BDSM Connections - The Complete 4 Novel Series

by Claire Thompson

  She imagined the group of waiflike, petite giggling girls, each one with a slave collar handmade by the Leather Master, waiting together in a naked huddle on his bed for him to come and claim them.

  Annoyed with where her fantasy had taken her, she upturned the imaginary bed and sent all the skinny, shrieking girls into the void.

  Refocused on the scene at hand, she watched Taggart and Jordan confer on which whip they should use for Marco’s demonstration. “Let’s go with a bullwhip for my slave boy,” Jordan said. “He can take a lot, and it will make a good visual with that long tail whipping out, and a great sound effect when it pops in the air.”

  Jordan selected a whip from the wall, a black coil of shiny, beautiful leather strips braided into a single, tapering line, creating the effect of a snake—sleek, supple and dangerous. “Turn around, slave boy, and kiss the whip that will mark you,” he said, suddenly every bit the Master.

  Turning to face the room, Marco lowered himself to his knees and planted a reverent kiss on the whip’s offered handle. “Thank you, Master Jordan,” he breathed, his eyes shining.

  Rylee experienced a sharp pang of jealousy, until she remembered she got to go next.

  Marco turned back to the cross, again extending his arms and legs against the X. Jordan placed the whip on the counter beside the camera he’d left there. He motioned to Rylee to bring the lights a little closer to the cross, which she did.

  Taggart, meanwhile, cuffed Marco’s wrists and ankles against the cross. When he was done, he retrieved the whip from the counter and stepped once more behind Marco.

  He glanced back at Jordan, who gave him a nod. “Just act naturally,” Jordan said. “I can edit out anything we don’t like.” He held up the camera, his eye to the viewfinder. “Action.”

  Taggart uncoiled the bullwhip and flicked the tail experimentally in the air. The sonic crack made both Marco and Rylee jump. Taggart began to talk about bullwhip technique, including proper wrist position and stance. “You want to aim just so, so you hit the target head-on.” He let the tip of the whip lick against Marco’s left buttock cheek.

  Marco remained perfectly still, save a slight bunching of his shoulder muscles. Taggart continued to speak in his deep, gravelly voice, his tone calm, even clinical, as he struck Marco’s ass with the beautiful, terrifying whip.

  Each perfectly aimed flick of the leather tail left a neat red line on Marco’s small, muscular ass. Rylee replaced Marco on the cross in her mind’s eye. She could almost feel the snug grip of the cuffs pulling her taut against the hard, smooth wood, and the hot, stinging lick of the whip striking her ass and the backs of her thighs. Longing hurtled through her being, the craving for erotic pain as fierce as any addiction.

  Through it all, Marco remained silent and still, the only sign of the erotic pain he endured revealed by the clenching and unclenching of his fists and the trickle of sweat down his spine. Rylee stared, mesmerized by the scene.

  “Cut,” Jordan finally said. “I think we got plenty. I also think I have to buy that whip,” he added with a laugh. “Leather Master, those welts you painted on my slave boy’s ass are simply stunning. How did you learn to place the marks like that, one above the other in perfect parallel lines? It’s like art.”

  “A lot of practice,” Taggart replied. Lowering the whip, he moved forward to release Marco from the cuffs.

  When he was free, Marco spun around and dropped at once to his knees. He lowered his forehead to the ground, his arms extended on either side of Taggart’s boots. “Thank you, Sir,” Marco said softly but fervently, a slight quaver in his voice.

  Taggart took a step back, looking faintly embarrassed. “My pleasure.” He turned to Jordan. “I’ve got some arnica for those welts if—”

  Jordan held up a tube of something. “Got it, thanks. This is Marco’s special concoction. By tomorrow you won’t even see the marks.” He crouched beside his lover and tenderly lifted Marco to his feet.

  “Good deal.” Taggart turned back toward a mini refrigerator under one of the counters. “How about a bottle of water?”

  “That we’ll take. Marco hasn’t figured out how to improve on H20 yet.”

  “I’ve found scotch makes for a nice improvement,” Taggart quipped, his eyes sliding to Rylee. “Only after a scene, of course,” he added.

