The Inner Room

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The Inner Room Page 5

by Claire Thompson


  Chapter 4

  Dr. Roberts was discussing the medical treatment plans for Cam’s patients, and Cam was mostly paying attention, but her mouth kept distracting him. It was a sensual mouth, her lips mobile and expressive as she spoke. She had a sexy voice, too, slightly husky while still completely feminine. He liked that she didn’t wear a lot of makeup—just a bit of mascara and a hint of pink lip-gloss, as far as he could tell. Her glossy hair was pulled back in a wide barrette at the nape of her neck, as it always was at work. What would it look like loose, tendrils curling around her face?

  Her skin looked dewy fresh, and he had an irrational urge to stroke her cheek, just to see if it was as soft as it appeared. In spite of his best intentions to focus, his overactive libido kept inserting images of this beautiful woman kneeling naked in front of him and parting those luscious lips to receive the head of his cock. He would just give her the head at first. She would have to earn more.

  She was asking a question about medications and Cam gave himself a mental shake. As his mouth responded to her question, his brain demanded to know what the fuck his problem was. Marissa Roberts was a doctor, for crying out loud, not to mention they worked together. Anyway, she was probably vanilla as an ice cream cone, and because of that, even if the sex was fantastic, it could never be more than a one-night stand. And he no longer did one-night stands. Especially not with vanilla MDs who looked down their noses at male nurses. Not that she’d ever offered the slightest hint of disrespect, but Cam was hypersensitive to the mutterings of hospital staff, and why should she be any different? Even though it was the twenty-first century, male nurses were still considered somewhat suspect, which was ironic, when you thought about it.

  He forced himself back to his duties, thankfully easing once more into professional mode as they discussed the caseload for the week. Their meeting completed, Dr. Roberts turned and walked briskly away. He couldn’t stop himself from gazing after her as she headed toward the elevator bank. Again his imagination slipped into forbidden territory, as it removed the white lab coat and sensible pumps, re-dressing her in stiletto heels, stocking and garters, and nothing else. Before his body got into the act and gave him an erection, Cam turned back to his computer screen and busied himself with typing up his notes. The weekend, after all, was only a few hours away.

  ~*~

  “Okay, I worked it out. You’re in.”

  “You did?” Marissa realized her voice had come out as a squeak. She cleared her throat. “So I can come to the club with you tonight even though it’s not an open invitation night?” Marissa jumped up from her desk and did a little happy dance before catching herself. Glancing through her open office door, she sat back down and turned toward the window.

  After that incredible experience with Tony and Dana, Marissa had spent the week in a kind of a daze. Her workweek was beyond busy, as always, which was a good thing, since otherwise she would have been banging on their door, begging for a repeat experience. When Tony had said she was a natural—born to submit—something had clicked into place inside Marissa, like a door finally unlocking onto a world she’d only dreamed of. She wanted more. More, more, more. But she had no idea where to go to find it.

  Tony and Dana hadn’t invited her back, though to be fair, they were as busy as she was, if not more so. In her heart of hearts, she knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to request a repeat performance. The experience had been more sexual than she had expected, and even if they’d been interested, the concept of a ménage did not appeal.

  She thought about joining one of the online BDSM dating sites, but figured they were probably as bogus as the vanilla dating sites, with gamers and posers far outnumbering any real potential partners. The idea of meeting a total stranger to engage in something as intimate as D/s just didn’t compute in her brain.

  Dana had advised her that the public BDSM clubs could be pretty sleazy. Though there were genuine folks dedicated to the scene, there were even more wannabe bully boys posing as Doms, and needy, lonely girls pretending to be subs just to get a little affection, or at least physical touch. It could be, Dana had warned, a pretty depressing scene.

  “Yes. Tony worked it out,” Dana replied to her question. “You can come with us tonight if you want, but, uh, there’s a catch.”

  “A catch?” Marissa didn’t like the sound of that.

  “Well, more of a condition. Membership requirements are pretty strict but Jack Morris, he’s the owner of the club, has agreed you can join on a trial basis, provided you undergo a full assessment.”

