by Nia Farrell
“I’ll remember, Master Sorin.”
“Good.” He tucked himself back in his boxers and refastened his pants. “Now, come. Sit on my lap and watch the play.”
Ashley accepted his help up and settled herself on one of Master Sorin’s muscled thighs, with her legs between his wide-spread feet and her back protesting the position. While she took in the play going on in different parts of the room, the doctor began massaging her muscles, deftly working out some of the soreness with his practiced hand.
Acutely aware of her growing arousal, she watched couples, threesomes, foursomes and moresomes engaged in kink, sex, or kinky sex. Some of the Dominants were simply conversing, with their subs kneeling at their feet or seated on their laps. A St. Andrew’s cross had been added to one wall, and a spanking bench had been brought in. The two of them were rarely empty.
Seeing what went on here made her wonder about the RACK side of the resort and the punishment that awaited her. The longer they stayed, the more nervous she became. Attuned to her, Master Sorin wrapped his fingers around her throat and pressed enough to feel her pulse.
“What’s your color?” he murmured.
“What’s the opposite of yellow? Purple?” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m anxious. I’m having a hard time sitting still, thinking about what’s coming.”
“It sounds like someone needs some knee time. On the floor, dragă. Get as comfortable as you can. Kneel by my leg and rest your head against it. You will stay there until you have emptied your mind.”
Shit. The longer it took, the later they would get to the French Terror. Determined to make it sooner rather than later, Ashley slid off his lap, took her place by his feet, and leaned against his leg. Resting her head on his knee, she tried her best to ignore the sounds around her and empty her mind.
Master Sorin put his hand lightly on her head and kept it there. His comforting touch helped. After months of being alone, it felt wonderful to have his strength to lean on. She’d been attracted to him from the first. The longer she was with him, the more deeply connected she felt.
There was a very real danger that she was falling for the doctor.
In the outside world, the two of them would never work. He needed anonymity, and she was constantly in the spotlight. If this weekend was all that they could ever have, she was determined to make the most of it.
Come Sunday, she’d have no choice but to let him go.
Chapter Six
It was nearly ten before they made it to the RACK side of the resort. The building was styled like something from a Gothic novel. A dark, brooding facade set the mood for whatever was transpiring inside.
Master Sorin helped her from the limousine and escorted her to the entrance. They were met at the door by a strapping guard who looked like Aragorn from Lord of the Rings. A Medieval nun in rough homespun took the velvet cloaks that had protected them from the cool night air.
Master Sorin wore an embroidered frockcoat, long vest, and breeches. Silver-buckled shoes added two inches to his height. Ashley’s silk dress had layers of underpinnings that included panniers and petticoats but no pantaloons. Her bottom was bare and unadorned.
He was saving the butt plugs for later.
Master Sorin guided her past a series of rooms, stopping long enough at each one to let her see what was going on and decide if she wanted to stay or move on. The differences between the SSC and RACK sides were immediately apparent. Floggers vs. vicious-looking whips. Spanking with hands and paddles vs. punishment with tawses, canes, bastinadoes, and God knew what else.
In one alcove, a nude submissive had been put in stocks. The Dom standing behind her drew a long swab down the sub’s body, lit it on fire, and promptly put it out.
“Fire play,” Master Sorin murmured. “The next room is where they use needles.”
Ashley shuddered. She hated needles. She’d been poked like a pincushion when she was in the hospital. But, remembering the script and why she was here, she knew that it was something that she needed to see.
She remained silent. Master Sorin had not posed a question, and she did not have permission to speak. She did have a ribbon tied to her wrist, with two feet of extra length that he held like a leash.
“Come,” he said, giving it a tug.
She followed behind him like a good submissive, stopping when he did. Keeping her gaze lowered, she waited for permission to look.
