“We’d love to work with you, Shea,” Steve added. “I’m sorry things turned out as they did the other night, but I hope you’ll give us another chance. I wasn’t lying when I said I sensed something powerful in you, something we should explore further. If I had to guess, I’d say, in spite of your lack of direct experience, you’re a natural submissive.” He regarded her intently.
Shea stared back, unable to look away. “Natural submissive,” she whispered, the words reverberating in her soul.
“Yes,” Steve said softly. “Since you were sexually aware, you have dreamed of kneeling in front of a strong, dominant man, a man who understood your deep-seated need to give of yourself, to lay yourself bare to his touch, his lash, his every command.”
“Oooh,” Shea whispered, the word pulled from somewhere deep inside her. Her nipples ached suddenly, her clit throbbing gently in her sexy new silk panties.
The waitress appeared, startling Shea as she set her meal before her. She asked them if they needed anything else and poured more iced tea into Shea’s glass before drifting away.
The mood was broken, which was both a disappointment and a relief, but left Shea longing for more.
Both guys tucked at once into their food, and she picked up her knife and fork. The chicken was delicious, but though she’d been starving a moment before, now Shea didn’t have much of an appetite. She cast several sidelong glances at the guys as they ate, hardly able to believe she was actually sitting there with two authentic BDSM trainers. What had always been a fantasy, a daydream, was now being dangled in front of her, no apparent strings attached.
Or were there?
“Um, about this training thing,” she finally said. Both men looked up at her, waiting for her to continue. “How does it work exactly? Do I just show up at your dungeon for a session or something?” She thought about the research she had done online regarding the scene. “What about my limits and boundaries? Is this just training or do you expect, uh, sexual favors?”
Even as these stupid words tumbled out of her mouth, the familiar, unwelcome heat of a blush moved over her cheeks and throat. Sexual favors? Who used words like that? They were going to think she was such an idiot.
Zach put down his fork and regarded her seriously. “These are all excellent questions,” he said, and though Shea searched his face to see if he was making fun of her, all she saw was kindness. “The way it works is we would conduct an initial interview to figure out where you are in all this. We would talk about your past experience and what you hope to get out of the training. Because of the nature of the relationship, it’s essential that you’re open and honest with us about what you’re seeking and, as you mentioned, what your boundaries and limits are.”
“As to sex,” Steve added, “that depends how you define sex. If you mean do we expect you to pay us in either money or, uh, sexual favors”—his mouth quirked into a half smile as he repeated her ridiculous words—”absolutely not. We do this because we love BDSM and we’ve found there’s a need in the community for the kind of services we offer. That said, you will be expected to submit and obey during the training process. And, make no mistake, BDSM is by its very nature a sexually charged activity. That means, within the boundaries and limits we all agree to, you will be expected to be naked in front of us. You will allow us to touch you as is appropriate in the course of training. Depending how far we go with this, a part of submission includes explicit sexual training, but that’s something we could negotiate in the future.”
“In other words,” Zach continued, “yes, BDSM training is sexual but no, we will not expect you to have sex with us as a part of the process.”
Shea looked down at her nearly untouched food as she thought about it. It was kind of weird that they worked together. Did it really take two Doms to train a sub? By the same token, she took comfort from the fact she wouldn’t be alone with either one of them. It was less likely that things would get complicated.
In fact, she was being offered an ideal scenario—real submissive training, just like that cool slave training site she’d found on the Internet—without the drama and messiness of an actual relationship.
Zach was the first to break the silence. “So what do you think? Are you interested in coming by our dungeon to see what it’s all about?”
Shea looked up. They were both staring at her as if they could see past the bones of her face directly into her mind. As she stared back, her heart began to hammer.
In every other aspect of her life, when she wanted something, she had gone for it with everything she had. She’d held herself back far too long in this one area and now she was being offered the chance of a lifetime. Admittedly, she barely knew these two guys, but her gut told her she could trust them.
Shea screwed up her courage, blew out a breath and said, “Yes, I’m interested. Very interested.”
“Great,” both guys said in unison, which made her laugh in spite of her nerves.
Zach pulled out his cell phone and tapped at the screen. “We’re free most nights this week.” He looked up at her. “What about you?”
Aware she might lose her courage if she waited another minute, much less another day, Shea blurted, “How about now?”
“Now works,” Steve said.
He waved at the waitress, who made her way toward them.
“You want that to go, honey?” she asked, pointing to Shea’s plate.
“You hardly ate,” Zach commented. “Didn’t you like it?”
“No, it was delicious,” Shea said. “I, uh, I just wasn’t as hungry as I thought.” To the waitress, she said, “Sure, that would be good, thanks.” She could have it for lunch tomorrow.
When the waitress returned with Shea’s doggy bag and the check, neither guy would let her pay, which, again, surprised and charmed her.
“We live about fifteen minutes from here,” Zach said as they left the restaurant together. “I could go with you in your car, if you want.”
“No, that’s okay,” Shea said quickly, thinking about the empty soda cans and candy wrappers on her passenger seat. “I’ll just follow you guys.”
