BDSM Connections - The Complete 4 Novel Series

by Claire Thompson

  She touched the collar around her throat and looped her finger through the O-ring at its center, wondering what it would be like to be “owned”—to give herself that completely to another person.

  Was Taggart that man…that Dom…that Master?

  Glad to be done with her chores, Rylee moved carefully down the stairs. It was harder to go down than up, and she gripped the bannister with one hand, the broom and mop tucked under her other arm, the bucket swinging against her leg.

  When she entered the workshop, she set down the cleaning supplies by the door and approached Taggart, who stood in front of a worktable in the corner, a welding visor over his face as he worked on a steel whip handle as yet unadorned by leather.

  He looked up through his visor as she approached. He turned off the welding tool, removed the visor and stepped from behind the table.

  “Are you done with your chores?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. Get up on that table over there.” He pointed to a worktable that had been cleared off, a piece of plastic sheeting spread over it.

  Not sure she had heard him correctly, Rylee said, “I’m sorry, what?” remembering at the last second to add, “Sir.”

  “I want you to sit on the table, bend your knees, lean back on your elbows and spread your legs as wide as you can. Show me your cunt.”

  “Oh!” Rylee exclaimed, unnerved by the command.

  She hobbled as quickly as she could in her chain and heels to the table and hoisted herself up, shifting her ass against the slippery plastic as she leaned back on her elbows. As Taggart approached, she spread her legs.

  “Wider,” he said as he moved to stand directly in front of her. “Tilt your hips so I have a better view.”

  Though not shy about her body, Rylee had never been comfortable with close scrutiny of her private parts and generally managed to avoid it. Though intellectually she understood that a woman’s vulva and vagina were just parts of her body, somewhere along the way, lurking beneath her feminist concept of herself, she’d internalized a message that her girl parts were ugly, even dirty.

  She glanced at Taggart’s face. He was watching her with that intense gaze of his, his left eyebrow cocking in what she was coming to recognize as a gesture of impatience.

  Wanting to please him, Rylee spread her legs wide and offered herself to her Dom. Averting her face, she closed her eyes.

  “Don’t look away from me,” Taggart commanded. “Right now, your body belongs to me. You have no right to modesty.” He took her chin in his hand and turned her face to his.

  “I can sense this is difficult for you,” he said, his tone gentler, his brooding eyes filled with both kindness and lust. He dropped his hand from her chin and swept his gaze over her. “Your body is beautiful, R. Your cunt is exquisite. If you’re wondering about my sincerity, let me put your mind at rest. See for yourself.”

  Rylee sat up straighter to see what he was talking about. Taggart had a devilish grin on his face, his hand cupped over his crotch. He dropped his hand, drawing her eye to the substantial bulge in his jeans.

  Rylee smiled in spite of herself. “Yes, Sir,” she said, “I can see.”

  Lifting his hand, Taggart traced the line of her outer labia with a delicate touch. He moved his finger slowly inward, drawing a circle around her aching clit without actually touching it. He touched her entrance and then pushed his finger in, just a little.

  Rylee groaned, unable to keep from arching up against him, desperate for more.

  “Stay still.” He pushed the finger in deeper.

  A shudder racked its way through her body.

  “Imagine that you belong completely to me,” he murmured in a low, sexy voice, his mouth close to her ear. “That you are both my submissive and my slave.” He inserted a second finger. “Then I might command you to spread those long, gorgeous legs for my friends. I would let them look, but never touch. You would belong solely to me, my property, my most prized possession.”

  Taggart’s words resonated through Rylee’s core like a secret chord, her every nerve ending tuned to the sound. His fingers played over her sex, slipping inside like the promise of a cock, and then sliding over her labia and moving in a tantalizing circle over the hard bud of her aching clit.

  “Jesus,” she moaned without having meant to speak. “Please,” she begged. “Please, Sir.”

  Taggart’s hand fell away and Rylee’s eyes, which she hadn’t realized she had closed again, flew open.