It wasn’t long coming. A submissive dressed like a French peasant was dragged before a Dominant nobleman. The Dom had her stripped and bound to a heavy wooden chair, with her forearms tied to the chair’s carved oak arms and her widespread feet lashed to its legs. Rough rope banded her chest. The coils cinching each breast looked painfully tight.
He attached weighted nipple clamps, making her gasp, whimper, and moan. A third clamp went on her clit.
Ashley pressed her legs together in empathy.
Modern protocol took precedence over period correct when the Dominant put on surgical gloves before continuing. Swabbing one breast, he started threading needles just beneath the surface of her skin, changing directions and adding more until he had completed an elaborate pattern.
It was at once disturbingly beautiful and fascinating to behold.
The pain contorting the submissive’s features seemed more from the clit clamp than anything else.
The Dom flicked her nipple. Breath hissed between her teeth. She jerked, crying out when the movement pulled the chain to her clit.
He shoved a finger into her clean-shaved pussy, then two, then three, pumping until she was sopping wet. He left the needles in and her arms bound when he untied her legs and chest. Removing the clit clamp, he grabbed her hips and dragged them forward until her pussy was at the edge of the seat. He propped her heels on the edge, too, and tied each bent leg separately.
The Dom retrieved a vial of oil. Spreading her knees wide, he lubed his hand and began working his fingers inside her. One. Two. Three. Four. She whimpered and begged him to stop.
He didn’t.
“Part of the play,” Master Sorin explained. “She has not used her safeword.”
He drizzled more oil where they were connected, tucked his thumb, and pushed his whole hand into her. She shrieked and panted at his invasion, begging for mercy as he fisted her.
“Have you ever….?”
Ashley tore her gaze away to look at Master Sorin. “No!” Realizing that she’d been too emphatic, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “No, Master.”
“Can I persuade you to try?”
Looking back at the sub, Ashley watched the warring emotions on her face. Arousal. Pain. Trepidation. Trust.
But could she do it?
She had marked both anal and vaginal fisting as possibilities. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
“I don’t know, Master Sorin,” she whispered, watching the Dom’s wrist disappear. “It seems almost too much for her, and I’m not experienced.”
“But I am,” he said smoothly. Biting her ear, he whispered into it, “You can trust me. I’m a doctor.”
Yes, he was. He was a healer and a Vampire Dom with an unexpected sense of humor and a taste for human blood. Other women might run the other way, but she found the duality in his nature fascinating. She could honestly say, she’d never met anyone like him.
“In that case, I might be persuaded to try it. But I think I’d like my first time to be private, with just the two of us, if that’s okay?”
“So, no threesome? Don Diego will be disappointed. He was hoping to play with us.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Should she be pleased that he thought she could handle them both or hurt that he wanted to share her?
She hadn’t made ménages a hard limit. He couldn’t know that the mention of it brought back a host of unpleasant memories. Cade’s desire to invite someone else into their bed was just one of the things that had led to her break up with him. She thought that she’d put that much behind her, but obviously not.
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br /> Ashley forced a smile. “I think that you’re all I can handle, Master Sorin.”
He studied her for a long moment. The corners of his mouth turned down into a frown. “Come,” he ordered crisply and tugged her ribbon lead.
She followed him away from the needle scene and down a series of corridors until they reached a hall reeking of sex and flanked with closed doors. He stopped before one of them and pressed his hand against a biometric scanner to its right. The lock released, allowing him to open the door and step inside, pulling her after him.
“My room,” he said, giving her a minute to take it all in. The rich purple-red walls were the color of wine. One of them held racks of implements. A St. Andrew’s cross was mounted on another. The furniture was black, heavy, and loomed as ominous as his promise of punishment. There was a spanking bench, a waist-high table, and a sex swing in one corner.
The main feature was the massive four-poster bed, made up with black sheets. The bedposts were studded with hand-forged tie down rings. The foot of the bed had been crafted to function as stocks, with openings for the neck and hands. Overhead, parallel beams formed scaffolding that looked sturdy enough to be used for suspension.