  Marissa’s heart skipped a beat. “An assessment?” she squeaked.

  “Yeah. The way Tony described it, it’s a kind of interview and session combined. The trainer needs to assess your submissive potential and decide if you’re the kind of person they want joining the club.”

  Marissa wasn’t sure she liked the sound of submitting to whatever some stranger decided for her. In fact, the prospect scared her to death. On the other hand, she really wanted to go back to The Power Exchange, and if this was the only way… “Did you have to do this, uh, assessment when you joined?”

  “Me?” Dana replied. “No. But I’m owned. Tony got admittance and I was included as his sub girl. It’s unusual for submissives to apply on their own, though it has been known to happen.”

  “So, give me more details. Would I have to, um, get naked?”

  Dana laughed. “Probably. But it won’t be in public, if that’s what you’re worried about. Assessments and training take place in the inner room. I’ve never even been in there before. It’s only for trainers and their clients. Some very intense stuff happens in there, so I’ve heard. Of course, I’ll want a full report.”

  Marissa bit her lip, her mind veering wildly over the possibilities.

  “So?” Dana prodded. “What’ll it be? You in?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know. I mean, I want to, but I’m scared. It’s all so new.”

  “I know. But Tony was right—you’re a natural. I frankly have no idea how you got this far in your life without exploring the scene before now.” Marissa didn’t reply, though since the amazing spanking, she’d been wondering the same thing herself.

  “Think of it this way,” Dana said. “It’s not like you’re signing up to be someone’s 24/7 sex slave or something. It’s just an assessment. If it doesn’t feel right, you end the scene, that’s all. What are a few hours on a Friday night in the scheme of things? Shit, you went through four years of medical school and three years of residency, for Christ’s sake.”

  Marissa chuckled dryly. “Yeah, talk about torture, but without the eroticism.”

  “Exactly. Almost as bad as law school, ha ha. But seriously, this should be a piece of cake in comparison. There’s no real downside. If what the trainer offers isn’t for you, well good, then you’ve learned something important. But listen, it’s totally up to you. You can give this a pass, and you can still come with us again next month as our guest.”

  That was three weeks away. Marissa could barely wait another second, much less three weeks. And Dana was right—there was no real downside, other than the somewhat terrifying prospect of getting naked in front of a stranger and basically assigning her self-will over to him for a period of time. Yet, even as her mind wavered, her body knew the answer. It was telling her with the thrum of adrenaline racing through her veins, the pulse deep in her sex, the desire vibrating through her bones like a primal drum.

  “No,” she blurted. “I mean yes. Yes. I want to do it. Please tell them yes for me.”

  Marissa felt a little foolish as she glanced down at the ridiculously expensive lacy black bra and panty set she’d bought that evening at Victoria’s Secret on her way home from work. It wasn’t as if she were dressing for a lover, but on the other hand, Dana had advised she would probably be asked to strip, so why not look her best?

  She examined her naked form critically in the mirror. Her size C breasts were still firm, her stomach flat, not from dieting but
from being too damn busy during the day to eat much. She touched her pubic hair, wondering if she should shave it, as so many women, Dana included, seemed to be doing these days.

  She decided that, no, she would leave the neatly trimmed curls as they were. She would feel naked enough as it was, thank you. She sprayed a little Beyond Paradise perfume on her throat and wrists, then added a little spritz on her thigh for good measure. She put on the bra and panties and reached for the satin cream-colored chemise-style blouse she’d also bought at Victoria’s Secret. She slipped it over her head, reveling in the silky feel of the satin against her skin. It was lower cut than she was used to, but she had to admit she looked good in it.

  She grinned nervously at her reflection and reminded herself again this wasn’t a date she was preparing for, but an assessment. It sounded so formal, so clinical. She wondered who this so-called trainer would be. Would he bark orders at her, like Master Mark had with slave L, and make her do things like scrub floors and lick his boots? God, she hoped not. That had been sexy to watch, but how would she handle it when she was the one on her knees?

