging doors.

  A moment later Gene, Danielle and Katie entered the room. They took their places behind their chairs, both Gene and Katie flashing Jaime a smile, Danielle behaving as if she didn’t exist, which suited Jaime just fine.

  A silent minute passed as they stood waiting, and then the Dominants entered, preceded by footsteps and the rumble of their voices. Master Brandon and Mistress Marjorie appeared first. Master Lawrence entered next, Master Mark a moment later. Jaime’s heart leapt when he smiled at her. “Everything good?” he queried.

  It is now, she wanted to quip, but resisted the urge. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” He took his seat. Jaime, like the other subs, remained standing behind her chair. Finally Master Anthony arrived, along with Mistress Aubrey. Master Mason entered from the kitchen, the roast, now sliced and on a serving platter, in his large hands. Lucia and Ashley followed, carrying trays loaded with baskets of bread, salad and roasted vegetables. Once the Masters and Mistresses were seated, the slaves, save for Lucia, sat as well.

  As platters of food were passed around the table, Lucia poured wine for those who wanted it. Jaime, her nerves becoming increasingly jangled at the thought of her impending punishment, gratefully accepted a glass of wine from the naked woman with a whisper of thanks.

  She sipped the wine and nibbled at the delicious food, aware she needed to keep up her strength. The Doms laughed and talked, sometimes engaging the subs, all of whom seemed relaxed and happy. Jaime was startled by Master Mark’s hand on her thigh. “You’re jumpy. Calm down,” he said quietly.

  Jaime realized she’d been jiggling her leg nervously up and down, something she used to do as a child when anxious. Her father had put his hand on her thigh in just that manner, admonishing her with a smile to “stop being a jitterbug.”

  She stilled her leg at once, embarrassment making her face heat. “I’m sorry, Sir.” At the same time, his hand on her thigh sent a thrill zinging down her spine. She closed her eyes, recalling the warm, calming embrace of his strong arms wrapped around her, and she relaxed.

  You’ll be fine. I promise.

  She opened her eyes. Master Mark was watching her, and he smiled and nodded, as if he’d been reading her mind. She smiled back. Then she noticed Danielle watching them from Master Mark’s other side, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed tightly together. As Master Mark turned back toward his plate, Danielle’s sullen expression instantly morphed into placid serenity.

  Dinner finally came to an end, after a dessert of fresh raspberries and white chocolate gelato. The Doms began to rise, and the subs all jumped to their feet, moving quickly to stand behind their chairs, once more at attention. Jaime followed suit, her heart thumping in unpleasant anticipation.

  “Slave Jaime,” Master Lawrence said, fixing his gaze on her. “Come here.” A spurt of adrenaline zipped through Jaime’s veins. She moved down the table past Master Mark and Danielle. Master Lawrence held out a leash. “Come closer so I can clip your collar.” Jaime imagined she could feel Danielle’s triumphant stare as she was led from the dining room.

  Stop giving her free rent in your head, Jaime admonished herself. She isn’t worth it. She focused instead on recalling the feel of Master Mark’s arms around her. Thus fortified, she followed Master Lawrence into the living room.

  He walked her to the large fireplace. A small wooden platform raised about two feet from the ground with posts rising from each corner had been set on the floor in front of the huge, flat stone hearth. Eyebolts were embedded at the tops and along the sides of each post. Several blocks of wood of varying sizes had been placed beneath the platform. A gear bag rested nearby.

  “You will spend the evening on the punishment platform,” Master Lawrence
said. He unclipped the leash from her collar. Enclave members had begun drifting into the living room and were taking seats in various parts of the large room. Jaime did her best to keep her focus on Master Lawrence. “You will be punished for each of your transgressions. When the punishment is over, the slate is wiped clean. You will start fresh in the morning. You will handle your punishment with stoic grace and acceptance, understood?”

  “Yes, Master Lawrence.” Jaime silently prayed she would manage to do so.

  Bending down, he pulled out one of the wooden blocks from beneath the platform to use as a stair. “Climb up here. Get on your knees and face the room.”

  Jaime stepped onto the block and settled onto the platform as directed, her back to the fireplace, her bottom resting on her heels.