As they drove in tandem along the streets of Portland, Shea kept up a running conversation with herself. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” She repeated this aloud several times in a row before finally replying, “Why can’t you believe it? I can’t believe you waited until you were practically thirty to finally act on your fantasies.”
She shivered as Steve’s words echoed in her head. A natural submissive… Since you were sexually aware, you have dreamed of kneeling in front of a strong, dominant man, a man who understood your deep-seated need to give of yourself, to lay yourself bare to his touch, his lash, his every command.
“But what if I can’t do it?” she asked herself in the rearview mirror. “I freaked out over a little spanking.”
But that wasn’t true. It wasn’t the spanking that had freaked her out. The spanking had been wonderful—even more thrilling than her wildest fantasies.
What had freaked her out was the thought of the two of them seeing her naked butt. She had been too vulnerable, too nervous, to let that happen, even though she understood intellectually that it was no big deal. Everyone was naked all the time in the scene, at least so it seemed to her.
Tonight was just the interview, they’d said, but who knew what a trainee interview entailed? Would she be expected to strip? What if she lost her nerve? She should’ve had that beer or glass of wine. Courage in a bottle.
But, no. She knew herself better than that. Alcohol didn’t make her braver. It just made her stupid. Better to have full control of her faculties. She was a grown woman. These guys were professionals. They weren’t expecting perfection from her. They knew what they were getting into. If they didn’t like what they saw, too bad for them.
Gripping this false bravado like a lifeline, Shea pulled into the driveway of a two-story stone house in a much nicer neighborhood than she lived in, though even her neck of t
he woods was being gentrified, which meant her rent would increase yet again when her lease was up in a few months.
The guys parked in the garage beside a second car and gestured for her to come into the house that way. “The stairs to the dungeon are just off the kitchen,” Zach explained as they led her inside.
The kitchen was small but clearly had been updated, with granite counters, dark wood cabinets and a large gas range. “You want some wine or something?” Steve asked as he hung the keys to the car on a hook just inside the door.
Again, Shea was tempted, but said, “No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Okay. We have bottled water downstairs.”
Shea followed them down a set of wooden stairs into a room with concrete floors and walls, a large washer and dryer against one wall, a counter with a built-in sink on an adjacent wall, and an ancient oil-burning boiler off to the side.
“The dungeon is this way,” Zach said, heading toward a set of double doors at the back of the room.
With Zach in front of her and Steve behind, Shea entered the room, eyes wide with anticipation. The space was set up much as it had been at Hardcore, with scene stations containing various BDSM furniture.
While Shea’s scientific mind noted and categorized the inventory—a St. Andrew’s cross, a spanking bench, a suspension rack, a bondage table, a standing cage just big enough to hold one person—her emotions took off in their own direction. A powerful electric current of delight, fear, anticipation, longing and awe arced wildly through her. It was as if the lights had been switched on after a lifetime in the dark.
“Come over here,” Zach said. They led her to a couch set against the back wall. When Shea started to take a seat, Steve stopped her, gripping her upper arm gently but firmly.
“Subs don’t sit on the furniture in this room, Shea.” His voice was different suddenly—deeper and more assured. Something in Shea thrilled to the sound, though at the same time her heart began to hammer in her chest.
He pointed to a black mat in front of the couch. “Remove your shoes and stand on the kneeling pad, arms clasped loosely behind your back while we conduct the interview. We’ll ask you some questions and give you a few simple exercises to get a better sense of where you are and what you need.”
Steve released her arm and took a seat on the couch. Zach sat down beside him. Both of them stared up at her. Steve cocked an eyebrow. “Shea? Is there a problem?”
She looked from one guy to another as she willed herself to obey. You can do this, she urged herself. Don’t fuck it up. Not this time.
Her heart was now beating so loudly she was sure they could both hear it. Somehow, she managed to slip her sandals off her feet. She took a step, and then another, until she was standing on the mat. She put her hands behind her back and gripped them tightly together to stop the trembling. Lifting her chin, she prayed her voice wouldn’t crack.
“No, Sir. There’s no problem.”
Chapter 3
Zach’s balls tightened with anticipation as he regarded the woman standing before them. He loved the way her emotions played so openly over her face. She reminded him of a kid waiting in line to ride the largest roller coaster at the amusement park—terror and thrilled anticipation whirling through her as she inched closer and closer to the front of the line.
As his eyes moved over her full, heavy breasts and shapely hips, his thoughts shifted to the first time he’d been introduced to BDSM. A freshman in college, he’d been flattered by the attentions of the twenty-two-year-old grad student who had also attended the raucous frat party of an acquaintance whose name Zach no longer remembered.
He could still recall her voice—throaty and deep, filled with self-assurance. “Hey there, you. Football player.” When he turned toward her with a who me? expression, she had nodded, her mouth lifting into a half smile. “Yeah, you. Get over here.”
