by Nia Farrell
She finished the list, looked it over again, and presented it to her Master. He read. Nodded. At one point, his brow furrowed and he sliced a glance at her. “Sir Piers might not have told you, but I usually portray a vampire. I would like you to consider letting me use vampire gloves. They are,” he said, choosing his words with care, “quite intense. With the right pressure, they can even draw blood. I will understand if you choose to not use them. For some people, the gloves can be too much. The teeth are far more fun.”
She dropped her gaze to his mouth and imagined those perfect lips of his, fastened on her neck. She could almost feel the twin points of pain, blooming where he’d bit her, and his mouth, sealing them together when he drank the blood that he’d drawn, while his hands claimed her breasts and his cock owned her pussy.
“Okay. Yes,” she breathed, clamping her legs together and telling what was between them to behave. “For you. Yes.”
He handed the list back to her. Ashley made it a soft limit, willing to try with persuasion, and handed it back to him with the pen.
Master Sorin finished looking through the list, signed it, then gave the document to Sir Piers, who scanned it briefly and signed as their witness.
“Mistress Jewell is waiting for you in wardrobe,” Sir Piers told her. “Samael can show you the way.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Master Sorin stood, towering above her. “I can escort Miss Slade down. Come, dragă. Follow me. Mistress Jewell will not wish to be kept waiting.”
It was clear that he expected obedience, even in this. He helped her from her chair, turned on his heel, and headed for the door. Grabbing her purse, Ashley hurried to catch up, almost sprinting to match his much longer stride. She could have asked him to slow down or shorten his step, but if this was a test, she refused to fail it.
Thanks to her personal trainer, she was barely winded when Master Sorin rapped on the door and announced their arrival.
“Mistress Jewell, I have Miss Ashley Slade to see you.”
“Come in, Master Sorin. Miss Slade.”
The last time Ashley was here, her costumes came with A Royal Affair’s production crew. The extras had supplied their own—mostly thanks to Jewell Fraser, who headed the wardrobe department at the resort. Ashley had glimpsed her from a distance and had spoken to her on the phone. Meeting her for the first time, she was more than a little intimidated by the Amazon Domme.
Jewell was tall, with purple and teal spiked hair and a no-nonsense attitude. Peering past the top of her reading glasses, she gave Ashley a quick once-over and nodded her head. “Your measurements are good,” she said.
From the note of relief in her voice, Ashley guessed that wasn’t always the case.
Jewell glanced at Master Sorin. Something unfathomable passed between them before she spoke again. “The theme this weekend is Cinema Classics—from the 1930s, to be precise. The Golden Age of the Silver Screen. I have day dresses, evening gowns, and play attire for you, but I need you to try everything on for a final fitting. Put your purse on the counter and strip.”
Master Sorin stayed exactly where he was, watching her with an enigmatic expression on his face. But then, why would he react to the sight of another nude body when he probably saw dozens of them over the course of a weekend? She was just one of many.
Suppressing a sigh, she slipped out of her shoes and stripped off her clothes, laying each piece over the back of the nearest chair. By the time she was finished, she wore only body jewelry—earrings in each ear and the pretty piece adorning her belly button.
“We have two main events tonight,” Jewell told her, pulling the first garment off the rack and handing it to her. Here on the SSC side, things kick off at 7 PM with a big band in the Nightclub Room and a pair of dancers who do Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. The theme is The Gay Divorcee, 1934. Two hours later, at 9 PM, they’re revisiting the French Terror on the RACK side of the resort with Les Misérables, 1935. You’ll have outfits for both.”
Ashley slipped into the satin evening dress, a soft golden beige that complimented her coloring and fit like a dream, sleek and simple.
Her outfit for the French Terror was anything but. There were layers of underpinnings. Chemise, corset, corset cover, petticoats, panniers, then the gown itself that she had to be helped into. She had avoided looking at Master Sorin, but once she was pinned and laced up, he circled her voluminous skirts, taking in everything with a critical eye.