  “Lift your ass up and spread your knees wider,” Master Lawrence said.

  Jaime obeyed, gripping the posts for purchase.

  Master Lawrence reached for the gear bag and unzipped it. He pulled out a bundle of nylon cuffs with clips at the ends. Teasing them apart, he wrapped cuffs around her wrists and clipped them to the eyebolts near the top of each post so her arms were extended, but bent at the elbow. Moving behind her, he wrapped the cuffs around each ankle, and clipped these in place against the back posts.

  He stepped in front of her and regarded her critically for a moment. She couldn’t help but notice the marked bulge at his crotch. Despite his stern countenance and forbidding demeanor, he clearly got off on what he was doing.

  He bent down and brought up a smaller wooden block. This he placed beneath Jaime’s lifted bottom. “You can rest your ass on this as you need it. You’re going to be here a while.” Jaime settled gratefully against the support.

  Master Lawrence stepped back and turned to face the room. “This trainee is being punished tonight for a number of transgressions,” he said in a loud voice. “Her first transgression is continually speaking out of turn.”

  He reached for the gear bag and unzipped it. He withdrew something and held it up so Jaime could see. She bit her lower lip as she regarded the object with instant and deep dismay. It was a stainless steel contraption, the front part coated in black rubber. Though she’d never personally experienced one, Jaime knew what it was—a dental gag, the kind that fit in your mouth like a horse’s bit. It was just as bad, if not worse, than a ball gag, since your mouth was held open, making it impossible to swallow. There was a leather strap on the back to keep it in place.

  Master Lawrence moved to Jaime’s side. “This gag will serve as a reminder that slave girls don’t speak until they are spoken to. Open wide.” He tapped her cheek with his finger. Jaime didn’t dare disobey.

  She forced open jaws she hadn’t realized she’d been clenching. Master Lawrence placed the hinged, rubber-coated metal into her mouth, positioning it until he was satisfied. Reaching back, he secured the thing around her head, and then adjusted the hinges, forcing her jaws to widen.

  Jaime’s mouth instantly pooled with saliva. She tried, and failed, to swallow, her throat muscles clenching ineffectively with the effort. She blinked back tears of humiliation and reminded herself this punishment was finite. Soon it would be over, and her slate would be wiped clean.

  “Second transgression: coming without permission.” He reached into the gear bag and pulled out a small butterfly-shaped item made of soft, purple plastic, elastic straps hanging from its four wings. He pressed what she recognized as a Venus butterfly against her spread pussy and snapped the elastic straps around her thighs to hold it in place. He turned on a small remote, causing the masturbatory device to buzz into life against her clit. “You will not come for the duration of this punishment, unless or until directed. You will exercise self-control. Are we one hundred percent crystal clear on this directive, slave Jaime?”

  Unable to reply, Jaime could only nod her agreement. She could do this! She’d never particularly liked or responded to the insistent, almost annoying tickle of this kind of toy. She would just ignore it. Mind over matter. She would not come. She would not.

  “Third,” Master Lawrence announced in a voice designed to carry, “You failed to make slave Hans come within the prescribed time limit. We will be working on your oral skills, or rather, your lack thereof, throughout your stay here.” There were a few chuckles from the room. “Meanwhile, tonight, you will observe a typical evening here at The Enclave from the punishment platform until it pleases us to let you down. All staff slaves are experts at pleasing both men and women in the oral arts. Pay attention. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

  He stepped away, giving Jaime a view of the room. Everyone was assembled—Master Brandon and Mistress Marjorie with Katie, Gene and Mistress Aubrey with Master Julian and Hans, Master Anthony and Master Mark with Lucia and Danielle, Master Mason with Ashley. Without another glance at her, Master Lawrence walked toward Master Mason and Ashley.

  Master Anthony and Master Mark, who were seated side-by-side on a large sofa in the furniture grouping closest to Jaime, both stood and casually unzipped and lowered their pants before sitting back down. Lucia and Danielle, each kneeling in attendance, began to stroke and fondle the men’s cock and balls. The men, engaged in conversation, appeared to ignore the ministrations of the girls, though their rising cocks belied their seeming lack of attention.