  A piece of cake, Dana had said. No big deal. And you can always end the scene, Marissa reminded herself. Yes. She could use her new safeword—lemon. She would have to make sure this trainer knew her safeword and understood she had next to no experience. He was a professional. She didn’t need to worry. All she had to do was listen and obey. A piece of cake.

  Marissa’s cell phone buzzed and she glanced at it. We’re a little early. Come down when you’re ready, the text message read. Shit! Dana and Tony were already downstairs. Marissa pulled on her skirt and slipped her bare feet into the higher-than-usual heels she’d only worn a few times before, but which were surprisingly comfortable.

  Be right down, she texted back. She ran her fingers through her hair, which had dried naturally into loose waves that fell around her shoulders and framed her face. She had thought about and rejected any jewelry. Keep it simple, she told herself. After all, you’re going to be stripping anyway.

  Wrong thought, as it sent her heart once more into overdrive. She reached for her black velvet jacket. A last glance in the mirror, and she grabbed her purse, took a deep breath and murmured, “Piece of cake,” as she locked her apartment door.

  “Welcome to The Power Exchange.”

  Marissa looked up to see a fortyish man of medium height with massive arms and a shaved head. He was wearing a black leather vest over a barrel chest, leather pants stretched over muscular, stocky legs. His large nose was crooked, as if it had been broken, perhaps more than once. His eyes were dark and penetrating, and Marissa could feel the power in his gaze.

  “Hi,” Marissa said. The man held out his hand, which engulfed Marissa’s as they shook.

  “I’m Jack Morris.” His voice matched the rest of him, deep and gravelly. He spoke like someone used to being obeyed. “Tony’s told me a lot about you.”

  Marissa glanced at Tony, who sat with her and Dana at the same table they’d occupied the last time she’d been to the club. Tony lifted his glass in Jack’s direction. “All true,” he grinned. Smiling at her, he added, “You’ll be in excellent hands, Marissa. The trainer who will assess you tonight is regarded as tops in his field—a real pro, and with good reason.” He turned back to Jack, adding, “Marissa won’t let you down. This one’s a keeper, Jack, you’ll see.”

  You’ll see? Was Jack going to be her trainer?

  Marissa bit her lower lip. Where Tony had been understanding of her fears, and had let her go at her own pace, she strongly doubted Jack would go as easy on her. While the man was certainly compelling, he was also rather formidable, and not what she had visualized. In truth, she’d been harboring a fantasy that she would be trained by someone like the tall, dark and handsome Master Mark from the training videos.

  Don’t be stupid. This is the chance of a lifetime. Tony and Dana say he’s the best. He has to know what he’s doing. She realized they were all three staring at her. “If you’ll come with me,” Jack said, holding out his hand.

  Marissa glanced nervously at her friends. Tony was smiling encouragingly at her. Dana put her hand on Marissa’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Good luck,” she said softly. “I know you’ll do great.”

  Marissa pushed her chair away from the table. Excitement warred with trepidation inside her as she took Jack’s offered hand. She was ready. She wanted this. More than that—she needed this.

  Jack stepped to the bar and lifted a panel, gesturing for her to follow him. With a last look at Tony and Dana, Marissa stepped behind the bar. The bartender didn’t even glance up as they passed her. They walked through a small kitchen and down a narrow hallway to a set of double doors. Tony turned the knob on one of the doors and pushed it open. He stepped back, ushering Marissa in ahead of him. The room was larger than she had expected and looked something like Tony’s playroom, except there were more pieces of equipment, some of which she recognized, some she didn’t.

  In addition to a St. Andrew’s cross, several spanking benches, a whipping post, a medical exam table and a set of stocks, there was an interesting series of rubber strips in one corner strapped to a metal frame. The apparatus was shaped like a huge spider’s web, with cuffs and chains dangling from various parts of it. Nearby were two cages, one upright with cuffs attached at the upper and lower corners, and one low and oblong, with newspapers spread on the bottom and what looked like a dog’s water bowl set inside it.