“Will these do, Master?” she asked when he remained silent.
“Yes,” he said smoothly. “But then, I expect nothing less than perfection from Mistress Jewell. Tell me, have you checked into your room?”
“No, not yet. My flight was delayed, and there wasn’t time before my appointment with Sir Piers.”
Master Sorin nodded. “We shall see to that next, after you are done here.”
Saturday’s theme on the SSC side was pet play inspired by Bringing Up Baby, a comedy from 1938 starring Cary Grant and Kathryn Hepburn. Jewell actually had two outfits prepared—one vanilla, one kinky, with Siamese kitten ears, a jeweled collar, an anal plug with a Siamese cat’s tail, and nothing else. Except for the collar, she’d be naked.
Cade would have a cow.
But Cade isn’t here, she reminded herself. This time, it’s what I want. What I need. How can I know what I like if I never try it?”
That was her reason for marking herself as willing to experience—with persuasion—so many of the kinks that were listed. Master Sorin had seen her list of hard and soft limits. He knew that she was here to explore, to watch, to experience and learn.
Saturday’s theme on the RACK side of the resort was inspired by Vampyr, a German film from 1932. Her costume was a delicate, sleeveless nightgown, cut so that her neck and the tops of her breasts were exposed. From the appreciative gleam in Master Sorin’s eyes, she wondered if she should even bother with the matching robe and slippers.
On Sunday, the SSC side would finish the weekend with a twist on The Rules of the Game or La Règle du Jeu, a French movie from 1939 directed by Jean Renoir. There would be masters and servants, husbands and wives, pairings and partner swapping. Jewell had outfitted Ashley with a kinky French maid’s costume that exposed her breasts and left her bottom bare, framed by a pair of garter straps that held up her thigh-high hose.
The RACK side would have interrogations in police, gangster, and military settings. Ashley’s 1930s day dress would allow her to slip into any or all of the scenes, should she choose to do more than just watch. But the role that she wanted portrayed a woman who’d been used and abused. The scenes on Sunday were likely the closest that any would get to the grim reality of the story.
Ashley took off the day dress and put her own clothes back on.
“I’ll need you here at 5:30 for hair and wardrobe. When you come back to change for the French Terror, we’ll need to add 18th-century curls or a powdered wig, which is more appropriate, since you’re dressed as nobility.”
“I’m sure it is, but I think I’d rather forego the wig. That extra weight could trigger spasms in my back, from the accident,” she explained, in case Mistress Jewell had forgotten yesterday’s news.
It had happened on a set, after they insisted that she could do the simplest stunts. One failed piece of equipment, and she was off to the hospital. The result was endless days of suffering, two surgeries, and one stint in rehab for her addiction to prescription painkillers. Now she used biofeedback, relaxation and breathing techniques. If she was lucky, she could quiet it down and not go into a full-blown episode. But even then, she could sometimes still dull the edges. Physical therapies helped, too.
“I suspect that I’ll be booking more than one massage this weekend. Sir Piers also gave me the name and number for the local Chinese herbalist who does acupuncture. For me, the effects last twice as long as a session of ultrasound used to, before they put a plate in my back.”
She turned to Master Sorin. “I’m sorry, but I’ll probably re
quire special consideration when I join in the play. I’ll understand if you prefer to not handle me.”
Wonder of all wonders, he actually smiled. “But of course, I will handle you. Sir Piers paired us because I am the most qualified Dominant here to do so. At Replay, we are Master and submissive, but in the outside world, I would be Dr. Moldovan, at your service.”
Chapter Three
He was a doctor?
Ashley picked her jaw up from the floor where it had dropped and stared at Master Sorin.
He nodded. “Come, dragă. Mistress Jewell has others waiting. We can talk in your room.”
It was hard, but Ashley held her questions until they were in her suite, a tasteful blend of contemporary furnishings and kink.
