Heart of Submission
by Claire Thompson
Renaissance E Books
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Heart of Submission
by Claire Thompson
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
Heart of Submission
by Claire Thompson
Heart of Submission
Claire Thompson
ISBN 9781615089482
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2010 Claire Thompson
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part
without written permission.
For information contact:
SizzlerEditions.com
Sizzler Editions
A Renaissance E Books publication
Edited by Jae Ashley
Cover Art by Kelly Shorten
Heart of Submission
by Claire Thompson
CHAPTER 1
Kate Alexander sat at her computer, scrolling through images of women bound in rope and chain, their faces twisted in ecstasy.
Even now she could almost feel the cold links of chain against heated flesh, the stinging curl of leather, the shiver of desire. She couldn't deny the tremble, the thrill of excitement these erotic images provoked in her. And why should she deny it? Kate blew out a breath and reminded herself to focus. She had a deadline to get this novel written, but somehow the words just weren't flowing.
She didn't know enough on her own to bring the story to life.
She needed to get at the heart of the BDSM experience, pronto.
When her publisher had come to her, offering a contract for a BDSM novel and a sizable advance to go with it, she'd jumped at the chance. Her editor wanted something contemporary, maybe a mystery that takes place amidst the dark glitter of the BDSM underground leather scene. Or maybe a tale about another world a fantasy world where all the humans are slaves, raised solely for the pleasure of the super-dominant species they are groomed to serve.
At first confident she could pull it off, so far Kate had started and stopped half a dozen times, thinking she was finally in the groove with a storyline, only to find herself slamming headlong into a creative brick wall. Promising plot lines fizzled into dead ends. She lacked the basis, the foundation
and motivation for the stories. The characters were
Cartoons two-dimensional paper cutouts instead of flesh and bone. Why was she having such a hard time with this latest manuscript?
As if she didn't know.
Kate stood and stretched. Was it still there, she wondered?
She moved toward the closet. Reaching for the top shelf, she felt along it for the small canvas bag she hadn't touched in nearly two years. Retrieving it, she returned to her desk and sat down, plucking at the drawstring that held it closed.
She pulled the coil of black leather from the bag, a single tail lash that was all that remained of their collection of BDSM gear.
She ran her fingers over the braided leather, recalling how Victor had recoiled in horror when she'd shyly asked him to use it on her. He'd been happy enough to go along with the playful spankings and light bondage, which at first had served to jumpstart a flagging relationship. She'd dared, bit by bit, to open up to him and admit her closely held secrets. He had encouraged her, promising her she could tell him anything. She'd believed him; she'd trusted him. She tried to explain her submissive and masochistic yearnings, daring for the first time to admit these feelings to another person. He claimed at first to understand, or at least to accept this part of her. But in the end he rejected the whole thing outright, telling her he "hadn't the stomach for her sick games any longer."
He had taken her trust the sharing of her most secret and intimate desires, and had violated it, leaving her humiliated and ashamed in the process.
Without meaning to, Kate allowed the experience to color her desire to explore the exotic and forbidden pleasures of sadomasochism, bondage and erotic discipline.
After Victor, she'd let go of what she'd told herself were immature longings to relinquish control at the hands of a strong man. She deliberately sought out vanilla guys, and never mentioned her secret fantasies of being held down and taken, of feeling the thrill of being bound and at the mercy of a dominant man who took what he wanted.
In the two years since Victor had left her, she'd dated, but not seriously. After all with a busy life and successful career, who had time?
Writing under the pen name of Ashley Kendall, Kate had fourteen erotic romance novels to her credit. When she was focused, she could write an entire novel in two months, working from before dawn till late in the night. When she was in the groove, nothing in this world was so satisfying
or all-encompassing.
She had thought she could bring the story to life by drawing on the experience she'd had with Victor, and while she could recall the sting of a whip and the grip of rope, something was blocking her from accessing the emotions that went along with it.
Maybe the Internet would get her creative juices flowing.
She did a search on BDSM. She started at the various blogs and websites that claimed some authority on the subject, dutifully making notes and jotting down possible story ideas.
BDSM 101, that's what she needed. Why didn't she think of that sooner? She lived only an hour outside of Manhattan.
Something was always going on there, surely. Kate did another search on BDSM events in the area and a whole host of options popped up. She checked out a dozen potentially promising venues, only to find they were happening across the country, or had already just happened the weekend before, or weren't scheduled until six months from now.
Well, what had she expected? A readymade program, tailored just for aspiring BDSM authors who were also considering a personal reentry into the scene?
She was just about to give up when something caught her eye.
Before wasting any time, she checked the location.
New York City. And the date this coming weekend!
