Master John dropped the leash and moved toward the sinks. He washed his hands vigorously and then dried them on a hand towel before turning to her.
“Do you need to use the facilities before we go to lunch?”
Lunch! Yay!
“Yes, Sir.” She glanced uncertainly at the row of toilets.
“Go on,” he said. “You have permission. Remember, you are never, ever to use the toilet without my express permission. That is my body. You may, however, ask when you need to go, and I will decide whether to let you or not. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master John.” Is this really happening? Did I really sign up for this? Have faith in the process, she reminded herself. Trust that this man knows what the hell he’s doing.
She hesitated a moment, wondering if he was just going to stand there, watching her with those unblinking owl eyes while she peed. Apparently he was going to do just that. Biting back a sigh, Alexis moved toward the first toilet and sat, looking away as she willed her body to relax enough to pee. Finally she managed, feeling relief as her full bladder emptied. She wiped herself and flushed, and moved to the bank of sinks to wash up. She glanced at herself in the mirror, surprised but pleased to see her makeup and mascara were still intact after the spanking and her crying. That Marta was something, all right.
Master John led her out of the building and back toward the main house, though this time they entered through a back door. She felt silly being led along on a leash, though she figured she’d get used to it soon enough. He led her into a large dining room. There were easily a dozen people at the table, and lunch appeared to be in full swing. Everyone turned to look at her as they entered the room, but after a moment they resumed their eating and conversation.
She realized there were other naked and nearly naked people at the table, though they weren’t on the chairs. Rather, they were kneeling or sitting cross-legged on cushions set just beside each chair at the long table. She saw Marta kneeling beside Mistress Miriam, gazing adoringly at her as she spooned something into the slave’s mouth. Alexis saw Josh a few seats down being fed by a man in his forties with salt and pepper hair.
Master John led her to an empty seat on the far side of the table and pointed to the cushion beside it. Alexis settled herself there, watching hungrily as Master John heaped what looked like linguini onto his plate, along with a fat piece of grilled salmon and some green peas. Ignoring her, he tucked into the food, taking several bites before pouring himself what looked like iced tea from a silver pitcher.
Alexis’s stomach rumbled audibly and she swallowed the saliva that had pooled in her mouth. What about me, you bastard? she thought, aware she wasn’t being very submissive or patient, but too hungry to care.
Then her eye caught the man sitting just across from Master John. Master Paul. “Oh,” she said softly, before realizing she’d spoken aloud. Master John was holding out a fork twirled with pasta and she leaned up, opening her mouth like a baby bird. It was delicious, covered in melted butter and tangy parmesan cheese.
When Master John was occupied again with his plate, Alexis stole another look at Master Paul, his coppery hair dry now, his face handsome in profile as he said something to the person sitting to his right. Then Master Paul straightened. He gazed directly at Alexis, those unusual tawny eyes looking directly into her soul.
“Alexis,” snapped Master John. “Eyes on me.” He held out a forkful of salmon. Alexis chewed, not tasting it. When she could look again, Master Paul had turned away. He was leaning down toward the lucky person kneeling naked beside him, obscured from Alexis’s view by the linen tablecloth between them. Whoever the girl was, Alexis hated her instantly.
Mine, she thought, though she knew it was ridiculous. He should be mine.
Chapter 3
After lunch, Alexis was led from the dining room and up two flights of stairs. What she could see of the second floor as they passed consisted of bedrooms, which she guessed might be occupied by Mistress Miriam and the trainers who lived on the grounds.
The third floor had been converted into one huge room, and turned out to be a fully equipped BDSM dungeon with all the familiar restraining devices and torture implements Alexis recognized from the various clubs she’d frequented over the years, as well as additional items she had never seen before but which looked diabolically intriguing.
Several other trainers and their charges were already in the dungeon, and a few more pairs trickled in as Master John gave Alexis a brief tour of the facilities. She kept surreptitiously scanning the room for any sight of Master Paul, but he was nowhere to be seen. A sudden, hard jerk of her hair made Alexis cry out.