  While Jordan was attending to Marco, Taggart moved toward Rylee. “Your Master isn’t here to choose your whip for you.”

  “I don’t need a Master, thanks. I can choose for myself.”

  Taggart’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “Is that so?”

  “Yep.”

  Stepping toward the display, Rylee gravitated instantly to a heavy suede flogger dyed a rich royal blue. Unable to help herself, she ran her finger along one of the buttery tresses and leaned closer, inhaling its rich, oiled sent.

  “I want this one.”

  Taggart stepped alongside her and chuckled. “You do, huh?” He reached for the flogger and lifted it from the wall. Moving a step closer, he locked his eyes on hers. “I’ve been in the scene a while, Rylee. I sense more than mere erotic masochism behind those beautiful turquoise eyes.”

  Flustered, Rylee looked down.

  Jordan loomed suddenly in front of them. “How about we do the flogging on a different piece of equipment? Maybe the spanking bench or the whipping post?”

  “Actually,” Taggart interjected, “I think the flogging will show better with a simple suspension.” He pointed to chains that dangled from a ceiling beam in a corner of the room. Their image was reflected in a full-length sheet of mirror that had been tacked to the wall. A large, thick yoga mat had been set on the floor beneath the chains. “Rylee can extend her arms and we’ll cuff her wrists so I can move around her body to better demonstrate the flogger.”

  “Excellent idea!” Jordan said enthusiastically. “How about it, Rylee? You okay with that? I’ll make sure your face isn’t in the video. No one will know it’s you.” He shrugged and grinned, adding, “Unless you want the exposure, of course. If you signed up for BDSMConnections with that video, you’d have the entire straight male population on the site bombarding you with emails.”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Rylee said dismissively.

  Taggart regarded her with a lift of his heavy eyebrows. “I sense skepticism,” he said. “I think Jordan is right. Any straight guy would want to watch that video.”

  Heat scalded Rylee’s cheeks at his words. Was it possible this big, strong hunk of a dominant man was attracted to her? Mentally, she gave herself a shake. More likely, the dude was being gallant. Still, her body responded, the tug of arousal in her cunt almost painful in its urgency.

  She realized all three men were staring at her, as if waiting for something. “What?” she asked, turning to Marco for support.

  “Your clothing,” Marco replied, his eyes twinkling. “Jordan can’t very well shoot the video until you get naked.”

  Taggart was regarding her with an amused smile, one eyebrow raised.

  All at once Rylee remembered the circle of pinpricks, some of them scabbed over, around each nipple. Marco knew, but what would Taggart and Jordan think of her?

  Rylee engaged in a fierce tug-of-war with herself, her mind advising her to back out of the demo, her heart and body ordering her to go forward. She closed her eyes as she marshaled and harnessed her Jiu Jitsu calm.

  It’s my body. For all they know, the damage was consensual. I’m not going to let Simon the Asshole ruin this experience for me.

  Opening her eyes, Rylee met Taggart’s gaze as she gripped the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head.

  Chapter 6

  Taggart inhaled the fresh, lemony scent of Rylee’s hair as he secured her wrists. On an impulse, he reached behind her head and touched the elastic band that kept it pulled back from her face. Meeting her eye, he asked, “May I let your hair down? It will make for a better shoot.”

  He had no idea if that was actually true—the fact of the ma
tter was he wanted to see her face framed by the tumble of her hair.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse. She cleared her throat, adding, “That’s fine. Sure.”

  He tugged gently at the cloth-covered elastic, dragging it down the thick, shiny ponytail. She shook her head back, flipping the hair out of her eyes. He sensed the coiled tension in her muscular frame, natural in the circumstances.

  Not for the first time, he marveled at the ease with which submissives would drop their clothing on command. Especially women, who tended to be self-conscious about their bodies.

  But wait—Rylee wasn’t submissive, at least according to Rylee.

  He stepped back to make sure her arms were suspended high enough without being uncomfortable for her. She was regarding him with a fierce gaze, almost as if she were daring him in some way.