BDSM Immersion Weekend.
A three-day intensive program hosted by Power Play.
Workshops including the Master/slave Dynamic, Discipline
and Correction, Flogging and Whipping
from the Basics to the Sublime, The Art of Pain.
Giving and Receiving, Sensual Bondage
Techniques, and more!
Play parties at night. Couples and singles welcome.
Space is limited.
Email Jacob Presley ([email protected])
for pricing and other details.
What a perfect way to ease back into the scene with no strings attached. She could drink it all in, attending the seminars and workshops to get back into the swing of things, while taking mental notes for her novel.
The play parties she wasn't so sure about. She'd never been to a
BDSM play party, though Victor and she had toyed with the idea. She was aware they were sometimes little more than orgies, with a few whips and chains thrown in for effect. Though she doubted this particular venue would be like that, a single woman without a partner was still probably prey for all the losers and posers who couldn't get a woman on their own. If she attended the evening parties, she'd keep her wits sharp and her clothes on.
"Are you really going to do this?" she said aloud.
"Why not?" she answered herself, ignoring the flutter of nerves in her belly. She was an independent woman ready for a weekend adventure. There was nothing and no one holding her back.
Opening her email account, she typed in Master Presley's address, dashed off an inquiry and hit send before she could change her mind.
****
Master Presley was a tall man, easily over six feet four inches.
He must have weighed over three hundred pounds but he carried it well, his girth imposing. Though plain, his face was kind, his smile crooked but genuine.
Master Presley signed Kate in and gave her a pamphlet outlining the various workshops and seminars that were to take place over the course of the weekend. There were already a few dozen folks milling in the large, open space of
the warehouse. There were no windows, but the place was filled with light from skylights overhead. A buffet breakfast was laid out on two long tables, flanked at either end by coffee urns.
Some people were sitting at the picnic tables set up for the purpose, but most were standing, plates and cups balanced, chatting in clusters. They all seemed like they knew each other.
Probably many of them did. Kate had had to fork over the annual membership fee to Power Play in addition to the cost of the event, but told herself it was worth it all in the name of research for her novel, and thus tax deductible.
"Help yourself to coffee and some breakfast,"
Master Presley said, patting her arm.
"The first seminar starts at noon. You can leave your bag in the lockers until you're ready to check in at the motel."
He pointed toward a row of tall metal lockers that ran along a portion of one wall of the warehouse. Beside the lockers was a rack that contained dozens of whips, floggers, crops and canes.
Kate stared at them, her heart doing a little flip flop. The man followed her gaze.
"Nice, huh? Most of that belongs to Marianne and Marty.
They're the cofounders of the group and run a serious BDSM
Dungeon in Westchester County, very posh, very upscale."
He returned his gaze to Kate, appraising her with a tilted head.
"I hear they're looking for sub girls for hire. You could make a pretty penny in tips, a lovely girl like you. No sex, you just let the guys tie you up and such. Extra for rough play.
Don't worry, they're very careful. No permanent marks or cutting. Should I tell them you're interested?"
Kate realized her mouth had fallen open. She snapped it shut.
"No, that's okay. I'm kind of new to all this. Going to take my time."
Master Presley looked disappointed, but he nodded.
"Probably wise."
He looked down at a clipboard and then back up at her. "Your roommate is Stacey. That's her over there. The short one with the beehive hairdo."
He pointed toward a round little woman somewhere in her late thirties, with light brown hair piled into a teased, sprayed dome on her head and eyes ringed in black eyeliner that brought Cleopatra to mind.
She was squeezed into a black leather dress a few sizes too small, her deep cleavage accentuated by the tight bodice. Short, pudgy legs were encased in knee-high black leather boots with stiletto heels. Though Kate found the ensemble over the top, somehow the woman managed to pull it off.
She looked back at Master Presley as he handed her a preprinted nametag. It read Ashley against a white background. It had seemed wiser to use her pen name for this venture who knew what oddballs might track her down otherwise. She noticed the tray had other tags remaining,
some white, some red.
"What's the color significance?" she asked.
"Red is for Top, Dom or Master, white for bottom, sub or slave, depending on what folks are into."
She noticed his tag was red. She'd filled out a questionnaire as part of the admission process to the weekend, answering personal questions about her interests and orientation in the scene. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about being predestinated as a sub, but she shrugged.
This was for her novel. It wasn't as if she was really going to be an ongoing member in this BDSM group.
A couple came in behind her to sign in and Kate moved toward the lockers. Finding an empty one, she stashed her duffel bag inside and wandered toward the breakfast table. She headed toward the coffee urn, hoping they had real cream or at least half and half.
That's when she saw him. The man, with a thick swatch of blond hair falling over his forehead, was dressed in black.