  He was regarding her with a half smile that lifted only one side of his mouth. “What is it you want, R?”

  “Fuck me, Sir,” she begged urgently.

  “Not yet. Let’s see if you’ve earned it. I need to inspect your work.”

  Rylee bit back a sigh of pure sexual frustration as Taggart helped her from the table. She was nearly faint with desire, startled at how strongly the fantasy he had presented had affected her.

  “How are your feet?” Taggart asked, his seductive tone replaced by a more solicitous one.

  “Tired,” Rylee answered honestly, trying to rein in her lust. “I’m not used to wearing such high heels for this long.”

  “You will wear them a little longer each day and it will become easier. But for today, that’s enough. You may remove your shoes. Leave them there under the table.”

  Gratefully, Rylee stepped out of the heels, her bare feet happy against the hardwood.

  Bending down, Taggart removed the hobble chain, though he left the cuffs and the nipple clamps in place.

  He led her upstairs by her leash, moving more quickly now that her feet were bare, her legs unfettered by the chain.

  Once upstairs, Taggart looked slowly around the bedroom. Rylee had tucked the quilt in with crisp hospital corners. Everything was neat and tidy.

  Taggart turned to her with a smile. “Nice job.”

  Rylee savored the feeling of warmth that suffused her at his praise. She followed him into the bathroom, eager now for more approval.

  Her heart caught in her throat as she saw his frown in the mirror. He seemed to be staring at himself, but then she understood he was looking at the mirror itself. With dawning horror, she realized she had forgotten to Windex the glass. There were dried water spots just over the sink And even worse, a smear of toothpaste just above the faucet.

  She’d been so caught up in her fantasies as she’d stared at herself that she’d failed to do the last thing on her mental cleaning list. “Shit,” she whispered before she was able to stop herself.

  Taggart turned to her, the frown still on his face.

  The warmth from his earlier praise had evaporated, a cold hard knot replacing it in her gut. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she blurted. “I—I guess I got distracted.”

  Taggart said nothing. He opened the shower door and looked inside. Apparently satisfied, he moved to the toilet and examined that as well.

  Rylee waited on tenterhooks for his censure, but he only said in a mild voice, “I suggest when you do your chores tomorrow morning, you take a moment to make sure everything is ready for inspection before you come to me.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Rylee replied, blinking back the tears that had ridiculously formed beneath her eyelids. “I’m sorry, Sir. I promise to do better.”

  “I’m sure that you will. But just to help you remember, let’s go down to the dungeon. I’ll show you firsthand what it’s like to balance on the straddle beam.”

  Rylee sucked in a breath, a thrill of fear sliding like an icy finger down her spine. “Am I going to be punished, Sir?”

  Taggart regarded her for a long moment, scanning her face. “Do you deserve to be punished?”

  Though a part of her still insisted this was a game—could never be more than a game—her gut told her otherwise. She had been given a specific task, and because she’d been caught up in her own thoughts and fantasies and had rushed through her work, she’d failed to complete the task.

  It wasn’t that different from losing her concentrati
on during a Jiu Jitsu competition—one wrong move, one over-confident step, and you found yourself flat on your back, your opponent staring down at you with victory in his eyes.

  Only this time, she was the one who had defeated herself.

  “Yes, Sir,” she admitted. “I guess I do.” An odd mixture of shame and empowerment moved through her. She had let Taggart down, but she would fix it by taking her just desserts.

  “I agree.”

  Taggart led her downstairs, still using the leash to lead her. The nipple clamps chain swung between her breasts with each step. Rylee found it difficult to catch her breath, her heart pattering in rapid, anxious anticipation of what was to come.

  As they entered the dungeon, Taggart removed the leash. He pointed to the yoga mat, and Rylee lowered herself as gracefully as she could.

  Taggart crouched in front of her. He touched her numb nipples with the tips of his index fingers. “I’m going to remove the clamps now. It’s going to hurt. Are you ready?”

