The Darker Side of Pleasure

by Eden Bradley

  There it was, Pacific Crest Road. She made a right turn and wove her way up the narrow, twisting lane. Million-dollar homes up there, with million-dollar views of the ocean. But she wasn’t thinking about any of that right now. She was thinking only of why she was there. Of what would happen to her on her first visit to Master Robert’s home.

  Training house, she corrected herself. Her sex gave an involuntary squeeze.

  She flashed back to the first time she’d seen his ad on the Internet site she’d found.

  “Experienced trainer looking for a female submissive. If you are new to the BDSM lifestyle and are in need of proper training, please contact me. Inexperience is an asset, not a liability. References provided upon request. Serious inquiries only.”

  The ad read like a simple statement of every one of her darkest fantasies. Fantasies she had ever only dared to imagine until now.

  The Internet. This was something she had shied away from, believing only perverts (but what, really, was she?) lurked there. But here was someone who understood the kind of deep yearning she so often felt. Someone who could see that inexplicable, aching void that was invisible to the people in her everyday life. She’d felt an immediate sense of community with this stranger whom she’d sensed instantly would know the emptiness inside her, that cavernous hole waiting to be filled up in a way “normal” people could never understand. Someone who accepted that dark place she had kept secret, tightly locked within herself for fear of what others might think.

  She knew immediately this man was earnest. The wannabes all had ads saying things like “Come to Daddy, you bad girl.” This man was the real thing. And exactly what she needed. To be trained; taught. He did not expect her to know anything. She’d felt a strange sense of relief reading his words as her body went warm and weak all over, even as the idea of serving him brought back that old need for perfection. But this time, it would be for him. She would serve him perfectly.

  She downshifted and her car climbed as the street steepened. The scent of eucalyptus trees filtered in even through her closed windows.

  She’d brought Master Robert’s ad up on her computer screen over and over before she’d finally dared to answer. His reply had been quick, terse. Following his instructions they had met at a small café in Santa Monica, where she lived and worked at a trendy clothing boutique. There they had talked over coffee about her desires, about what she could expect from him. It had all seemed ideal. And so odd to have that conversation in the middle of the busy café, among the casual crowd in their sweats and T-shirts. Master Robert had been dressed in what she supposed was his version of casual: a pair of Armani slacks and a black cashmere sweater that were an elegant contrast to his dark gray hair.

  He was the most naturally dominant person she had ever met in her life.

  Caught in her musings, she almost missed the house. A pair of iron gates were partially obscured behind tall hedges and eucalyptus trees. She rolled down her window to ring the buzzer on the security box, and the rich scent of the trees flowed in along with the sea-tainted air. Her damp fingers flexed on the steering wheel, her heart hammered in her chest. She waited.

  It seemed as though several minutes passed before a female voice came over the system.

  “Yes?”

  “Cassandra Lowell to see Robert di Sante…to see Master Robert.” Even the word “Master” rolling over her tongue seemed lovely to her. Dangerous. Exciting.

  The gates rolled back as if by magic and she pulled her car through.

  The house was gorgeous. Set into a wooded hillside, it was a majestic, two-story Mediterranean-style, with white stucco walls. Dark tiles were layered onto the multilevel roof, and high, arching windows were accented by a tastefully brief bit of ironwork. Despite the lack of spires, the structure reminded her of the churches she had seen when her parents took her on one of their missions to Mexico. But this seemed an almost holy place to her. And imposing enough to bring gooseflesh to her skin. She could only imagine what lay behind the heavy wood door.

  Master Robert had told her during their conversation a week earlier what to expect. Weekends only for the first month, at his house, with the weekdays in between to go home, have a normal life, absorb whatever happened to her during her visits. At the end of that month, if she pleased him, he would ask her to stay on, to sign a slave contract in which she would hand herself over to him completely. If she accepted, her life would change utterly.

  He had made her fill out a long questionnaire before meeting with him, to answer questions about her wants, her desires, her limits. Her limbs had gone warm and weak just reading the questions, saying them aloud to herself, searching for the answers. Did she have a desire to be bound? Did she fantasize about pain? Did she feel a need to be under another’s command?

  Yes, and yes, and yes!

  Of course, her imagination had had a week to run wild since her meeting with Master Robert. What exactly would she be facing? A torture chamber with naked women chained to the walls, lashed until welts rose on thighs strained with pain and tension? A small shiver ran up her spine at the image.

  She parked her car, grabbed the small bag holding her toothbrush, hairbrush, some perfume and lotions, a clean pair of underwear. This was all she’d been told to bring.

  The night was warm against her goose-bumped skin as she stood before the door, unsure as to whether she should knock. Surely they knew she was there, since someone had opened the gate for her? She waited a few moments more, then raised her hand to knock—and paused, still unsure, her imagination working at warp speed about what might lie ahead. Her fondest dreams were, perhaps, about to come true. And the sense that she was about to do something very wrong both nagged at her and titillated her.

  She took in a deep breath, smelling the salt of the ocean, and a lovely humidity that soothed her lungs. Again she raised her hand. The door opened.