Being eighteen and thrilled by the attention of an attractive older woman, Zach had instantly approached her. Her greeting had been to reach up and wrap both hands around his neck to pull him down for a long, lingering kiss that included plenty of tongue. It was all the greeting he’d needed, and he’d followed her like a puppy dog as she led him to an empty bedroom on one of the upper floors of the sprawling old house.
She had pushed him inside and locked the door. Leaning against it, she’d announced, “I am Mistress Claire. I like to use boys for my pleasure. But first, they have to earn it. Are you prepared to earn your way into my bed?”
With no real idea what she was talking about, Zach had readily agreed to whatever she’d required, as long as it meant he got to fuck her. When she’d told him to strip and lie over her knees for a good old-fashioned spanking, he’d been both amused and intrigued. Whatever game she was playing, it was all right with him.
She had remained fully clothed in a short denim skirt and a silky black top as he had draped himself, naked and already sporting a full erection, over her thighs.
Though the spanking was mild enough, especially in retrospect, he had enjoyed its stinging heat and the sound of her hand striking his flesh. But even then he had known something was missing or rather something wasn’t quite right with the setup.
Thoroughly aroused and operating primarily on instinct, he had rolled away from Claire and, before she realized what was happening, he had flipped her over his knees. He had yanked up her little skirt, delighted to discover she was wearing nothing beneath it.
Much bigger and stronger than she, he’d easily held her down with one hand as he’d spanked her, quite hard, with the other. At first she had yelped and cursed, but it wasn’t long before she began to moan, her body gyrating beneath his palm as she ground her bare cunt against his leg. The sex afterward was explosive. It was, as Bogie might have said in an old movie, the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
They began to see each other regularly, though not exclusively. Mistress Claire continued to dom other guys, but with him, she was definitely a submissive. The relationship fizzled out after a few months, but by then Zach was firmly on his way to becoming a full-fledged Dom.
It was hard to believe eleven years had elapsed since that life-altering experience with Mistress Claire. He’d had plenty of sub girls since, sharing most of them with Steve in the past three years since they had become friends and training partners.
Zach was pleased that Steve was ready to get back into the game with Shea O’Connor, the pretty, voluptuous redhead who stood in front of them, shifting on her feet like a little kid waiting anxiously in the principal’s office.
“You look a little nervous, Shea,” Zach said. “I want you to take a few deep breaths and try to relax, okay? This is just a getting-to-know-you session—no pressure.”
Shea flashed him a grateful glance. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, pursing her lips as she exhaled.
“Again,” Zach encouraged. “Deep breaths. In… And out. That’s it.”
When she appeared to have calmed a little, he said, “First, some very basic questions—are you single?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
He had assumed she was younger based on her apparent innocence and lack of experience. Keeping his surprise off his face, he continued, “We want to get a better sense of where you are in your submissive journey. Tell us more about your experience in the scene, other than Saturday night, I mean.”
“I don’t have any,” she replied, looking down at her toes.
Whoa. That was a first in their training career. Most of the women they encountered in the scene had been involved in BDSM for a number of years and were looking for specific training in a particular area, such as caning, slave positions or sexual worship. Keeping his face neutral, Zach said, “That must have taken a lot of courage then, to submit to us as you did. I know things ended a little abruptly but—”
“I know,” Shea blurted, cutting him off. “I’m so sorry I—”
“No apolog
ies necessary,” Zach interrupted. “A few ground rules I should have covered right off the bat. First off, during this interview, and in fact whenever you’re in our dungeon, we do expect you to answer all questions honestly and thoroughly, but you will never interrupt or speak out of turn.”
“Sorry,” Shea mumbled, hunching her shoulders forward.
“Stand up straight, please,” Steve interjected. “Shoulders back, chin raised. You are presenting yourself to your trainers.”
They both waited as she straightened her posture. Color was seeping over her fair cheeks like spilled red ink.
Hoping to put her more at ease, Zach assured her, “What happened at the club was entirely our fault. It’s hard sometimes, especially in a club atmosphere with so many distractions around us. We moved too fast.”
“The rat’s never wrong,” Steve interjected.
Zach looked at him in confusion. “What the heck does that mean?”
Some of the anxiety had gone out of Shea’s expression, replaced by sudden eagerness. “Excuse me,” she said. “If I may…”
“By all means,” Zach said, waiting to be enlightened.
“Steve’s talking about the scientific method employed with lab rats. Right, Steve?” As Steve nodded, Shea continued, clearly now in her comfort zone, “It’s all about project design, hypothesis and outcome. If you design a maze that the rat can’t complete, it’s not the rat’s fault. Something is wrong with your design and execution.”
Zach, who had attended college on a football scholarship and majored in physical education and partying, thought he understood what Shea was saying, but didn’t want her to get too far off track. If she minded being the “rat” in this particular scenario, she didn’t indicate it.
“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “So, getting back to our topic, you’ve had no formal experience in the scene, but what about something more casual, you know, like maybe a past boyfriend liked to tie your wrists to the headboard or something? Or maybe you engaged in a little role-playing?”
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