  He let his gaze drift lower. He lifted his hand, barely touching the tip of his index finger to her flesh as he drew a circle around her nipple. Obviously she had recently engaged in needle play, but whomever she had played with hadn’t known what he was doing. The needles had been placed with too much force and too close together, and her skin was bruised and scabbed as a result.

  “What happened here?”

  Rylee looked away, mumbling something unintelligible. He could sense her acute discomfort with the question.

  “Sorry,” he said brusquely. “None of my business.” He took a step back. “Are your arms comfortable? Is the height good?”

  Rylee nodded, once again meeting his eye. “Yes. It’s fine.”

  “Good.” No question, Rylee Miller looked damn fine with her arms chained high over her head, her full breasts pulled upward by the position. Her skin was supple, its tone golden brown, a pleasing contrast to the pale skin of her breasts and shaven pussy, protected from the sun by what appeared to be a rather skimpy bikini, at least based on her tan lines.

  She was tall for a woman, and while her curves were decidedly feminine, she was muscular, without a trace of body fat. He could easily imagine her in a Jiu Jitsu competition, catching some guy in a chokehold and flipping him to the mat. Though he normally gravitated toward petite blondes, he found himself quite attracted to this tall brunette who didn’t believe in submission.

  “Okay,” Jordan said, interrupting Taggart’s pleasant musings. “We’re ready to go if you are. We’ll shoot from various angles.” He glanced toward Rylee. “Ready?”

  Rylee nodded at Jordan’s image in the mirror, a little bit of a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face. “Yeah.”

  Marco approached, holding the flogger Taggart had set down while he secured Rylee in her chains. Taggart took the flogger with a nod of thanks.

  If this were a real scene, Taggart would have taken more time with her to make sure she was in the right headspace, but he was all too aware of Jordan and Marco hovering, waiting to shoot the scene.

  “You good?” he said softly to the bound girl.

  Rylee nodded.

  He moved to stand behind her. Her ass was small but nicely rounded. Taggart imagined her over his knee. He imagined her skin turning red and hot to the touch beneath his hard palm. He realized he had an erection.

  To distract himself, Taggart pulled his fingers through the thick, soft suede tails as he waited for Jordan’s signal to begin. He was pleased Rylee had chosen this particular flogger, one of his finest pieces. Its handle was perfectly weighted, the tips of each of the thirty-six tails hand-cut to a point for added sting on impact.

  “And…action,” Jordan said.

  Taggart started slowly, brushing Rylee’s ass and thighs in a broad, sweeping stroke of leather. As he warmed her flesh, he settled into a steady rhythm, slowly increasing the intensity as she relaxed.

  He glanced in the mirror to see how she was handling the flogging so far. Rylee was watching his reflection, her eyes focused on his face, a look of sexy defiance in her gaze, which Taggart interpreted as her asking for more.

  He let the first strong blow whisk over both cheeks at once, the tips leaving behind dozens of small red marks on her smooth flesh. As the tips struck, Rylee sucked in a sharp breath, though her eyes remained open and fixed on him. He struck again, whipping the backs of her thighs and then whisking the flogger in a flurry of leather over her back.

  If they’d been alone—if this had been a session between Dom and sub, he would have moved at that point to stand in front of her. He wanted to whip her full, round breasts. He wanted to flick the suede over her nipples, which were engorged now, dark as cherries. His mouth actually watered at the thought of drawing them, one by one, into his mouth. The scabbed pinpricks and bruises some inept wannabe Dom had inflicted on the girl tainted the pleasant daydream.

  She had claimed she didn’t have a Master, but clearly she had a play partner, someone who had done this to her. Had she enjoyed the needle play, or just tolerated it to please her man?

  Focus, Fitzgerald.

  Sternly, he reminded himself he was there to do a flogging demo for his business. Rylee was just a volunteer, a friend of Jordan’s, and not Taggart’s responsibility. If she wanted to scene with idiots, it was nothing to him. He didn’t even know her.