Master Sorin stepped past the luggage that had been delivered and guided her to the large leather davenport in the living room area. “You, of all people, should understand the need for discretion, given my profession. I left private practice to teach, but I still maintain my medical license. Should the university discover my alter ego, I fear that things would not end well. Thus, I keep my two lives separate. Here, I am Master Sorin. During the week, I am simply Dr. Moldovan. Sebastian Moldovan,” he added, sharing his secret with her.
“Hi.” Ashley spoke softly, keeping her voice almost a whisper. “I’m Leigh Ann Dixon.”
She bit her lip and studied him. He was so young, to be a doctor and to teach…? “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
He crooked a grin, obviously was used to the question. “I am thirty-three. But I graduated very, very young. I was advanced for my age. Like your Doogie Houser, yes? I wanted to make a difference, and I did, where I could. But one day, the emergency room received victims of an apartment fire. Many of them were small children. We managed to save a few, but I realized then my limitations. I did well with scheduled surgeries, but unscheduled things—accidents, fires, domestic violence, beatings—especially if it was a child….”
He went quiet for a moment, haunted by ghosts of a traumatic past. “By teaching, I can use my skills and knowledge to train others who are better equipped to handle cases that I should not. Strangely, learning my limitations also led me to the lifestyle. As a Dominant, I accept the control that the submissive willingly surrenders. When we begin a play session, I enter with an awareness of your needs and limitations. I have the knowledge and experience required to push your limits and keep you safe. Your medical history limits you to watching some kinks, rather than learning of them first hand, but you like to watch, do you not?”
Ashley swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes,” she admitted, feeling a faint blush warm her cheeks. “The last time I was here, they had demonstrations—kinbaku, wax play, flogging. I’d never seen anything like it. As much as I liked watching, I hoped to experience it, but I haven’t been with anyone who’s in the lifestyle.”
“Until now,” he corrected. He swung his gaze from her to the St. Andrew’s cross in the corner. “Your room has everything we need to get started. We have two hours before we report to wardrobe.” When he turned back to face her, his eyes were alive with possibilities. “Tell me, dragă, would you rather rest, or would you like to be bound to the St. Andrew’s cross and feel the kiss of the flogger on your back?”
The rumbling baritone of his voice resonated in her core, heightening her senses and igniting a flame that threatened to consume her.
“The cross, please, Master Sorin,” she whispered.
Black lightning flashed in his eyes. “Good girl. But before we advance to a flogging, let us begin with some basics. Disrobe and kneel for me, dragă. Here is a pillow for you to use.” Plucking one from a nearby chair, he placed it on the floor and continued to speak while she took off her clothes. “In your suite, until instructed otherwise, you may ask questions, and you will speak when I ask you something. I want no guesswork between us. Outside of here, if you have a question, you will touch my arm, or place your hand upon my thigh if you are sitting at my feet. I will allow you to speak when I deem it appropriate. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master Sorin.” Ashley folded her oversized knit tunic and laid it on top of her leggings. Taking a deep breath, she shrugged the straps of her bra off of both shoulders, undid the clasp, and added it to the pile. Her matching panties were next. Nude, she folded her body and knelt on the pillow as instructed, sitting on her heels with her knees apart and her hands palm-up on her thighs.
Master Sorin hummed his approval. “Nicely done, pet. You will remain here while I prepare for our session. Close your eyes. Quiet your mind. Focus on your breath. I need you to relax. You will want to keep your muscles loose for impact play.”
Ashley closed her eyes and began a breathing exercise. She tried to quiet her mind but found herself too distracted, listening to him. He opened the entertainment center and started taking things out of it. There was no telltale metal clink of handcuffs, so probably rope or leather restraints, the flogger, and heaven only knew what else.
Quiet. She scolded herself and turned her attention inward, focusing on her breath. She didn’t know how much time passed, but it was enough that her knees were beginning to protest.
Eventually, Master Sorin came to stand before her. Putting his hand on her head, he petted her hair for a long moment, communicating by touch, offering comfort and reassurance, while letting her feel his pleasure with her obedience.
