“Vulnerable,” she answered honestly.
“You’re safe,” he reminded her, and Rylee nodded. “What else?”
“Hot,” she replied. “Like I could come from a puff of wind.”
Taggart chuckled. “That’s my girl.”
Robert appeared beside Tag and handed him something.
Taggart held up the wide, black satin blindfold for Rylee to see. “We’re going to blindfold you. Then we’re all going to play with you in whatever way pleases us. You will experience both pleasure and pain. For the duration of the scene, you belong not only to me, but to everyone in this room. Your only task is to submit and obey. Can you do that, R?”
Rylee, her eyes fixed on Taggart’s face, nodded. She could barely hear herself over the pounding of her heart. “Yes, Sir,” she said.
Stepping behind Rylee, Taggart placed the blindfold over her eyes and tied it into place behind her head, shrouding her in darkness. She felt even more vulnerable than a moment before, and, if possible, even more aroused.
His lips brushed lightly over hers, and then they were gone.
A moment later, strips of soft, stinging leather struck her back, the force of the flogger causing her to sway in her restraints. The tresses moved methodically over her back and shoulders. The flogging was expertly delivered, though she didn’t think it was Taggart, the rhythm somehow different. Whoever was doing it, it felt good, the encompassing leather stroking all her senses.
Then came the sudden, sharp smack of what must be a riding crop as it made contact with her right butt cheek. Rylee yelped in surprise and pain as the folded square of leather struck her sensitized flesh.
All at once, both breasts were cupped by soft hands, feminine hands, she was nearly certain, and a moment later, a warm mouth closed over one of her nipples. She sighed with pleasure as a second mouth closed over her other nipple.
Leather stroking her back and shoulders, rattan slicing against her ass and thighs, soft, warm mouths licking and suckling her nipples…Rylee was in heaven, and she moaned her approval.
All at once, she was distracted by something thick and hard nudging between her legs. The flogging and cropping stopped, and someone, a man, stood just behind her, gripping her shoulders to hold her still. Someone else spread her labia while a dildo, a very large one, was pushed carefully but inexorably inside her, making her grunt as she struggled to accommodate it.
The man behind her let go of her shoulders and stepped away. A moment later, a lubricated finger rimmed her asshole and then pressed past the ring of muscle. The finger was replaced by the familiar, narrow head of a butt plug. She tried to remain open and relaxed to its invasion, but still tensed at the last second as the flared base pushed its way home.
The flogger once again struck her back, and the crop smacked painfully against her ass and the backs of her thighs. At the same time, both the toys came simultaneously to life inside her, the pleasurable vibration instant and intense.
Rylee let the sensations move through her, the erotic pain from the flogging and cropping weaving like strands of braided leather with the pleasure mounting in her sex.
If this kept up much longer, she was going to come.
Her shoes were pulled from her feet and then someone gripped her ankles, pulling her legs up, bending them at the knees so her bare feet faced the ceiling. Wide nylon straps were wrapped around her thighs and ankles, locking her legs into their bent position with Velcro straps.
A sudden light but stinging blow landed across the arch of her right foot. Rylee cried out, as much from surprise as pain. The second stroke landed on the ball of her foot, and the third stroke struck the bottom of her heel. It hurt like a motherfucker, and she screamed again.
A second cane attacked the sole of her left foot, its stroke harder, slicing across her arch like a blade. Rylee jerked hard in her bonds and howled.
Soft mouths closed once more over her nipples, warm tongues and the nudge of teeth distracting her, if just a little, from the small, whippy canes that continued to burn like fire against the soles of her tortured feet.
As she struggled mightily to handle the onslaught of sensation, she began to pant and whimper, sweat bathing her body and prickling under her arms. The wrist cuffs covered the lower halves of her palms, and she squeezed her fingers down hard over the smooth leather as she tried to absorb the pleasure and pain ricocheting through all her nerve endings.
Taggart’s voice sounded in her ear, his breath warm on her cheek, his hand catching the back of her neck in a comforting grip. “Slow your breathing,” he murmured. “Find your center. Stop resisting. Remember, there is freedom in surrender.”
He kissed her lightly on the lips. She wanted to reach for him, to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down to her, but all she could do was nod.
She struggled to obey his command, focusing on her breath, on getting her lungs to expand and then releasing the air as slowly as she could.
In…and out. In…and out.
In spite of the pain in her feet, which had edged too far south of erotic to be pleasurable in any way, the vibrating phalluses inside her were doing their work, the stimulation dragging her toward climax, whether she wanted to come or not.
At the same time, the stinging leather of the flogger on her back and the smacking kiss of the crop on the back of her thighs seemed to keep tempo with her breathing. The rising wave of a climax began to move through her. She was trembling like a leaf in her restraints, her entire body shaking.
It was too much…too much…
Rylee opened her mouth to beg for permission to come, to bawl that she couldn’t do this, she couldn’t take it another second, but all that came out was a high-pitched, feral keen as she was dragged relentlessly into the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced in her life.
She tumbled and rolled in its grip, like a stone tossed over the edge of a roaring waterfall. As she flew out over the edge of the water, her body lifted of its own volition and she soared high, high up into the heavens, everything around her pure and white and silent as a world shrouded in snow.