Black silk encased broad shoulders, narrowing down his body toward black jeans that molded against long muscular legs. He was wearing black boots, the toes square, the leather scuffed. He looked to be in his early thirties, and his tag was red, though she couldn't see the name on it from where she stood.
"Where have you been all my life?"
Startled, Kate turned toward the voice. A man about her height of five-foot-eight with a tangle of dark curls hanging nearly to his shoulders was smiling at her. He, too, was dressed in black, wearing a tank top that showed off a slender but well-muscled frame, over black jeans. Though he wasn't bad looking, Kate was still fixated on the image of the blond god.
"Oh, hi," she said, forcing herself to pay attention.
"Your first Power Play weekend?" he asked, moving closer.
She stepped back. "Yes."
"Here alone?"
"Um..."
The man laughed.
"Relax. I'm not going to eat you. You'll find this is a very respectful group. We pride ourselves on offering a safe, sane and consensual environment for the exploration of all things BDSM."
The man's tag was red, the name Sir James printed on it.
"Not to mention, my wife would kill me if she thought I was hitting on you."
He laughed again, offering a small wave toward a tall, imposing woman who stood near the buffet, piling her plate with scrambled eggs and bacon. She wore a long dress of flowing black silk, a thick black leather collar around her neck. Trying not to be too obvious about it, Kate scanned the small crowd for the handsome blond, but he was nowhere in sight. With an inward sigh, she got herself some coffee.
Sir James had followed her, talking steadily. His partner approached them, introductions were made and Kate listened as they talked about which seminars and workshops would be fun to attend. Stacey joined them a moment later.
"Ah, the newbie. I hear you're to be my roomie."
She swept Kate from head to toe with a brazen gaze.
"Welcome my friend, to the fun that never ends. You're gonna knock 'em dead. I'll be happy to take your cast-offs." She laughed, the sound oddly high-pitched compared to her smoky speaking voice.
"Oh, I'm just here to learn," Kate said, embarrassed.
"Yeah, right," Stacey rejoined with a snort.
"Me too." She winked conspiratorially.
Hoping to deflect this line of talk, Kate offered, "So, you're an active player in the scene?"
Might as well start her research now.
"Not as active as I'd like, honey," Stacey quipped.
"Now, if I had a bod like yours, and all that glorious hair..." She reached out, fingering Kate's hair.
"All you need is a little hairspray and I could fix you right up."
Eyeing Stacey's elaborate fifties hairdo, Kate made a mental note to reject that offer.
Stacey waved suddenly toward someone across the room.
"Be right back. Gotta say hi to an old pal."
As Stacey walked away, Kate
stepped back, bumping against someone behind her. The automatic apology died on her lips as she turned, her coffee sloshing over the rim of the cup.
He had eyes the color of clear dark tea, sunny blond hair spilling carelessly over a high forehead, a half smile hovering on full, sensuous lips. His red tag read Master John, though she didn't need color coding or titles to ascertain his orientation. He exuded power. Kate could feel it like fingers moving over her skin. She realized she was staring at him.
Swallowing, she turned away, hoping the heat in her face hadn't translated to a blush. She felt his hand on her shoulder, gently but forcibly turning her back toward him.
"Ashley," he said, reading her tag.
Looking back at her face, his smile was warm enough to melt butter.
"I bet you're a wild one, in serious need of taming."
Kate realized her nipples had shot to attention without permission. Silently she cursed the flimsy fabric of her cream-colored silk tank top. As if reading her mind, Master John's eyes moved slowly downward from her face,. sweeping over her breasts. She tossed her hair.
"I might be wild, but I've yet to meet the man who can tame me,"
she said with as much bravado as she could muster.
Shit! Where had that come from? Master John laughed.
"Is that a challenge, little girl?"
Returning to her senses, Kate stammered, "Uh, no. No, I'm just here to learn. To take it all in."
"Are you now," he replied, eyebrows arched.
"Yep." Kate was disconcerted by the knowing smile in his deep brown eyes.
"Well, I do hope you'll attend my seminar on whipping technique. Perhaps I can talk you into being my volunteer."
"No thanks, I'll pass," Kate said, ignoring her thumping heart.
Master John said nothing, but he stared deep into her eyes with an expression so intense she couldn't look away, even if she'd wanted to. For that moment it was as if the whole room went silent and still, though surely that was Kate's imagination.
She found herself tumbling into the man's powerful gaze. Her mouth had gone dry, her pussy the opposite.
Suddenly the room switched back on, as Stacey appeared beside them.
"Ah, you've met Master John," she said. "Figures, the beautiful people naturally gravitate toward one another."
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