“You are not focused. That is a very negative trait, and one you have exhibited with alarming consistency in just the little time we’ve spent in one another’s company.” Master John’s voice was hard, his expression grim.
“I’m sorry, I—”
He cut her off. “Another negative trait in a slave is the habit of speaking when not asked a direct question. This may be my fault, as I haven’t yet specifically outlined the rules to you. So pay attention. You will only speak in answer to a direct question, unless you are in extreme distress. If that is the case, you may ask for permission to speak, and I will decide at that time whether or not to give that permission.”
What about a safeword? Alexis wondered, but she knew enough not to stoke the fires of Master John’s wrath. “We need to nip your lack of focus and failure to follow basic rules in the bud. A solid paddling should get your attention in that regard.”
Taking Alexis by the shoulders, he propelled her toward a whipping post. “Sam, assist me,” he called as he pushed her along. Alexis saw he was addressing a man of medium height with massive shoulders and a barrel chest who stood against the wall as erect as a military cadet. He was wearing what she now recognized as the staff slave uniform—a black thong that hugged his sizable package, and a thick black leather collar with a shiny padlock at the throat.
“Lift your arms,” Master John commanded, and Alexis obeyed, her heart smacking painfully in her chest. As her wrists were locked into cuffs high over her head against the post, she stole a glance over the large room, deeply embarrassed that she was to be punished so publically. But no one else seemed to be paying them the slightest attention, apparently occupied with their own lessons in bondage and discipline.
The wood of the whipping post was smooth and hard against her breasts and stomach. The sudden, brutal smash of what felt like a two-by-four plank of solid wood crashed against her already tender ass, ripping a primal grunt from Alexis’s mouth. Another blow landed as hard as the first, covering both ass cheeks in a burning explosion of pure, non-erotic pain. It seemed to go on and on, each blow pushing her hard against the whipping post as she whimpered and writhed in her cuffs.
“Nooooo!” she screamed finally, unable to stop herself. “Nooo! Stop! Lemon, lemonlemonlemon!”
Lemon was her safeword at the club, not that Master John knew that, but the word kept tumbling from her lips, a staccato counterpoint to the steady smashing of the wood against her poor, flaming bottom.
Finally, finally the beating stopped. Alexis sagged hard against the cuffs, her body covered with sweat, every nerve ending screaming with pain. When the cuffs were released, she sagged down the post to her knees, crying quietly.
An insistent prodding with the toe of Master John’s hard boot against her thigh made her open her eyes. “Thank me,” he ordered curtly.
Not daring to disobey, Alexis dipped her head down, her tears splashing the man’s boot as she forced her lips to touch it in an approximation of a kiss. “Thank you, Sir,” she managed to croak.
He lifted her, gently this time, and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Can you walk?”
“Yes, Sir.” Her bottom was flaming, but as the panic had ebbed, she realized it had only been a paddling. She would probably have bruises, but was otherwise intact. They moved together toward a far corner of the dungeon.
Master John directed Alexis onto a wooden platform that was raised about a foot off the ground. “Position two,” he said, pushing on her shoulder.
Alexis tried to recall position two. She knew position one—standing at attention, hands behind her head. The only other position she’d been shown was the kneeling at-ease position. That had to be position two. She sank to her knees, her muscles straining a little as she held her sore, throbbing ass just above her heels. She spread her thighs wider to maintain her equilibrium and looked at Master John through her tears.
“Tell me why you were punished.” For the second time that day, he produced a tissue and wiped her tears.
She swallowed, trying to think of what it was he wanted her to say. “Because I’m not focused.”
He nodded. “What else?”
“Because I spoke without being asked a direct question.”
“That’s correct. I have to say, I’m rather surprised. Most trainees have at least some modicum of basic protocol when they enter the program.”
