by Eden Bradley
Every single fantasy she’d ever had had come true. And a few she didn’t even know had existed: being touched, stimulated, by women. The heightened excitement of being watched by the crowd while Mistress Delphine had played her. And while Marcus had played her, but she had been far too focused on the fact that it was him to be more than marginally aware of anyone else.
A small rush of heat flooded her body as she thought of him. Of the way he had touched her. His hands had been like fire dancing over her flesh. And when he had spanked her…
The insistent ringing of her telephone brought her head up and she grabbed the receiver from her nightstand.
“Hello?”
“Cassandra?”
A deep voice, familiar somehow…
“Cassandra, it’s Marcus.”
She was too stunned to speak. Could it really be him? Her body instantly went warm all over, her sex clenching with damp heat.
“Do you remember me? From Master Robert’s house.”
“Yes, of course.” Remember him? She had thought of little else since the first moment she’d seen him.
“I wanted to talk with you.”
“What about?” Her pulse was speeding, pounding. She wanted to drop to her knees.
There was a pause, then, “I want to know what you’re thinking, feeling, about all of this.”
“Oh…Well, I…it’s all very new. I think I’m flying still. My mind won’t stop turning it all over, analyzing. And maybe…I’m a little sad that it’s over.”
“That’s normal. You’ll feel better by tomorrow.”
They were both silent a moment, then he said quietly, “The truth is, I couldn’t stay away from you for a week.”
Had he really just said that? She pushed her heavy hair from her face, sat carefully on the edge of her bed before her legs went out from under her.
He went on. “I shouldn’t be calling you. You belong to my uncle, no matter how conditionally at this point.”
“I’m glad you called. I wanted you to, wished for it.” She was trembling all over. She could not believe they were having this conversation!
“I need to see you, Cassandra.”
“Yes!”
He paused, and she heard him blow out a long breath. “It would be ignoble of me to ask this of you now, before you’ve had a chance to calm down, to think. But do think about it.”
“Please, Marcus. Sir. I know what I want.”
Another brief silence. “God, to hear you call me that…” His voice was low, rough with desire. “Tell me why, Cassandra.”
“Why I want to see you? Because even among a group of sensually sophisticated people, as they all are at your uncle’s house, you stand out to me like a beacon. Because my body seems to know you. I don’t know how to explain it.” She felt that she could say anything to him, that she could tell him every thought in her head, that she was safe with him in this way.
“No, I understand completely. My body does know yours, in some inexplicable way. But what I want now is to know you, your mind.”
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” Her blood was singing in her veins, her heart clenching.
“Why this? Why a life of submission?”
“Because I’ve always wanted it, even when I didn’t know it. Because now that I have experienced this, I know it’s exactly what I’ve craved all these years.” The words were tumbling out of her, she didn’t even have to think about what she was saying. She was simply telling him the truth. “Because while I am long tired of always having to be the good girl, this way I can be both good and bad at the same time. It fills my need for rebellion from my repressive upbringing, and at the same time provides me with a punishment for my sins.”
“Do you really believe what we do is sinful?”
“Yes and no. But I get a sort of dark pleasure from thinking of it that way. From imagining this is what will cleanse me. I suppose I have the classic twisted Catholic girl’s perspective.”
“Yes. But you’re more intelligent about it than most slaves are. More thoughtful.”
She blushed all over with his praise.
“And you, Sir?”
“I do this because I love it. It’s as simple as that. My uncle raised me after I ran away from my father’s house. He wasn’t a very nice person. I was fifteen. Shortly after my eighteenth birthday, Robert revealed his life to me, a life he had put on hold to raise me to adulthood. He has my utter loyalty for that, which makes my talking with you behind his back such an unforgivable sin.”
“Then we sin together,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
She could swear she heard a smile in his voice. Pleasure suffused her; she knew she had pleased him with her answers.
“And I suppose…there is something perverse in me that loves the sin of it, as well.” He paused, then, “Tell me Cassandra, how you know the name of Rodin’s sculptures?”
“I love art. I always have. And there’s something about the stillness, the starkness, of sculpture that speaks to me.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. And black-and-white photography, for much the same reason.”
“Yes, I love photography, whether it’s Ansel Adams’s scenics or more obscure work. Do you know Jan Saudek?”
“Brilliant figurative photographer. I can’t believe you know his work.”
“It’s erotic, beautiful, even when it’s crude.”
“Yes, exactly.” She heard Marcus take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry—I’m talking too much.”
“No. I love to hear your voice. To know what you think, what you’re interested in.”
She warmed all over at his words. And they brought home to her that the connection she had felt with him before was amplified now, almost unbearably intense because that connection ran deeper than the mere physical.
“I want to see you, Cassandra. But I’m going to be responsible, as I should have been from the beginning, and give you time to think. It’s the least I can do.”
She wanted to be with him now. To talk with him, to feel his hands on her flesh, his lips…But she wasn’t about to argue. She was far too intrinsically obedient to do that.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I should see you next weekend at some point. And then we will talk again. About life. About art, which is often the same thing for people like us, I believe. I’ll be thinking of you.”