When Rylee opened her eyes, she was cradled in Taggart’s arms. They were in a large chair in a corner of the Wilson’s playroom. The other three couples were engaged in various scenes, all of the women naked or nearly so. Allie was bound to a St. Andrew’s cross, Liam lovingly whipping her with a long single tail. Bonnie was in a breast binder, her arms cuffed behind her back, on her knees worshiping her Master’s cock. Darla was bound on her back on a spanking bench, her legs spread wide as Robert dripped hot wax over her spread sex.
Rylee looked away from the scenes and up into Taggart’s face.
“Hey there,” he said with a broad smile. “Welcome back.”
Somehow she managed to get the muscles in her face to form a smile, though she lay otherwise completely limp in his arms. She couldn’t have moved if she tried, her limbs heavy, her body completely relaxed, her spirit utterly at peace.
“You did great, Rylee. I’m so proud of you.”
“Hmmm,” was all she could manage to reply, though warmth spread through her at his praise.
“Happy birthday, baby,” he added as he gently stroked her cheek with two fingers. “I love you.”
Claimed by Two Masters
One submissive. Two Masters. Three hearts…
Shea O’Connor has a secret. Beneath the façade of a proper, vanilla young lady lurks a dirty girl who dreams of whips, chains and a Master to claim her. When she finally gets up the courage to explore her darkest fantasies at a local BDSM club, her world explodes with possibilities, including submission to not one but two sexy Masters.
Steve Hartman and Zach Wilder are more than just best friends; they are sensual sadists, sharing a dungeon where they train women in the art and passion of erotic submission. As they initiate Shea into the world of BDSM, peeling away layer after layer of shyness, modesty and resistance, Shea is not the only person experiencing soul-level transformation. S
Each new experience draws Shea deeper into a world of intense D/s that leaves her breathless and longing for more. The trouble is, relationships can get complicated, especially between three. The last thing either guy expected was to fall in love—with the same girl.
Chapter 1
“Hey, Steve, check out that girl over there. I haven’t seen her around before, have you?”
Steve Hartman turned to see whom Zach Wilder, his best friend and scene partner, was referring to. They had just arrived at Hardcore, Portland’s best underground BDSM club, after too long a hiatus. From his vantage point, he could see the girl in profile as she leaned forward on the long sofa set against the wall, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands. In her mid to late twenties, she wore a low-cut dress that showed some very alluring cleavage.
She was pretty, with large eyes and a small, upturned nose. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and from what Steve could see in the dim light of the BDSM basement club, it appeared to be red.
Her expression was a curious mixture of both horror and longing as she stared at the whipping scene occurring in front of her. Following her avid gaze, Steve recognized Harry and Maryanne, a longtime couple in the scene who were regulars at Hardcore.
That particular scene station contained a St. Andrew's cross set on a raised dais, so it was possible to see the action over the heads of the gathered crowd that stood in a semicircle around the pair. Maryanne, naked and bound to the cross, let out a sudden howl of pain.
Steve flicked his gaze back to the girl, who had brought her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with what seemed to be a kind of thrilled terror.
After a moment, she sat back, her body relaxing, her hands falling away from her face. Her tongue appeared on her lower lip, a dreamy expression now moving over her features.
Looking back to the scene, Steve saw that Harry had dropped his whip. He was stroking Maryanne’s hair, his mouth close to her ear.
His eyes returning to the girl on the couch, Steve said, “I haven’t seen her at Hardcore either, but I definitely like what I see.”
“Me, too,” Zach agreed enthusiastically. “She doesn’t seem to be with anyone. How about we go say hi?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Steve agreed.
They walked toward the long, low couch where the girl sat alone. She didn’t appear to notice them as they approached, her gaze still fixed intently on the scene before her. Harry had resumed the whipping and Maryanne was moaning in a low, sexy way that begged for more.
“Hey there,” Zach said, smiling down at the new girl. “Is there room for us to join you?”
“What?” The girl tore her gaze from the scene long enough to glance at Zach and Steve. “I’m sorry, yes, of course.” Her long, wavy red hair was pulled back from her face and clipped at the nape of her neck with a wide silver barrette. Her shoulders were bare, save for the black spaghetti straps of her dress. Steve instantly imagined the red welts he could paint across her milky-white, flawless skin.
She started to scoot from her perch in the center of the couch, but before she could move, Zach and Steve took seats on either side of her. “We haven’t seen you around before,” Zach said with a friendly smile. “Is this your first time at Hardcore?”
“Yes. First time,” she replied. “Is it always like this? I mean”—she waved toward the whipping station, the scene now winding down as Harry helped his sub from the cross, his arm around her shoulders—“so intense?”
“Oh, yeah,” Zach said with a grin. “And even more intense if you go to one of the private scene rooms.” He extended his large hand toward the girl. “I’m Zach Wilder. Welcome to Hardcore, Portland’s premiere underground BDSM club.”
“Shea O’Connor,” she replied, placing her hand briefly in his.
“And this is my good friend, Steve Hartman.” Zach nodded toward Steve.