  Danielle glanced sidelong toward Jaime as she kissed and licked along Mark’s shaft, her fingers lightly cradling his balls, and jealousy slithered through Jaime’s gut like curdled milk. If only she were the one kneeling there before Master Mark with his cock deep in her throat, instead of bound to the punishment platform, drool sliding out of her gaping mouth.

  She shifted slightly on the hard wood in an effort to move the butterfly’s direct focus on her clit. Her effort was unsuccessful, and the thing continued to buzz steadily, if ineffectively, against her.

  She looked away from the cock worshipping and saw that Master Brandon, too, had taken down his pants, which he’d removed altogether. He was standing near the windows, naked from the waist down. Though she’d noticed Mistress Marjorie’s slave collar earlier that day, it was still something of a shock to see her on her knees. Master Brandon’s cock was in her mouth, her hands lovingly cradling his balls, her eyes focused upward in adoration. Katie was behind him, also on her knees, her face pressed between his ass cheeks, her head moving up and down in tandem with her Mistress.

  Master Julian and Mistress Aubrey were in the process of yet another scene, this one involving their slave boys, Hans and Gene. Clamps had been attached to both slaves’ nipples, the chains of the clamps clipped together as they stood facing one another. Focusing her attention in their direction, she could hear Mistress Aubrey outlining the scene. “I’m going to stand behind you, Hans, and fondle your cock, while Master Julian does the same for my boy. When you are given the command, you will come. Make sure you both keep those nipple clamps in place. Careful about jerking each other’s chain.”

  Master Julian chuckled, adding, “Don’t either of you dare come before you are told. Got it, boys?”

  “Yes, Master Julian,” the slaves replied in unison. Jaime thought the setup unfair, since Hans was going to be stroked by a woman, not his gender of choice. Maybe, she realized suddenly, that was irrelevant. This wasn’t about his getting off—it was about pleasing his Doms.

  She watched, her own discomfort momentarily forgotten. Mistress Aubrey stood behind Hans, Master Julian behind Gene. Master Julian placed his hands on Gene’s shoulders and pulled him back a little, which caused the chains linking the two slaves to tauten. Gene, whose face Jaime could see, winced as the clamps tightened on his nipples. His cock, she observed, was fully erect as Master Julian reached around to circle the base of it with his hand.

  Mistress Aubrey, her back to Jaime as she pressed against Hans, who was easily a foot taller than she, said, “Good luck, boys. Make us proud.”

  Despite her self-assurance that she was immune to the limited charms of the Venus butterfly, Jaim
e’s clit throbbed against its steady thrum as she watched Master Julian pulling at Gene’s hard cock. Gene’s eyes had closed, his face a study in concentration. His neck was flushed red, his chest rising and falling. Jaime wondered how long he’d be able to hold on before he was given permission to come.

  She thought about orgasming on command. How was that even possible? You came when your body was ready to come, not when someone else told you to. And yet, this was apparently expected behavior here at The Enclave, and presumably something she would learn if she managed to hang on for the duration of the training.

  She was already expected not to come until given permission. Yet, that was just as elusive a concept to her. How, again, did one control one’s body in that way? If the nerve endings were stimulated to a certain point, you climaxed. End of story. Even as she thought this, she rejected it. Master Lawrence had told her not to come, as if this were a choice. He was confident she could master control over her body and her reactions. Who was she to refuse at least to try?

  Unable to resist, she looked again at Master Mark and Master Anthony. The girls were still worshipping their cocks. Both men were leaning back against the couch, their eyes closed. The naked, kneeling girls bobbed over their Masters’ laps with undivided attention.

  The sound of approaching footsteps drew Jaime’s attention from the scene. Master Lawrence stood in front of her once more, Master Mason now beside him, along with Ashley. She had a tattoo of a rose on one hip, a knife with a drop of blood at its tip on the other.

  Master Mason unfolded a large, thick towel on the floor in front of the platform and directed Ashley to step onto it. He turned his attention to Jaime. “Mistress Aubrey mentioned you have a bit of an issue with needles,” he said in his deep, rumbly voice. “We’ll have to work on that, young lady. Meanwhile, I thought you might enjoy a demonstration with a properly trained slave girl. Ashley can handle quite a bit of intensive needle and blood play, isn’t that right, sweetest girl?”