  Muted lighting was provided by a series of sconces set high along the perimeters of the room. Marissa noticed several racks, some with floggers, some with canes, some with wicked-looking single tail whips of various sizes, the largest a coiled bullwhip that looked like a shiny-skinned, sleeping snake.

  Marissa jumped a little when Jack closed the door behind them.

  “You can put your things over there.” Jack pointed to a small set of cubbyholes, not unlike those found in a kindergarten classroom for book bags and lunchboxes.

  “My…things?” Marissa said faintly. She knew she would have to get naked—Dana had warned her. But now that it had come to it…

  Jack glanced sharply at her. “Yes. Everything. Strip naked. Oh wait, leave on the heels. You will wait for the trainer on that dais, there.” He pointed again, this time toward a raised platform in the center of the room with a set of three wooden steps set along its side.

  Did that mean Jack wasn’t the trainer? Who was? Where were they? She realized Jack was watching her, his bushy eyebrows raised, as if questioning why she was still just standing there.

  Don’t blow this. Do what he says. Remember, you can always use your safeword.

  “My safeword is lemon,” she blurted suddenly, and then felt herself blushing.

  Jack’s lips lifted into a half smile. “That’s nice,” he said flatly. “Now do what you’re told.”

  Marissa tried to swallow, but somehow her mouth had filled with sawdust. She moved toward the cubbies and reached for the zipper of her skirt with trembling fingers. She realized she had left her velvet jacket over the back of her chair in the outer room. She stepped out of the skirt, folded it and set it into an empty space. With a glance toward Jack, she reached for the hem of her chemise and pulled it over her head. Blowing out a breath, she reached behind herself and undid her pretty new bra. Jack stood with his arms crossed over his massive chest, an implacable expression on his face, his eyes trained on Marissa.

  Just do it, she admonished herself. Nudity was the norm at The Power Exchange. Half the people in the outer room were in various stages of undress, and no one batted an eyelash over it. She was being silly and self-conscious. It was just skin. No big deal. She reached for her panties and slid them down her legs, stepping carefully out of them while still balancing in her heels.

  She placed the panties on top of her clothing pile and turned to face Jack Morris. His eyes swept over her body, his expression still difficult to read. “Good,” he finally said. “Now get up o
n the dais.”

  As Marissa moved through the room on rubbery legs she could feel Jack’s dark eyes on her. She climbed the small set of stairs and stood on the wooden platform, wondering what to do with her arms. As if reading her mind, Jack said, “Stand at attention, arms up, fingers locked behind your neck, feet planted shoulder-width apart, eyes forward. Don’t move until the trainer tells you to move.”

  Marissa attempted to do as the man had ordered, feeling at once ridiculous and at the same time kind of sexy, naked in nothing but high heels. The position forced her to thrust her breasts forward, and she felt like an object designed to be ogled, which was no doubt the intent of being forced to pose on a raised stage. Rather than feeling humiliated by being put on display, arousal burned its way through her, spreading into her sex and engorging her nipples.

  Without another word, Jack turned and left the room by the door through which they had entered, closing it with a small click that seemed to echo in the empty space. Marissa drew in a shuddery breath and released it slowly. Her nose itched suddenly, and she wondered if she dared move out of position in order to scratch it. Keeping her head still, she managed to glance around the room, half expecting to see a camera trained on her. Unless it was hidden, she didn’t appear to be observed. Jack had said not to move, but who would know?

  The itch was now driving her nuts. She dropped one hand and quickly scratched her nose. Shaking back her hair, she once again assumed the somewhat awkward position, her fingers laced behind her neck. The room was cool, but she could feel the prickle of perspiration beneath her arms, and the dampness of undeniable arousal between her legs.

  She was there on a completely voluntary basis, she reminded herself. She could leave at any time. No one was holding her prisoner. This was just an assessment, and Tony had said she was a natural sub. Not that she needed him to tell her. She knew what she was now, or more accurately, she understood now what she had the potential to become. She was being offered a rare and precious opportunity to be assessed by a top trainer.

 

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