Alexis felt her face burning. “Permission to speak, Sir?”
“Go on.”
“I’m really sorry I keep fucking up. I’m not used to this—this level of intensity. You’re very rough with me. No disrespect, Sir, but if I was perfect already I wouldn’t need the training. Everything’s going so fast. I can’t seem to get my bearings. I guess I didn’t really understand what I was getting myself into.”
Master John lifted his eyebrows. “Getting yourself into? Are you saying you’d like to get yourself out? That can certainly be arranged. This isn’t a prison. Your stay here is completely voluntary.”
“No!” Alexis burst out, surprising herself at the vehemence of her response. “No, please. I’m sorry. I want to stay. I need to be here.” She realized as she said this it was true. She had been searching her entire adult life for something just beyond her grasp. She’d been given an amazing opportunity to go deeper in her exploration than she ever could on her own. Don’t blow it, Alexis. Not now. “I know I have a long way to go, Master John. Please don’t give up on me.”
She bit her lip, unsure what his reaction would be. To her relief, he smiled. “I appreciate your honesty. I admit I’m used to working with subs with more basic training under their belts. Maybe we need to slow down just a little. You will stay there on the punishment platform for the rest of the afternoon session. You can watch and listen as the other trainers work with their subs. Pay attention. Maybe you’ll actually learn something.” He was still smiling.
Alexis nodded gratefully. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
Master John looked toward Sam, who was standing beside the platform, his arms folded over his massive chest, his expression neutral. “Keep an eye on her. Conversation is permitted. She is not to move from the platform, though she may change position if necessary.”
“Yes, Master John,” Sam replied.
After Master John left the dungeon, Alexis stayed quiet for a while, thinking about the whirlwind of events since she’d arrived at The Compound earlier that morning. Could she have fucked up any worse? She was lucky Master John was patient, she decided. It was humiliating to be left here on the punishment platform with a staff slave to watch over her, but at least Master John was giving her another chance.
She would do what he said and watch the scenes going on around her. She would try, as he’d suggested, to learn something. They were similar to the scenes that were played out at the BDSM clubs, except that these were more intense—more real. Even the atmosphere of the dungeon itself was different—instead of the dark walls and dim lighting of the basement BDSM clubs she was used to, the space was filled with natural light from skylights overhead, the walls painted a peaceful pale blue. There were no groups of gawking, horny men using the scenes as fodder for later masturbation. These were serious-minded folk there to train and learn, not just to get their rocks off.
Shifting a little in an effort to get more comfortable, Alexis watched a naked young woman several yards away who stood ramrod straight, a book balanced on the top of her head while her trainer, a wiry man of about forty with thick salt and pepper hair and the requisite uniform of all black, snapped a long, cracking bullwhip against her body. Somehow the girl managed to remain perfectly still, the book never shifting on her head, though Alexis could see from her wincing expression that the bullwhip was hitting the mark.
Several yards on the other side there was a guy so trussed up with rope only his erect cock and heavy balls were visible. His arms and legs were fully extended, creating a human X, secured by still more rope to thick metal hooks in the ceiling and floor. A hood had been placed over his head, and a female trainer was touching the tip of a red shock prod to his exposed genitals. Each time it made contact, the man’s body jerked and a muffled cry was heard from beneath the leather hood.
Alexis watched an older woman on her knees in front of a young male slave, his huge cock thrusting into her open mouth as a trainer stood behind her with a single tail, snapping it against her ass and back as he urged, “Focus!”
In spite of her sore bottom, Alexis felt her sex moistening and swelling as she took in the intense, erotic scenes all around her. She kept her hands firmly on her thighs, however. No way would she touch herself again without Master John’s express direction. The thought warmed her, somehow, and something that had been wound tight inside her eased, at least a little.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” Sam asked from beside her.
“I guess that’s kind of obvious, huh?” she replied ruefully.