  Rylee swallowed hard, trying to mentally prepare for the pain she knew was coming. While she loved the eroticism of nipple clamps of all kinds, there was no question the removal, especially after as long a time as she’d worn them that morning, was going to hurt like a motherfucker.

  Taking a deep breath, Rylee steeled herself.

  Taggart cocked his left eyebrow, his lips compressing.

  It took Rylee a second to figure out what he was waiting for.

  A direct question requires a direct answer.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said. As ready as I can be.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as Taggart unscrewed one of the clips. It did hurt, and not in the good way, as the blood rushed back into her nipple. He quickly released the second nipple, and another wave of pain shot through her body as the blood flow resumed.

  Instinctively she covered her throbbing, tender nipples with her hands. A lover would have soothed her at that point, perhaps gently licking or caressing her nipples to soothe away any lingering pain.

  Taggart was not in lover mode at the moment. Instead, he stood and said simply, “Get up and follow me.”

  Rylee rose from the mat and followed her Dom to the suspended beam. She watched as he lowered the ropes until the beam was only a foot from the floor.

  “Straddle it, a leg on either side,” Taggart instructed.

  Rylee did as she was told, her heart pulsing in her throat.

  He reached up and manipulated the pulley, causing the beam to rise until the narrow, hard edge of it just touched her bare pussy. Perversely, her clit hardened instantly against the smooth wood.

  Crouching beside her, Taggart unclipped the cuffs from her ankles. “Place your hands behind your back, wrists touching,” he directed.

  Rylee did so, the position forcing her to lean forward slightly, putting slight pressure on her sex and wedging the wood a little more firmly between her spread labia. It didn’t hurt—it was more uncomfortable than anything. Her clit still throbbed, and she reframed the sensation in her mind as erotic discomfort.

  Moving behind her, Taggart wrapped the cuffs around her wrists and pressed the Velcro closures into place. He clipped the cuffs together and then stepped back.

  Reaching for the pulley once more, he raised the wooden beam higher, increasing the pressure yet again as the sharp corners of the wood cut into her delicate flesh.

  “Ouch,” Rylee exclaimed, automatically lifting onto her toes to ease the pressure.

  “That’s right,” Taggart said, his voice calm though his eyes were glittering. “Just lift up on your toes and it won’t hurt. You’ve got very strong legs, so you should be able to manage this thirty-minute punishment without a problem.”

  Rylee pressed her lips together to keep from protesting. Her legs were strong, but thirty minutes was way too long to balance on her toes, and Taggart had to know that. Still, she was determined to persevere. The pressure against her sex was nothing she couldn’t endure for a few minutes at a time. She would handle it by lifting and lowering her feet when she needed relief.

  Taggart moved out of her line of vision, and she could hear him walking away. Was he going to leave her alone there?

  But he returned a moment later, carrying one of the chairs from the workshop, which he set down in front of her, its back facing her. He straddled the chair from behind and glanced at his watch. “Only twenty-nine minutes to go,” he said, a cruel, lazy smile hovering over his sensual mouth. He leaned forward, resting his elbows against the top of the chair’s back, his glittering gaze fixed on her.

  In spite of her predicament, or probably at least partially because of it, Rylee was incredibly turned on. Her juices soaked the wood between her legs and her still-sore nipples tingled. Her clit had hardened to a small marble, stroked by the friction of the wood as she tried to find a more comfortable position. She rocked gently against the beam, taking what pleasure she could from the stimulation. It wasn’t long, however, before the pain overtook the pleasure, her clit over-sensitized by the too-hard press of the wood.

  “I didn’t invent this, you know,” Taggart said in a casual, conversational tone.

  In her struggles, Rylee had almost forgotten he was there.

  “Torture devices like this have been used since the Middle Ages,” he went on. “They call it riding the horse. In the old West, they called it riding the rail, and they might add tar and feathers to complete the humiliation. Back in medieval times, the torturers would nail a pointed block on the beam and force the victim to straddle that. That had to do some serious damage, whether you were a guy or a woman.” He grimaced.

