Hailey followed him through the house to the backdoor, and outside into the late afternoon sun. They moved together toward the clearing by the creek. Hailey retrieved the quilt from the bin while Master Ronan removed the rope, the bondage sheers and his cell phone from the gear bag. Hailey wondered at the phone, but didn’t voice her question. She was content to wait quietly as Master Ronan spread the quilt and arranged the items. She was enjoying the play of the coppery sunlight on the water as she basked in the lingering afterglow of the flogging. A school of tiny silvery fish flashed through the rushing water. Two hummingbirds flitted in tandem through the trees.
“Slave Hailey, present yourself.” The command was soft and light as a summer breeze, and pulled her gaze back to her Master like a pair of strong hands. “We will start with you standing, legs shoulder-width apart, wrists to opposite elbow behind your back in a classic box position. Once I have you secured in a way that pleases me, I will suspend you from that branch.”
Master Ronan pointed to a thick sturdy branch of Hailey’s favorite maple. The branch arced over the space as if it had been waiting all these decades for just this moment. A large steel Shibari ring hung from the branch by a noose of strong rope, rigged in such a way it could be raised and lowered via a simple suspension pulley system she guessed her master carpenter had designed in his workshop.
Hailey assumed her position beneath the branch. Crouching in front of her, Master Ronan secured thick leather cuffs around each of her ankles. She was surprised by how soft the rope was. As it was knotted and tightened against her flesh, she felt herself sliding into that peaceful, quiet place where bondage always took her.
Master Ronan worked quickly and silently, moving around her body as he created intricate patterns against her skin. The rope wrapped and tightened around her breasts, harnessing them in a restricting crisscross of soft red hemp. His fingers left trails of electric desire over her skin as he wound and knotted the rope between her legs. Its pull created a friction of sensation that made her clit pulse each time he tied another knot along her body.
As the rope wound up, down and around every part of her body, her heartbeat slowed to a hushed, deliberate rhythm. She became a part of the intricate pattern of rope art, a living sculpture of erotic submission, completely immobilized in her bonds.
Finally satisfied, Master Ronan stepped back and regarded her with an appraising gaze. Hailey’s cunt spasmed with lust as she gazed back at her Master. He was wearing only a pair of white shorts, his bronzed, muscular body gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat, his dark hair falling into his clear green eyes.
Bending down, he reached for his cell, and held it in her direction. “I want to take pictures so you can see how breathtaking you are at this moment.”
Hailey experienced a sudden twist of anxiety, the unwelcome memory of the internet video worming its way into her consciousness. As if reading her mind, Ronan smiled gently, adding, “For our eyes only, sweet girl. I promise.”
“Of course, Sir,” Hailey consented with a nod, sorry she’d let her emotions show on her face. She focused on letting the calm reassert itself as Ronan moved around her body in a slow circle, the phone’s camera clicking every few seconds.
He slipped the phone into his shorts pocket and moved closer to her. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her mouth, a brush of lips against lips that left her longing for more.
“I’m going to suspend you now. First I’ll lie you down flat so I can attach the rigging apparatus to your ankle cuffs.” He placed his arms at her back and behind her legs and lifted her into the air, settling her down on her stomach on the quilt. He adjusted a few of the knots, his breath skimming along her skin like kisses as he worked. Moving to her legs, he wound more rope, binding them into a single unit.
Finally satisfied, he stood and reached for the rigging. He lifted Hailey slowly, turning the pulley until she was suspended upside down from the branch, her hair trailing on the ground as she swayed gently in her bonds. He stepped back and reached once more for his phone. Hailey let her eyes close as he snapped more pictures, moving around her to capture her image from all angles.
The blood rushed to her head as she swayed gently in her tight cocoon, but she didn’t feel the slightest bit panicked. Instead, a deep sense of peace flooded through her, even more profound than what she experienced after an erotic whipping. When she felt herself being slowly lowered once more to the quilt, she wanted to protest that it was too soon—she would have happily remained suspended and bound for hours. She made no protest, however, aware that her Master could better gauge her tolerance level at this point than she could.