He smiled kindly. “Give it a little time. This is your first day, right?” As Alexis nodded, Sam continued, “Master John is tough, even by Compound standards. He gets results though. Wendy, she’s a fulltime staff slave now. When she came in for training, she was a willful slut, focused on her own pleasure with no concept of what service is.”
Shit, Alexis thought. That sounds uncomfortably like me!
“A month with Master John set her to rights,” Sam continued, thankfully not privy to Alexis’s thoughts. “So much so that she quit her job on the outside and petitioned to live here fulltime as his personal slave. She had to prove her worthiness through a series of public tests, but she belongs to Master John now.”
“What does she do all day while he’s, uh, working?”
“She works in the kitchen. She was a chef before she moved here last year.”
“And she’s okay with his, you know, with what he does?”
Sam smiled and shrugged. “Sure she is. She belongs to him, not the other way around. They live in one of the cabins out on the back of the property that are reserved for couples who want their privacy. She’s going to take his brand soon. You ever been to a branding ceremony?”
Alexis shook her head, hugging herself at the thought of a fiery brand burning its way into her flesh. To distract herself from the image as much as anything else, she asked, “Are you owned?”
Sam shook his head. “Not in the way you mean. Not by an individual Mistress or Master. I’m a Compound slave. I belong to everyone here. Every Dominant on staff, that is. I service whoever needs or wants me. I live to serve.”
Alexis glanced sharply at him, thinking for a second he was being sarcastic, but his expression was suffused with such fervent happiness that she understood he meant it. Curious, she asked, “What does that mean exactly? I mean, I see what you do here, helping out with misbehaving trainees”—she gave a self-deprecating laugh— “but how else does a Compound slave serve?”
“In whatever capacity I’m needed,” he replied.
Unable to resist asking, Alexis persisted, “Sexually, too?”
“Absolutely. Whatever any Master or Mistress requires of me, I will do it without hesitation. It’s what I was born for.” His face had taken on a serene glow. His cock, she couldn’t help noticing, was now tenting the tight thong.
“Mistresses and Masters?” she queried, the unspoken question, are you gay, balance
d between them.
He grinned, nodding. “I’m one of the lucky ones. I go both ways. I love women, but men turn me on just as much. If a Master wants me to suck his cock, I’ll drop to my knees and give him everything I’ve got. If he wants to fuck me up the ass, I’ll assume position 8 and thank him when he’s done.”
“What’s position 8?”
“It’s the anal penetration position. There are two of them actually. Position 8a is when you remain standing. You bend over, grab your ankles and stick out your ass. More common is position 8b, which is kneeling, forehead touching the ground. Keeping that position, you would then reach back and spread your ass cheeks.”
Alexis absorbed this a moment. “How many positions are there?”
“Ten basic positions, and then variations within each position. You’ll learn them in the next few days. Make sure you do, because I know for a fact Master John is a real stickler when it comes to protocol. He’s old school and totally into the rituals of BDSM training.”
Sam said something else, but Alexis didn’t hear him, because at that moment Master Paul entered the dungeon, leading a tall woman with cascades of curling blond hair falling down a long, slender back. A spasm of longing moved through Alexis as Master Paul held out his hand, helping the woman onto a concrete brick.
In profile to Alexis, with one foot in front of the other for balance, the woman stood tall and proud on the small block. In a graceful movement, she raised her arms over her head, grasping each wrist with the opposite hand. Even with her perched on the block, Master Paul was still taller than the girl, and he reached for her hair, twining it into a loose knot at the nape of her neck and draping the makeshift ponytail over her shoulder.
The gesture reminded Alexis of Arthur’s thoughtfulness and she missed him suddenly. He would, she knew, miss her too. They’d been favorite scene partners at the club. What would he do without her now? She smiled inwardly, aware such a capable and caring Dom would easily find other partners. But his giving her this gift of a chance to really discover herself—that went beyond play partners. It was action of a true friend, a friend she would never forget, no matter where this training took her.
The Compound Page 4