Master Sorin tugged on her wrist. “Back to me,” he rumbled. “That’s better. Kneel, dragă.”
Ashley lifted her skirts and went down on her knees.
“At the scene, I mentioned Don Diego and you turned as cold as ice. Explain.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “My ex wanted to invite his current costar for the weekend. I knew that he was screwing her, but he wanted us both and tried to talk me into a threesome. It was one more nail in the coffin for our relationship.”
“And yet, you marked ménage as a possibility. Why?”
Ashley bit her lip and confessed what she’d never dared to tell Cade. “If he had suggested his male costar, I might have been tempted to do it. The fact is, I have no interest in sharing a bed with another woman. I—I’m just not geared that way.”
Master Sorin nodded. “So, you have imagined being with two men? Lovers who are dedicated to pleasuring your body? At any time this weekend, just say the word, and I will make it happen. Don Diego or another Dom would be more than happy to join us. For now, though, it is just the two of us…and the punishment that is due….”
Chapter Seven
“Clothes off, dragă. Strip, then put on your corset. Can you lie on your stomach? I know one back patient who can, but most cannot.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry, Master. I can lie on my sides or back but not flat on my stomach.”
He angled his head, considering their options. “What about if you kneel with your shoulders down and bottom up? I can prop up your chest and hips with pillows for support.”
She bit her lip, considering. “That should work, Master. I have my safewords if my back becomes an issue.”
“Very well,” he rumbled. “We’ll try it. Now, strip everything but your corset and kneel with your head on the bed.”
Ashley obeyed, removing every layer until she was naked. Once her stays were back on, Master Sorin tightened the laces for her. “How does it feel?”
“Good,” she told him, promising herself to shop for corsets when she got home. This one seemed to help her back as well as enhance her figure. Her waist was trimmer. Her breasts looked like D-cups and threatened to spill from the neckline.
Satisfied with her answer, he stepped away to admire his work…and her body.
Below her stays, she was totally nude.
Turning his attention back to the bed, he lowered the stocks at the foot until the openings were even with the mattress. “Have you forgotten so quickly?” he scolded. “Get in position! Head down. Ass up, with your feet towards the headboard!”
She knew what came next, even before he said it.
“Now, put your neck and wrists in the stocks.”
Ashley bit her tongue, crawled a foot more, and gingerly placed her neck in the rounded-edge half circle. When she was certain that her body was perfectly aligned, she committed her wrists to the same fate.
He lowered the top half of the stock and secured it. She shivered at the sound it made, locking her in, rendering her helpless, at his mercy. Her body responded to her unspoken fear. Her pulse raced, and her respiration increased until she was almost panting.
“Remember, dragă, you have the power to stop this at any time. What are your safewords?” he asked, tucking a pillow beneath her breasts and two more under her hips.
“Yellow,” she choked out, “to slow. Red…red to stop.”
He knelt down. Fisting her hair, he pulled up her head until her eyes met his. “Do you need to use them?”
“No,” she croaked.
He gave her hair a slight yank. “No, what?”
“No, Master,” she said, her voice as tight as his grip.
“Good. Then we begin. The stocks will heighten your experience. You won’t be able to see what I am doing behind you. You will have to listen…and feel…and trust. And you will not come until I say that you can.”
Trust, she told herself when he rose and started gathering things from around the room, bringing them back to the bed. The mattress dipped when he sat on it.
Trust, she repeated when she heard a lid pop and smelled the unmistakable scent of coconut. He lubed her anus, then oiled the plug that he pressed into it, pushing until it popped in place.
He splayed his hands and grabbed her ass cheeks, flexing his fingers and kneading her muscles. “You must relax, dragă. The cane is not kind if you are tense.”
A cane? Who was he kidding? A cane wasn’t going to be kind. Ever. Short of directing traffic or conducting an orchestra, it was going to fucking hurt.