He hung up.
She stood, holding the phone in her hand, wondering if it had all been a dream. But she remembered every single word they had spoken to each other.
Her body burned for him. And her heart yearned. But only her body’s needs could be slaked for now, even though Master Robert had ordered her to abstain from reaching orgasm during the week. He wanted her in a state of arousal when she returned to him. So, she would be the sinner again.
Moving to stand in front of the mirror on her closet door, she cupped her breasts in her hands, but it only made her need worse. She squeezed, kneaded, imagining it was Marcus’s hands there. She quickly unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off, and then her bra. Her nipples were stiff and dusky pink, and needed to be touched. To be tortured.
She ran her fingers over the hard tips, and pleasure spun through her system. She pinched them, rolled them between her fingers, all the while thinking of Marcus’s face, of his beautiful hands. Her sex began to pound with the need for release. She wanted to lie down on her bed, put her hand between her legs, and bring herself to orgasm.
She glanced at her bed. The fluffy white quilt, the pile of embroidered white and blue pillows, looked so inviting. But she was fascinated with watching herself in the mirror.
She slid her skirt down over her hips and kicked it off. She stood before the mirror, naked. Her skin was flushed, her eyes glossy. She moved her legs apart, slid her hand down to the dark chestnut curls there, and pressed hard. She couldn’t help it.
A wave of pleasure rolled through her. She needed more. And the sight of her naked an
d aroused body in the mirror was thrilling, somehow.
Still watching, she used her fingers to part her lips, saw the tiny nub of her clitoris, and teased it with one finger while imagining Marcus’s face, his touch. Her clit came up tight, a hard nub beneath her fingertip. She moved her hand over it, brushing, teasing, until she couldn’t stand it any longer. She pushed a finger into her soaking wet cleft, felt her inner walls clench around it as the heel of her hand pressed into her aching clit. She was so damn excited it hurt.
Moving her fingers inside herself, she used her other hand to pinch one of her nipples, hard. There was no pain, only a deep pleasure that jolted through her body like an electrical shock, making her come hard. She ground her hips into her hand, driving her orgasm on in shattering waves that made her head reel.
She fell against the door frame of the closet, panting, and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks and her breasts were flushed a bright pink; her eyes glittered. Her whole system still hummed with pleasure, but it wasn’t enough. She would need to come a hundred times to quench the need that speared every nerve ending in her body.
She needed to go back to Master Robert’s house. Needed to see Marcus again. That would be her only relief. She would admit her transgression to Master Robert. He would punish her. Yes. She needed it, craved to be punished. Mere orgasm was not enough for her now. She needed to be dominated, controlled, tortured with pleasure.
She couldn’t wait to go back.
CHAPTER SIX
THE LAIR.
Could there really be such a place? But then, only in Cassandra’s wildest dreams did a place like Master Robert’s home exist. And now he was telling her about an even larger private house that was made to be a playhouse for those people whose tastes in sensual pleasure ran to the extreme.
People like her. Like Master Robert. Like Marcus.
Even now he was at the forefront of her mind. But Master Robert was talking to her again. She shifted in the leather chair in Master Robert’s elegant, book-lined office and focused.
“As we discussed at our first meeting, Cassandra, ultimately nothing is done without your consent until, and unless, you make the decision to sign a contract to stay with me. And so I need to know if you are willing to come to this place with me tonight.” He leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands on the enormous oak desk.
“There will be a large group of people, perhaps as many as fifty, a hundred. They are an exclusive group, all of them very well versed in the BDSM lifestyle, all practicing the same rules and the same philosophies I live by. But you would be lent out there, as you were here last weekend. I’d like for you to go, but you must separate your own needs from my desires.”
“But I am here to serve your desires,” she said quietly. “That is what I need, Sir.”
Except for that one enormous transgression of her feelings for Marcus. But she was certain Master Robert would, unknowingly, punish her for that.
He smiled. “An excellent answer, Cassandra.”
She smiled back, happy she had pleased him, and her mind whirling with what this new place he was taking her to might hold for her. Is that where she would see Marcus? But she could hardly ask.
“Mika will take you to your room now to prepare.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He smiled at her and she shivered with pleasure just knowing she had made him happy. Yet at the same time, her need for Marcus tugged at the back of her mind, sending guilt twisting through her.
Mika came in immediately, as though she’d been waiting just outside the door. She probably had been. Without a word she gave a small bow to Master Robert, took Cassandra’s elbow, and guided her into the hallway and to the room she had begun to think of as hers.
There she was undressed by Laura and Jacqueline, then bathed by them as she had been before.
It took a long time for Mika to do her hair and makeup. Cassandra tried to lose herself in the ritual, but her heart was pounding too hard. Her mind was absolutely spinning with possibilities, and always the first one: Would Marcus be there?
Finally she was ready and Mika took her, naked and decorated in silver this time, to the living room.
Master Robert was sitting in his usual chair. “You look lovely, Cassandra. Perfect. Except for this one last detail.”