She lay quietly on the quilt, eyes still closed, as he unknotted and removed the rope from her body, making her feel like a precious package being slowly and sensually unwrapped. She shivered slightly as the cooling air brushed her naked body. Master Ronan rolled her gently to her back. She opened her eyes when he placed his hands on her thighs and gently pushed them apart. She stiffened when he lowered his face to her pussy, but then she recalled herself.
She belonged to this man. She would withhold nothing from him. She spread her legs and gave herself to his kiss.
It didn’t take long before a powerful orgasm cascaded its way through her body with such sudden force she barely had time to gasp for permission to come. The permission was granted, and she let herself be carried away by her lover’s perfect touch.
She lay panting for several long moments until Master Ronan said, “Turn over. Lift yourself on your hands and knees and offer your ass to me. I want to take what’s mine.”
Again a small blade of anxiety twisted its way through her gut. They’d been working off and on with her full acceptance of ass play. Though she wanted to give of herself fully, so far she’d never quite managed it. Even if she’d given her body, a small part of her psyche still resisted. Nevertheless, she obediently turned over and knelt as ordered, legs spread wide, forehead resting against the quilt, ass high.
She felt the cold dollop of lubricant between her cheeks, and a moment later the insistent nudge of Ronan’s cock. She was suddenly overcome with a submissive love so powerful she thought it might consume her. Reaching back, she spread her ass cheeks in offering. She needed to give of herself in this way—to show the man she loved that she would hold nothing back from him.
“Please,” she begged, “fuck me in the ass, Sir. Please.”
“Hands behind your back, wrists crossed,” Ronan commanded, and Hailey instantly obeyed. He gripped her hips, the growl low and feral in his throat as he pushed himself slowly but inexorably into her tight opening. Hailey pushed back against him, for the first time not only willing, but eager for his gift as he filled her.
She gave of herself completely, holding nothing back as he thrust and moved inside her. “I want you to come with me,” he murmured into her ear. When he reached around her body and stroked her sopping cunt, she exploded in an orgasm so powerful she thought it might lift them both from the ground. Ronan cried out in his passion. They fell forward, Ronan pinning Hailey beneath his masculine weight as they collapsed together on the quilt. They lay that way for some time, until he finally rolled away.
Reaching for Hailey, he gathered her into his arms. “Hailey,” he said softly, his lips brushing her ear. “I love you. I’ve been waiting for you all my life, though I didn’t know it. I have a question for you. You don’t have to answer right now, if you don’t want.”
Hailey, who had been luxuriating in her Master’s strong embrace, opened her eyes, instantly curious what the question might be, already certain she would agree to anything this man asked of her. “Yes, Sir?”
His expression was tender, his eyes burning with an inner fire. “Will you be my wife?”
Chapter 12
Ronan could feel Hailey’s excitement as they waited at the door of the beautifully restored farmhouse. The whole compound looked more like a gracious horse farm than a BDSM club, with its rolling pastures, an old padd
ock and stables visible behind the main building. Ronan put his arm around Hailey as they turned to take in the idyllic view. “So, this is where it all happened, huh? It’s hard to believe a place like this even exists.” Though George had been to The Compound several times on Ronan’s behalf, this was Ronan’s first visit to the upstate New York slave training facility.
The timing had been perfect. Mistress Miriam had contacted Ronan the week before to see how things were going with slave Hailey, and upon discovering they were only a few hours away, invited the two of them to visit for the weekend. Hailey had eagerly agreed she would love to return.
“I made some good friends there,” she had explained. “Not just with some of the other slave girls in training, but with some of the staff slaves, especially one named Alexis—she’s owned by Paul, a terrific trainer. I got to work with him on endurance and grace training. He was amazing.” She’d sounded so fervently sincere in this proclamation that Ronan had almost been jealous. “They have a first-rate chef there too. You’ll love the food. And it’s such a nurturing environment—filled with likeminded people who not only understand, but fully embrace the BDSM lifestyle. Those two months at The Compound were the first time I felt completely comfortable in my own skin. It’s like up until that point in my life I’d been walking on a wire, trying to keep my balance. There, for the first time, I was on solid ground.”