She sighed, exhaling a deep, cleansing breath.
“That is what I was waiting to hear,” he murmured. “Now you are ready. Rise, and follow me.”
Helping her up, he led her to the St. Andrew’s cross in the corner. A small table nearby held four leather cuffs, a flogger, lubricant, two sizes of anal plugs, and condoms.
Just thinking about the possibility of his possession made her soaking wet.
He fastened the cuffs on her wrists and ankles and had her stand, facing the cross. When he ordered her to spread her legs so that he could secure them, there was no hiding the scent of her arousal.
He drew his fingers up her leg as he rose, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in his wake. He palmed her ass and slid his hand up her spine, past the scar on her low back to the base of her neck. Tracing the line of her shoulders and arms, he grasped her wrists, put them where he wanted them, and fastened them to the cross, too.
Master Sorin gathered her hair. “Before we begin, I need your safewords,” he asked while he worked. Twisting the length of her hair into a rope, he brought it to her front and tucked it between her breasts to help keep it there. “One to slow the play, another to stop it. What are your safewords, dragă?”
“I don’t know,” she said, feeling slightly panicked. She should have chosen them before coming. Now it was too late to be creative or clever. “I can’t think of any.”
“Then let’s make it simple. Yellow to slow, red to stop. Just like driving.”
“Okay,” she breathed, glad that he wasn’t going to make her come up with something more exotic. Her mind was too full of other things, like lube, anal plugs, condoms, and the hot, hard, and very sizeable erection that she felt pressed against her.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Master Sorin went into her bedroom’s en-suite and returned with wet washcloths and towels. “Now, we can begin. Have you ever worn a plug?” he asked.
“No.”
“Have you had anal sex?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like it?”
She’d only done it with Cade, and he had to be persuaded to go there. “It was okay.”
He grunted. “We’ll start with the plug for now. I’m going to check you. I need to see how tight you are and what size plug you can handle.”
Lubricating his finger, he circled the ruched ring of her ass and pressed against it, gentle but insistent, until half of his finger was inside her.
“Give me a word,” he rumbled, testing her opening, judging how much he could give her, seeing how much more she could take.
<
br /> “Green. I’m good, Master Sorin.”
He pushed in deeper, penetrating her with one lubed finger, then two. Stopping there, he oiled the larger anal plug and inserted it into her rectum. “Color?” he asked, tapping on the plug.
“Lime,” she wheezed. “Just…give me a minute, please, Master? I need to relax my muscles, and the plug isn’t helping.”
Wiping his fingers clean on one of the washcloths, he started massaging the tension from her with those gifted hands of his. Hands that helped. Hands that healed. Hands that had held countless lives in the balance and done their best to bring them through to the other side.
She wondered, when he’d lost a battle, had he cried?
“That’s it, dragă. Relax. Let go. Trust me to take care of you. Trust me to give you what you need.”
Ashley exhaled a deep, cleansing breath and put herself fully into Master Sorin’s hands.
“And now, the flogger, for your pleasure and mine. Keep your muscles relaxed and welcome it. Here we go.”
He stepped back. Immediately, her body missed his warmth, and she shivered.
“Breathe, dragă,” he reminded her.
Ashley drew in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled, feeling some of her tension leave with it. She remembered to inhale when the first blow fell, the soft leather falls striking her upper back. He swung it again, aiming for the other side this time, checking his strength and easing her into it. Gradually, his blows got harder, and closer together, until he was raining them down on her back, her hips, her thighs. One carefully placed swing caught the anal plug.
Ashley moaned her pleasure.
Master Sorin dropped the flogger. Behind her, she heard the crinkle of a foil packet, the jangle of a belt buckle, the snick of a zipper, then his breath, hot and harsh against her neck. “One word stops it,” he reminded her, as if she could. Months of sleeping alone had her primed and ready for him.
“Please. Oh, please,” she begged him. “Fuck me….”
Chapter Four