  He turned his attention back to his task. Rylee’s skin was sheened with a thin film of sweat that glistened in the bright stage lights. She was breathing hard, her lips parted, her chest heaving. Her eyes remained open, still fixed on Taggart.

  Give it to me. Give me more, he commanded silently. He struck her harder, the force of his blow pushing her body slightly forward as the leather crashed against her ass.

  “Ah,” she cried.

  The thrill of power surged through Taggart’s loins, his cock hard as steel. He struck again, even harder, in the same spot.

  Rylee moaned, the sound low and feral.

  Taggart glanced at her face in the mirror. She was blinking rapidly, as if trying to keep back tears. Her hair had fallen forward into her face. He’d registered the color as brown when he’d first seen her, but now, under the bright lights, he saw it was actually a blending of colors—rich, burnished amber and dark chestnut, shot through with buttery caramel, depending how the light hit. He had to resist his impulse to lean forward and tuck it behind her ears.

  He refocused on the flogging, shifting and easing the intensity, save for the occasional and sudden hard strike that pulled a lovely, breathy cry from the chained, naked girl in front of him. Her head fell back, her eyes closing.

  I want to make her fly. I want to take her to that place.

  Whoa. Where the hell had that thought come from? This was not an intimate session with a lover. What the fuck was he doing?

  Taggart’s rhythm faltered and he took a step back. He glanced toward Jordan. Surely they had more than enough footage to call it a wrap.

  Taking his cue from Taggart’s glance, Jordan said, “Cut,” and lowered the camera. “That was fantastic,” he enthused. “I especially like how you didn’t talk during this demo. The focus was really intense, like a real scene. And we can always do a voice-over later if we want.”

  “Yeah. Okay, great,” Taggart replied, not admitting his lack of commentary had been completely accidental. It had, indeed, been “like a real scene,” at least for him.

  He turned back to Rylee, who had lifted her head, her eyes open once more. In the mirror, he could see her mouth move as if she wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, she pressed her lips together and looked down at the floor.

  Taggart handed Marco the flogger and moved to stand in front of Rylee. Heat radiated from her skin. The pleasing, erotic scent of her clean sweat and something else—arousal?—jolted through Taggart’s senses as powerfully as the finest oiled leather.

  What had she wanted to say?

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m good, thanks,” she said, a small, shy smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

  He released her cuffs, and Rylee lowered her arms and wrapped them around her torso. She tu
rned away from the mirror and twisted back to examine herself. The skin on her ass and back was cherry red, but required no particular aftercare. The marks on her breasts, however, could use tending. Taggart’s natural instinct as a Dom nearly made him offer, but he stopped himself. Let the guy who inflicted the wounds do his own aftercare.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked instead. “A bottle of water?”

  Before Rylee could reply, Marco appeared suddenly behind them. “Here you go, girlfriend,” he said, holding out a bottle of water and a hand towel.

  “Thanks.” Rylee accepted the bottle and twisted off the cap. She took a long drink and then used the towel to blot her face, throat and chest. She smiled at Marco. “You take good care of me.”

  Then she turned to Taggart. “Thank you, Leather Master. It was an honor to be flogged by you.”

  Taggart smiled, both amused and a little disappointed by her suddenly formal tone. “It was my pleasure,” he said sincerely. “You’ll have to come back for a real session. I sense you can take quite a bit more than what I gave you just now.”

  Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. He held his breath, aware both Marco and Jordan had been listening, and were now waiting with almost comic intensity for Rylee’s reply.

  Taggart, too, was on tenterhooks as he waited, fully aware she would probably tell him thanks, but no thanks. The guy who put those marks on her probably didn’t allow her to scene with other guys, not that Taggart could blame him. If this strong, self-contained, sensual woman belonged to him, he wouldn’t want to share her either.

  Rylee’s face split suddenly into a wide grin, revealing deep dimples in both cheeks. “I’d like that, Sir. Very much.”

  ~*~

  Jordan, Marco and Rylee sat side by side on the large sofa in the living room of the couple’s home, the laptop open on Jordan’s knees. They had invited her over that Sunday for brunch and to view the video Jordan had compiled from the shoot the week before.