She wondered if he’d take the hint if she changed her safeword from red to Singapore. He would, but it wouldn’t matter. He was determined to punish her, and the cane was his implement of choice.
Knowing that it would hurt more if she resisted, Ashley used breathwork to help release the grip of fear and allow her muscles to loosen. Soon, Master Sorin’s hands lifted. He slid off the bed to stand beside it. She heard the ominous tap of the cane against something. His palm? His thigh? There was a telling swoosh as it sliced the air a split second before striking her buttocks.
“Fuck!” she yelped, unable to help herself. “Yellow!”
He grunted behind her. She could imagine him, shaking his dark head at her lack of enthusiasm for corporal punishment.
“Your back or the cane?” he demanded.
“The cane,” she grated, “Master. Shit a brick.”
She heard something slap his palm. It sounded as loud as a thunderclap, given her anxiety. He rubbed her seat with what felt like a smooth, wooden paddle. When it fell, it hurt like the dickens, but she’d take it over a cane any day.
“Better?” he rumbled.
“Yes, Sir,” she breathed. “Thank you, Master.”
“Three more,” he said, “then I’m fucking that ass.”
On the count of five, he stopped. Ashley knelt there with her backside on fire, listening to him strip his clothes, put on a condom, and lubricate his erection.
He pulled the plug, set it aside, and climbed onto the bed. Spreading her legs with his knees, he tapped her sphincter with the head of his cock, then pressed against it and pushed slowly, carefully inside, advancing in increments until he was buried to the root.
“Yes,” he hissed between his teeth. “Christ, you feel good. Let me know if it’s too much.”
He drew part-way out and tunneled back in, balls slapping against her clitoris and his girth challenging her resolve. She wanted to take him. She thought that she could. But the initial pinch was slow to let up, and each stroke was less than pleasurable.
There was no hiding her discomfort from him, doctor that he was.
“Give me a color,” he demanded, pausing and holding himself suspended above her before driving back in.
“Orange,” she grated
. “I’m sorry. It’s just…you’re so big....”
Thank God, he listened. Slowly, he worked his full length inside her. His next stroke was almost a non-event, it was so short. But she handled it. And the next, and the next. He never did cut loose on her, but he did come to a shuddering finish inside her without letting her climax.
He took care of his condom in the playroom’s en-suite, returned with a warm, wet washcloth and towel, and cleaned her. Freeing her from the stocks and lifting her out, he laid her on the bed, helped her onto her side, and checked her neck, throat, and hands with clinical precision.
“Are you okay?” she asked him. Her attempt at humor earned her a smile.
“Yes, dragă. I am fine. Better than fine. How is your back?”
He’d noticed that she had stayed curled in a half-fetal position, with her knees bent.
“Complaining. I can take more ibuprofen in an hour.”
“I want you to hydrate. You haven’t drunk nearly enough water today.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Sit up if you wish. Get comfortable. I’ll be back.”
Master Sorin took chilled bottles from a small refrigerator, twisted off the caps, brought them back to bed, and handed her one.
She drank half before she started to get brain freeze and had to slow down and take small sips. He downed his water, his throat muscles working until he’d finished it. He took her empty bottle and set it aside with his.
“Thank you, Master.” She managed to finish her sentence before he turned back to the bed and the sight of his sculpted body robbed her of coherent speech. Sebastian Moldovan was magnificent. Intelligent. Well-spoken. He could make a career of supporting roles on those looks alone. Add some acting lessons to that delicious accent, and her agent would sign him in a heartbeat.
Except…he was a doctor. A teacher. A healer who taught others to heal.
“Bath next, then bed,” he said. “Tomorrow’s a big day. I’ve booked massages for us after breakfast. The evening scenes won’t start until seven on the SSC side and nine on the RACK side. We’ll have the rest of the day to do what you will. Explore the resort. Watch unscheduled scenes. Experience new or favorite kinks. Be thinking about what you’d like, dragă. But for now, let’s get you out of this corset and into a hot tub.”