Shea turned toward him, and Steve took her soft, small hand in his, keeping it there as he said, “Nice to meet you, Shea. I don’t see a collar. Are you owned?”
“Am I…what?” She pulled her hand away. “Oh! No, no. I’m here alone. I’m not, um, owned.” Her eyes were a vivid blue. The bridge of her nose was dusted with a sprinkling of freckles. Her mouth was small but her lower lip was full and sensual. A flush of color had risen in her cheeks, and she looked down suddenly at her lap.
“I sense you’re new to the scene?” Steve suggested, watching her closely.
The color deepened in her cheeks as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Instead of answering his question, she said, “I’m quite familiar with the dynamics of BDSM,” her tone suddenly more formal, more in control. “I’m what you would call an observer of human behavior. I’ve always been intrigued by the concept of masochism and erotic submission. The whole idea of someone voluntarily allowing another person to subjugate and control them—that they’d willingly bare their throat in submission to the stronger member of the pack, like wolves in the wild”—she shuddered—“I’m both fascinated and repelled that this continues to play out in civilized society.”
Ah, Steve thought, amused. So that’s how she plays it. He had run into her type before—the kind of woman who had trouble reconciling her feminist, hyper-intellectualized take on the world with her more primal, sexually submissive and masochistic desires.
He decided to meet her on her own terms. “I’ve also made something of a study of BDSM from an intellectual standpoint. But in my ten years in the scene, I’ve found that intellect will only take you so far. You can watch a dozen demonstrations on proper whipping techniques and listen to lectures about how to flow with the erotic pain, but I can guarantee you you’ll learn more from that first cracking stroke of leather or a hard palm against your bare ass than a month’s worth of study and research. To really understand dominance and submission, even from a scientific point of view, you need to experience it firsthand.”
He could see he had her attention. Her lips had parted slightly and her pupils were dilated. She wrapped her arms around herself in a protective gesture and turned away from him.
Zach, waiting on her other side, took over with a friendly smile. “You know what they say”—he placed his hand lightly on her thigh—“a good spanking is worth a thousand words.”
Sensing they might be moving too fast, Steve made an effort to dial things back. “Of course, if you just want to watch your first time out, that’s entirely understandable. Some people here never scene. They just move from station to station, watching.”
“That’s true,” Zach agreed, letting his hand fall away from Shea’s thigh. “It’s important, especially when you’re just starting out, to find the right partner. If and when you’re ready, you should know that Steve and I are experienced trainers. We’d be happy to initiate you, if you like. Maybe just start out with a light spanking, and see where we go from there.”
“A light spanking,” Shea said somewhat breathlessly, her eyes widening. “Gosh. I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never…” She trailed off, looking down.
Steve noted her nipples poking against the black fabric of her dress and the flush of color that hadn’t faded from her cheeks. She was definitely interested, but uncertain.
He leaned back, returning his gaze to Harry and Maryanne. “No pressure, Shea. It’s entirely your call.”
She nodded, seemingly reassured as she, too, focused again on the whipping scene still being enacted in front of them.
Taking Steve’s cue, Zach, too, settled back against the couch cushions. If Shea was like most subs, she would be doing her own work now—watering the seed of an idea Zach had planted in her brain with the words a light spanking. She would run the gamut of resistance, refusal, curiosity, desire until, hopefully, desire would win out.
Sure enough, not five minutes passed before she said again, “A light spanking. Maybe I could do that.” She looked around the club and then from one guy to the other. “Where would we do it?”
“Right here,” Steve said, patting the couch.
“Right here?” she repeated. “In front of all these people?”
“No one’s paying any attention to us, Shea,” Zach said with a smile. “They’re kind of busy, don’t you think?” He waved toward the various scene stations where leather-clad and half-naked people were busy with rope, chain and impact toys, none of them even remotely interested in the three fully clothed people chatting on the observation couch.
“We could always go into a private scene room, if you’re more comfortable with that,” Steve added.
“No,” Shea said quickly. She drew in a breath and blew it out, a resolute expression moving over her face. “Don’t I need, um, like a safeword or something?”
Steve chuckled. “You’re not going to need a safeword for a little spanking.”
“But if that makes you more comfortable,” Zach interjected, “then by all means, tell us your safeword.”
“I don’t have a,” Shea began, but then amended, “I mean, my safeword is”—she paused a fraction of a second and then concluded—“zirconium.”
Zach looked puzzled. “Zir-whaty-um?”
“Zirconium,” Steve repeated. “It’s a metal—a chemical element, right?”
“That’s right,” Shea said, flashing him a very pretty, dimpled smile. “Zr in the periodic table. I’m a scientist,” she added.
Of course you are, Steve thought, mildly amused.
“Very cool,” Zach said sincerely. “If you say your safeword, all action stops,” he assured her. “That’s a promise.”
Shea bit her lip as she fought whatever internal battle was roiling inside her. Steve and Zach waited silently for her decision, as neither of them believed in pressuring a sub, especially a newbie. She had to offer herself freely, or not at all.
Finally Shea gave a small, determined nod. “Yes, okay,” she said. “Let’s try the experiment.”
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