  She was surprised, completely flustered. And there was Robert, or Master Robert as she was going to have to get used to calling him. He was cool and elegant in the same type of finely cut black slacks she’d seen him in before, and a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. He smiled warmly, his steel gray eyes crinkling at the corners, as though he were truly pleased to see her.

  She felt a strange rush of relief and warmth all over, suddenly glad she had come despite her jangled nerves.

  “Cassandra, welcome.”

  He reached out a hand and stroked her cheek, just a gentle caress, barely grazing the skin, but she was on fire immediately, as though his soft fingertips had touched between her legs rather than her face.

  Then his hand moved to her shoulder and he exerted a gentle pressure. “On your knees.”

  His tone had changed. It was harder, yet not cruel in any way. And she stood there, hardly believing it would all start so soon, with her standing outside, still on the doorstep.

  His hand snaked around to the back of her neck and he squeezed, not hard, just firmly, and he pressed down. “Now, Cassandra.”

  She dropped her overnight bag, wanting to comply, but feeling frightened at the suddenness of it all. Tears stung her eyes. She searched his face wildly.

  He pressed a bit harder, locking his hard, gray gaze to hers. “I am not in the habit of having to repeat myself.” Then, more firmly still, “Now.”

  Something in her snapped, gave way, and she went down. The hard flagstone scraped at her knees a bit, but all she really saw were his eyes. His gaze was commanding, yet kind at the same time. He seemed pleased that she had acquiesced. Pleased but not at all smug. She didn’t think he was the sort of man who needed to be.

  Her head was emptying out at an alarming rate. The black lace panties she had bought especially for the occasion had grown damp the moment her knees hit the ground. She hadn’t expected to react so strongly to such a simple thing. But she was too much in the moment to dissect it.

  “Very good.” He stroked her hair. “You will follow me into the house. Do not get up.”

  The
idea was alarming, and under any other circumstances she would have been mortified, but something in her trusted that this was simply how things were done here. And a part of her was secretly pleased that it felt a bit to her like praying, being on her knees on the hard floor.

  He stooped to pick up her fallen bag, then gestured her into the hall while he closed the door behind her. Then he turned and made his way down the hallway.

  She followed. There was no question that she would. He didn’t even look back. She was so focused on following his feet, which were clad in very expensive-looking black loafers, she barely even noticed the smooth terra-cotta tiles of the floor she crawled on.

  Down the hall, then off to a room on the left, where the tile gave way to a Persian rug, in deep shades of red, black, and amber. He brought her into the center of the room. She hadn’t dared yet to look up.

  She was fairly confused, yet savoring the moment. She was really there! Kneeling on the floor at the feet of the man who would be her trainer. Her head reeled with the thought. Finally, someone she sensed she could please. She wanted to cry. Then she felt his hand on the back of her neck again, his voice soft against her ear. “I’m going to blindfold you now.”

  She shuddered all over with a wave of desire at the idea of it. And when the soft, black blindfold came over her eyes, was pulled tight around her head, she melted into it. Every nerve ending in her body came alive, electric with anticipation.

  He helped her to her feet and she swayed a bit, but he steadied her. His voice was still quiet, but strong. “Stand still, Cassandra. You will be undressed now.”

  Hands pulled at her clothes; feminine hands she discovered as soon as they touched her bare flesh. Her blouse was unbuttoned and slipped from her shoulders, then came her skirt, and she realized there was more than one of them.

  She had to take in a sharp little breath as her bra was removed. Her nipples immediately peaked, then peaked harder as a soft hand brushed them, by accident, she thought.

  Her panties were whisked away and she stood there in nothing but her thigh-high black stockings and her high black pumps. For some reason the blindfold comforted her, made her feel less afraid.

  A finger ran around the edge of one stocking, inserted itself beneath the elastic. “Very nice,” Master Robert whispered against her cheek, his breath warm and fragrant. “I love that your hair here is a little darker shade than the hair on your head. Gorgeous against your pale skin. Did you know it’s said that witches most commonly have red hair, just like yours; red and long and wild? You could bewitch anyone with this hair of yours. With those emerald eyes hiding beneath the blindfold. You’re like some ancient Celtic beauty.”

  Her heart swelled, thrilled that he was pleased with her. Then there were hands on her again, feminine fingers running over her stomach, her collarbone, up her spine. She wasn’t sure how many. Two? Three? More? Then lightly touching her breasts, which had begun to ache. She surged a bit into that touch, but the hand was immediately pulled back.

  “No, Cassandra.” His voice came, harder now. “You must hold still when you are being examined, unless you are told otherwise. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She could hardly believe it was her own voice saying the words to him.

  The “examination” continued. She was stroked, squeezed, pinched a bit here and there: her stomach, her thighs, buttocks, even her calves and arms. Then it was his hands parting her thighs, his voice ordering her to move her legs apart. His hand, larger than the women’s hands and harder in texture, although still soft for a man’s, brushed the hair between her thighs. The briefest touch, so brief that when he plunged a finger inside her, it came as a shock that reverberated through her body and she almost fell, on the edge of orgasm already.