  This hurts plenty, Rylee thought, but didn’t say aloud. She had earned this punishment. She would take it like a woman.

  She couldn’t stay on her toes any longer. She carefully lowered her feet until her heels were once more touching the floor.

  Her calves thanked her, but the increased pressure was immediate, the beam wedging deeper between her labia.

  She tried leaning back a little while lifting to the balls of her feet, which shifted the focus to her perineum, though the sharp edges of the beam still dug painfully into her sex.

  She leaned forward, moving farther than she’d intended because of the awkward position of her arms cuffed behind her back. The pain was sharp and immediate as her cunt grated against the unforgiving wood. In spite of her promise to herself to remain quiet, Rylee gasped audibly from the pain.

  “Twenty-two minutes to go,” Taggart said in a calm voice, his gazed fixed intently on her.

  A sheen of sweat broke out on Rylee’s upper lip and prickled under her arms. She considered using her safeword, but shook the idea away. She’d endured much more intense pain than this. She just needed to tough her way through it.

  She began to execute an awkward sort of rolling dance on the beam, lifting and lowering her feet, wriggling and straining as she shifted forward and back in her effort to mitigate the pain.

  Through it all, her clit remained stubbornly erect, stimulated by the smooth, slick wood wedged against her sex. Rylee closed her eyes. Panting, she focused on the painful pleasure, her nipples hard, her muscles trembling.

  “Yes,” Taggart murmured, his voice so close it startled her. Her eyes flew open. He was right beside her, facing her. “That’s it, R. Harness what pleasure you can from the pain. You have my permission.”

  He leaned over the beam, lowering his head to her breasts. His warm, soft tongue snaked over her left nipple, his lips catching it in a sensual caress.

  “Oooh,” she breathed.

  His kiss shot directly from her nipple to her cunt. His mouth still on her nipple, he caught the other nipple between his fingers, rolling it with a light, teasing touch that sent a shudder of pure bliss through her loins.

  The pain in her legs, aching shoulders and cunt were no less than a moment before, but her Dom’s sensual touch made it all so much easier to bear. Rylee rocked back and forth against the beam as Taggart made love to her breasts.
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  All at once, a climax of pure sensation flooded through her body and mind. She howled with pleasure, all her senses singing.

  When she opened her eyes, she blinked away the sweat and tears as she tried to focus.

  Taggart pulled a soft cloth from the back pocket of his jeans and gently dabbed her eyes and face. “Ten minutes to go,” he said softly.

  Rylee stared at him with incomprehension for several long seconds. Her leg muscles had turned to jelly and her pubic bone pressed painfully against her trapped sex as she slumped forward. The orgasm had been powerful but brief, and the bruising pain in her labia had returned with a vengeance.

  Slowly, mutely, she shook her head as a tear rolled down her cheek. I can’t.

  Taggart wiped the tear away with his thumb. “That orgasm was a gift, R, but this is still a punishment. I know it hurts, but I also know you can get through this. Harness the strength you still have inside you. Find your submissive courage.”

  Leaning down, he kissed her lightly on the lips.

  “You can do this, R. I know you can.”

  Rylee’s lips tingled from his tender kiss, her heart squeezing with an emotion she wasn’t yet ready to identify. She closed her eyes and drew on the mindfulness she’d learned under Marco’s tutelage. Acceptance, courage, focus. Take the pain and twist it into power. Persevere over your own weakness.

  Calmed, she opened her eyes. “Yes, Sir,” she said, pushing past the tremble in her voice. “I can do this.”

  With a satisfied nod, Taggart returned to his seat in front of her, his eyes never leaving her.

  In spite of her resolve, it wasn’t long before her leg muscles began to rebel again from the constant strain of lifting and lowering her body in her effort to shift and relieve the pressure. The beam, which was perhaps an inch wide, was embedded now not only between her cunt lips, but had also wedged itself between her ass cheeks.

  Summoning all her strength, Rylee lifted herself up onto her toes, every muscle in her calves, thighs and buttocks strained to the maximum. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.