Though their relationship had shifted from contractual Master and slave to partners, Hailey was still a woman of few words most of the time. She was more of a listener, her intelligent eyes focused with complete attention on whoever was speaking. Ronan suspected this trait was partially a result of her yoga training, and partly a function of her naturally submissive nature. He understood from her uncharacteristic volubility just how excited his slave girl was to be returning to The Compound. Her excitement was contagious, and it felt good to be a part of it.
The door was opened by a burly, barrel-chested man with curly brown hair, naked save for black thong underwear and a black slave collar secured around his neck with a steel padlock. The man nodded with polite deference to Ronan. If he recognized him from the movies, he gave no indication, which suited Ronan just fine.
The man’s face broke into a broad grin when his eyes lighted on Hailey, who exclaimed, “Sam! How are you? It’s so good to see you.” The two of them embraced.
Hailey turned to Ronan. “Master Ronan, this is Sam, a service slave here at The Compound, and witness to some of my most embarrassing moments.”
“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” Sam said, his eyes dancing, and Ronan liked him at once. Sam pulled the door open wide and stepped back, gesturing them inside. “Mistress Miriam couldn’t be here to greet you, Master Ronan, but she asked me to give you a quick tour and then show you to your cottage. Dinner is at seven o’clock so you have a little time to, uh, relax.” He flashed another grin. “You’ll find the guest cottage is fully equipped for relaxing.”
Sam led them through a large, sumptuously furnished room, the walnut-paneled walls hung with gold-framed oil paintings. Ronan revised his initial impression of old farmhouse, upgrading it to English castle. “This is the drawing room,” Sam said. “It’s the hub of activity in the evenings.” Waving toward the St. Andrew’s crosses flanking either side of a huge stone fireplace, he added, “This is where presentations, demonstrations and ceremonies take place. There’s something going on almost every night of the week.” He looked at Hailey. “It wasn’t that long ago this slave girl stood trembling over there during her first public flogging. Remember, Hailey?”
“Remember? How could I forget? My legs were so wobbly I would have fallen down if I hadn’t been strapped to the cross. I much preferred kneeling with the other trainees against the wall, just taking it all in. I especially loved watching the ceremonies.”
“You’re in luck, girlfriend,” Sam said. “Tonight slave Alexis is going to take Master Paul’s ring in a piercing ceremony.”
“Oh,” Hailey exclaimed, drawing out the word with such obvious longing it made Ronan smile, while at the same time his cock nudged to attention. They’d talked about needle play and piercing before, and each time Hailey had demurely claimed it was up to him, but clearly the desire was there, along with the trepidation.
Sam led them up a wide, curving flight of stairs to the second floor. “Most of the trainers live on this floor,” Sam explained, waving his hand toward a hallway of closed doors. “Those that aren’t part of a couple, that is. The couples live out back in the cottages, where you’ll be staying for the weekend.”
He led them up a second flight of stairs, this one narrower. A large, fully equipped dungeon took up most of the third floor. Unlike the windowless cinderblock and cement basement dungeon to which Ronan had become accustomed at The Exchange back in LA, this place was more like something Hailey would have designed for a yoga studio. The space was filled with natural light from skylights overhead, the walls painted a peaceful pale blue.
There were easily a half dozen scenes going on at various locations around the large, open space, each involving some form of bondage and erotic torture. The slaves-in-training were all naked, save for red training collars around their necks. The male trainers wore black, most of them in T-shirts and casual pants or jeans, the one female trainer in an ankle-length black skirt.
Hailey’s grip tightened suddenly on Ronan’s hand. “Sir! Look over there. Is that George?” She craned her head forward. “It is George! What’s he doing here?”