  He withdrew it almost immediately, but she was left shaking and gasping for breath.

  “Take her away.”

  What? Away? Away from him? Where was she to be taken, and in this state of almost excruciating arousal?

  The women’s hands propelled her quickly, her heels clicking over a hard floor. One turn to the left, then one to the right, and into a room where she could feel the dense softness of carpet beneath her feet. Her hose and shoes were quickly stripped from her, and she was pushed again through a door.

  She felt the change in temperature immediately. The air was warm, soft with moisture, and smelled faintly of lilacs.

  “Wh-what now?” she asked, but a palm quickly covered her mouth and she understood she was not to speak.

  Two pairs of hands helped her to lift her legs over what she instantly recognized as the rim of a bathtub, and she lowered her body into the steaming, scented water.

  It felt glorious against her flushed skin, as did their soft hands, the soapy sponge they washed her with. All of her senses were heightened in a way they never had been before. With the blindfold on it was so easy to simply give herself over, to whoever these women were. All she needed to know was that Master Robert had given her to them.

  She was beginning to understand the purpose of the blindfold already. It was a release from responsibility every bit as much as it was meant to make her tune in on her body, her senses. It worked like a charm.

  They pushed her back so that her head rested on what felt like a rolled-up towel, and then a stream of water washed over her skin, rinsing the soap away. She imagined it was one of those handheld showerheads, shiny with chrome.

  The water hit her chest in a gentle massage, played over her breasts. When it hit her sensitized nipples, she almost cried out, but they swiftly moved on to other areas.

  She discovered quickly that she could feel the stream even under the surface of the bathwater. It rolled across the undersides of her breasts, down her stomach, then lower, to her thighs, relaxing the taut muscles there.

  Then their hands again, urging her thighs apart so they could aim the sharp stream of warm water at her sex. She lost it almost immediately, coming so hard she had to cry out, her whole body jerking with the spasms. And right in the middle of that mind-bending orgasm, one of them pinched her nipples, hard, making her arch into those wicked hands as the pain lanced through her, driving her orgasm on, sharpening the edge of it until coming itself almost hurt.

  When it was over a sob escaped her lips and she found herself murmuring, “Thank you.”

  Again the quick hand over her mouth, but she smiled beneath it. She felt wonderful, grateful. Grateful for the pleasure those female hands had brought her, but also for being made to feel as though she were a part of something, finally. At the same time, the old sense of guilt nagged at the back of her mind. But she knew that soon Master Robert would cleanse her of her sins in a way going to church, confessing, praying, never had.

  She hadn’t prayed since she was nine years old and her older brother, her idol, had run away, leaving her to take the brunt of her parents’ constant moralizing, their need for absolute control. But here she could finally give that control over willingly, without it being forced from her, somehow taking her full circle in the most beautiful way.

  They let her lie there in the water for a while. She heard them busying themselves in the room, but had no idea what they might be doing. She was too dazed to care. Then they lifted her from the tub, dried her carefully, rubbing her skin until she thought it might shine. When they rubbed her down with lotion it was almost too much for her, their slick little hands on her body. But when she let out a moan one of them pinched her hard on the back of her arm, a punishing little pinch that told her to behave as easily as any spoken order.

  When they were done she was led out of the room, back onto the plush carpeting. They sat her down on the edge of a bed, pushed her back onto a small mound of pillows.

  When they snapped a cold metal cuff around one wrist her first reaction was to struggle, but she fought it down. This was what she was here for, after all. But when the second cuff came around her other wrist she had a bad moment of panic.

  She could hear the sharp intake of
her own breath. She went hot all over and began to shake.

  Their soft hands soothed her, rubbing her shoulders and her arms. One of them whispered, “Shh. You are in the Master’s house. You are safe in his hands.”

  She calmed. Her mind was a whirl of confusion and she felt oddly exhausted, as though she had taken in about as much as she could in one evening. Cuffed to the bed, she relaxed back into the pillows, and slept. She dreamed of black leather boots, sinuous lengths of rope. And a faceless man who would share her deepest, darkest desires.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WAKING WAS CONFUSING. HOW LONG HAD SHE slept? It took her several moments to remember where she was and that it was dark because she was still blindfolded. She wondered if this was done on purpose, this enforced sense of disorientation. She thought Master Robert wanted her to be a bit off balance, and she had to admit that this would probably make her more compliant. It already had.

  She was calm lying there, thinking about how she had ended up in this place, in this situation. About the books she had read, the years of empty longing, the sense of isolation that had kept her from socializing with other people for so long. She had always felt different, alone in her dark yearnings. After only her first night in a place where those yearnings were understood, catered to, she was suffused with a sense of peace she’d never felt before.

  She didn’t know what would happen to her today, tomorrow. It almost didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was here, and she knew already she would endure whatever Master Robert wished her to.

  The faint squeak of a door being opened brought her more fully awake. Immediately the soft, feminine hands were on her, at least four of them, pinching her thighs and reaching beneath her to pinch her buttocks. The pinches weren’t too hard at first, merely sensitizing her skin, but they quickly escalated into real pain, and came in a dazzling flurry of torturous fingers.