He stood and she saw for the first time that he had a heavy, white leather collar in one hand. “Hold your hair up, that’s a good girl, and bend your neck forward. Beautiful.”
She felt beautiful. Treasured. Owned. The collar was a symbol of everything she had dreamed of. It was hard and soft around her neck all at the same time. Safe. And it made her want to drop down to her knees and kiss Master Robert’s hand in gratitude. But he was moving away from her.
“We’ll go now. Mika, call the car, please.” He stood up. “To the front door, Cassandra.”
Why had she thought she’d be dressed for this trip? But she did feel dressed, with the collar around her neck. And she was slipping down into that dark place in her mind already, even though she hadn’t been spanked or pinched yet.
Everything was happening too fast for her to think about it. Mika held the front door open, and a cool breeze came in carrying the salt of the ocean. Master Robert took Cassandra’s elbow and guided her into the back of a black stretch limousine. Hands helped her into a seat, and it took a moment before her eyes adjusted enough to see that it was Mistress Delphine and her pretty slave boy. Master Robert sat beside her, the door shut, and the car pulled into the night.
Cassandra was made to kneel on the floor of the car next to Mistress Delphine’s boy, while she and Master Robert talked quietly among themselves. She didn’t even try to listen. Her body thrummed with excitement as she wondered what might happen tonight. If Marcus would be there. A surge of panic moved through her when she realized he might not be. She took in deep, gulping breaths, trying to calm herself. She was wet with anticipation already.
The ride seemed brief, she’d been so caught up in her own thoughts. The door of the car opened and cool night air rushed in, bringing her out of her daze.
“Come, sit up, Cassandra.”
Master Robert’s hands on her waist, then Mistress Delphine’s slave boy was helping her to step from the car. Cold pavement beneath her bare feet. She had a quick impression of a very large house—it could only be called a mansion, something of this size—with a wide, sweeping staircase punctuated by white columns. She didn’t dare look up to see more, just followed the guiding hands at her waist to the top of the stairs.
There Master Robert told her, “On your knees now, yes, you know how this is done.”
She sank down behind him instantly, suddenly very much aware of the collar around her neck, Mistress Delphine’s slave boy beside her. The air here was different, less moist, and there was no smell of ocean in it. Here it was all new-cut grass and that unique scent of old mortar, like the sidewalks of her childhood in Connecticut after a summer rain.
She dared to glance up for a moment as two uniformed servants opened a pair of heavy doors. She followed Master Robert’s feet inside, onto a white marble floor. Then his hand on the back of her neck, just that familiar bit of pressure.
“You may look up now, Cassandra. I want you to see this place. To see the grandeur of it. To see the fantasy we are about to walk into.”
She did as he asked. They appeared to be in some sort of anteroom. Another pair of enormous doors were in front of them, and these doors were flanked on either side by what she at first took to be statues. But after a moment she realized these were people, slaves like herself. Well, perhaps more so. There was a man on one side, a woman on the other, each in a tall niche. And they were entirely naked, except for the heavy, gleaming chrome manacles at their wrists and ankles and a fine silvery-white powder all over their skin. They were chained to bolts in the niches with arms and legs spread wide. Both of them had their heads bowed. She wanted to see their faces, they were so beautiful in their silent poses. In th
eir stillness. Just like the statues she and Marcus had talked about. For some reason she couldn’t explain, tears stung her eyes.
And just as suddenly, fear pierced her heart. What kind of place was this? What would happen to her here? She could not be chained to a wall and left all night, as these two had been! Too awful, to be objectified to the point of being a part of the architecture.
But isn’t that exactly what you wanted?
No. Well, perhaps, but not to this extent. No, she had never, ever imagined anything like this.
But wasn’t that the attraction of it all? The mystery that both terrified and intrigued her. And confused her. She hardly knew what to think.
She glanced out of the corner of her eye and focused her gaze on Master Robert’s black wool pant leg. He would take care of everything, she silently reminded herself. She wouldn’t have to think.
Her neck muscles loosened and she pulled in a deep breath.
The pair of heavy, white-painted doors between the lovely, bound slaves were pulled back and Master Robert’s hand on her neck told her to crawl through them, to the other side. A brief moment of panic shook her, then she went through, eyes focused on her Master’s Italian loafers.
Sound surrounded her, infused her senses. People talking, laughing. The tinkle of ice in glasses, the scent of expensive perfume. Exactly like a cocktail party, except for the occasional moan or the lash of a whip. The contrast was almost shocking, the formal setting and the sounds and the knowledge of what was happening here. She didn’t really want to look up, to see it all, yet she couldn’t help herself.
Her jaw almost dropped as she tried to take it all in. The place was indeed the mansion it had appeared to be from the outside. The ceilings were vaulted, so high she couldn’t lift her chin enough to see where they ended. The room they were in was some sort of ballroom, or grand salon: enormous, surrounded by tall windows on either side draped in heavy gold brocade, closed against the night. The rows of windows were punctuated here and there by large paintings, gorgeously depicted erotic pieces done in a classical style. She had never before seen oil paintings of this quality showing this sort of subject matter.