Ronan followed her gaze, breaking into a broad smile as he saw his old friend, who looked to be in fine form. George was dressed in full BDSM regalia, from his black leather vest and pants to his shiny black combat boots. He was standing next to a tall, broad-shouldered man with short blond hair. The man was using a single tail on a woman Ronan guessed to be somewhere in her fifties, though still lovely by anyone’s estimation. She had silver hair, cut very short against a small, delicate head. Her pixyish figure was still trim and firm. She was perched on a large cinderblock, her bare feet close together as she balanced on the brick. Her arms were raised high over her head, bound together at the wrists and suspended from the ceiling by a length of chain.
As they moved closer, the trainer held out the whip in George’s direction. As George turned to take it, he caught sight of them approaching. “Hey there. You made it. Welcome. Can’t talk now. I’m busy.” He turned back to the trainee, leaning close to murmur something in her ear. The young trainer had stepped back. Crossing his arms over his chest, he regarded the pair with round blue eyes, a frown of concentration on his serious face.
“You knew George would be here?” Hailey asked softly, looking up at Ronan with an inquisitive expression.
“Yeah.” Ronan smiled. “A surprise for you. You mentioned the other day you missed him. He’s been wanting to get back out to The Compound for reasons of his own, as you can see.” Ronan looked pointedly at the handsome older woman, whose creamy skin was striped with small red welts. “He’s been here already a few days. Miriam’s call was perfect timing.”
They stood quietly awhile, watching as George took over the session. He focused on the woman’s breasts. While small, they had long, beautiful nipples, which were fully distended either from arousal, the kiss of the whip, or both. As George flicked the leather tail against her skin, he periodically touched her face or stroked her shoulder.
The woman did an admirable job of maintaining her composure and grace, but several particularly cruel strokes of the whip directly on her nipples made her cry out. She began to writhe in her bonds, chanting, “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!”
“Slave Sophia,” barked the young trainer, “compose yourself!”
But George put a hand on the trainer’s arm and shook his head. Lowering the whip, he leaned in close to Sophia. He cupped her cheek and murmured in a low, calm voice into her ear. She was trembling, but her cries subsided almost at once to a whimper, and then a sigh. The way she leaned in
to George’s hand like a kitten, her large brown eyes fixed on his face, made Ronan wonder if these two were more than acquaintances.
Sam lightly touched Ronan’s shoulder. “Shall I show you to your cottage, Sir?”
“What?” Ronan forced his eyes away from the scene. “Yes, of course, thank you.”
They returned to the first floor, moving through a large, imposing dining room past a kitchen bustling with staff and out a back door. They walked along well-tended paths set between manicured lawns. As they walked, Sam pointed to the long single-story building Ronan had taken for horse stables upon their arrival. “That’s the Slave Quarters,” Sam said. “For the trainees.”
“Did you stay there?” Ronan asked Hailey, who nodded. “Where do the staff slaves stay?” he asked Sam.
“We have rooms in the basement of the main house,” Sam said.
“How many people live and work on this compound?” Ronan asked, curious. “Everything seems so well-kept and beautifully maintained.”
“Let’s see,” Sam said, squinting up at the sky as he pondered. “We have two full-time chefs. One lives off-grounds, the other lives here. We have six full-time staff slaves and eight trainers, not counting Mistress Miriam. Two of the trainers don’t actually live on the grounds. Three of the trainers are in relationships, and they stay out in the cottages. Mistress Miriam and her partner, slave Marta, have a bedroom on the first floor of the main house. There’s a landscaping and housekeeping company that takes care of the grounds and that crew comes in daily.”
A naked slave and his trainer passed them on the path at that moment, the slave being led by a leash. Watching them pass, Ronan asked, “How do you maintain privacy and protect peoples’ confidentiality with all those outsiders coming and going?”
“Everyone involved in this place—from gardener to kitchen worker to our accountant, who also happens to be a staff slave—is into the scene, no exceptions,” Sam explained. “On top of that, everyone signs strict confidentiality agreements to assure our lifestyle isn’t compromised. Nothing we do here is illegal, but we do value our privacy, as you might imagine. Mistress Marta owns all the farmland around here, and we’re left to ourselves. It’s a safe haven—a paradise, really, for people seeking this kind of community.”
Beyond the Compound: The Compound Trilogy - Book 2 Page 15