“Oh! Yes.”
“Yes, Sir,” Hans corrected. “You will address me as Sir during this ride.”
“Yes, Sir,” Jaime amended, feeling a little foolish and a lot excited.
“First,” Hans continued, his eyes flitting from the road to the mirror, “if you are wearing panties, you must remove them at once. These you will hand to me. You will then lift your skirt and sit directly on the seat.”
Anthony had instructed Jaime to wear a simple blouse and skirt for the drive to The Enclave. He hadn’t said anything about underwear, and she was wearing panties and a bra beneath her clothes, her legs bare on this warm summer day. She glanced nervously at the rearview mirror, but Hans now appeared to be watching the road.
Jaime reached beneath her skirt and lifted her bottom so she could pull her underwear down. She adjusted her skirt as directed, settling her bare ass on the cool, soft leather. Without turning back, Hans extended his hand back toward her. She could feel the beginnings of a blush heat her cheeks as she handed him her panties.
He took them without comment, his eyes still on the road. After a minute or so, he said, “Unbutton the blouse and remove it.”
Jaime glanced anxiously out the window. They were still in the heart of Asheville, just pulling onto Route 694 North. “You do not obey at once,” Hans intoned in his accented English. “This will be reported.”
Shit! Five minutes into the drive and she was already screwing up!
At least the windows were tinted, and would hopefully afford some privacy. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m sorry, Sir!” she amended quickly, her fingers fumbling over the small buttons of her blouse. She yanked it from her arms, somewhat constricted by her seatbelt, very aware of her bare bottom on the leather seat beneath.
She met Hans’ eyes in the mirror. “Now the bra,” he commanded.
Jaime reached back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall forward from her body. She set it on the seat beside her, along with the blouse. It felt beyond strange to be riding topless in broad daylight, but the exhibitionist inside her—inside every submissive—was deeply aroused. Hans’ eyes flickered back and forth from the road to the mirror. “Tweak your nipples,” he ordered. “Make them hard.”
Jaime bit her lip, but did as she was ordered. Already deeply excited, her nipples responded instantly to her touch. “Hands behind your head,” Hans continued. “Keep your lips parted, and never cross or close your legs when seated. From this moment forward, you must always be accessible, every part of you. This is understood, yes?”
“Yes, Sir,” Jaime replied, shifting on the seat to obey as she lifted her arms behind her head. She licked her lips, letting them part. Her nipples throbbed, matched by the ache in her cunt.
They drove silently for a while. Jaime’s arms began to ache. She tried to catch Hans’ eye in the mirror, but he was focused on the road as they slowly ascended into the mountains. Just when she was about to ask him, as politely as possible, if she could lower her arms, he pulled onto an overhang shoulder and turned off the engine.
“Why are we—” Jaime began, but Hans cut her off.
“Arms down. Get out of the car and into the front seat.”
“What?”
“Do it!” he barked. “And that’s another two reports. Failure to address me properly and questioning your Master.”
Jaime glanced through the tinted windows. The passenger side of their vehicle faced away from the road, so it was unlikely anyone would see her. She reached for the door handle and opened the door. Moving quickly, she jumped from the car, pulled open the front door and slid inside, yanking the door closed behind her.
Hans reached for his belt and unbuckled it. His eyes on her breasts, he pulled down the zipper of his fly. “Take out my cock and suck it. You are not to stop until I climax. You are to swallow every drop.”
Apparently Master Hans planned to take full advantage of his temporary role. He was extremely attractive, and Jaime had always loved sucking cock. Though she was sexually submissive, she enjoyed that bit of control over a man, savoring the anticipation when he tensed and squeezed his eyes closed, and her ultimate power as he cried out with pleasure at the moment of release.
Even so, she reached a little tentatively for the stranger’s cock. He had no underwear on beneath his black pants, and her fingers curled around his thick shaft. She tugged the growing member from its confines, watching his uncircumcised foreskin slide back as his cock grew fully erect.
Reaching toward her, Hans gripped a handful of her hair, using it to yank her down toward his lap. “Ah,” he breathed as she closed her mouth over the fat head of his cock. “Das is gut. Das ist so lange her.” Though Jaime didn’t speak German, she understood the gist of what he must be saying—it’s been so long.
Hans kept his fingers tangled in her hair. He used her head like a handle, pushing it up and down in a pumping motion, forcing his cock deep into her throat. She didn’t get a chance to demonstrate any of her skills—the man was just fucking her mouth, plain and simple. It was all she could do to keep her balance on the seat and to suck in a breath of air between each gagging thrust. He was hurting her—his grip too tight in her hair, his cock slamming against the back of her throat. Yet, in spite of the pain, or perhaps partially because of it, her cunt throbbed with desire, its juices seeping onto her thighs.
The experience was short-lived. Within two minutes, Hans groaned and stiffened for a second before shuddering, his hips thrusting as he shot his load deep in Jaime’s throat. When he released her hair she sat back, gasping for breath against the seat. Without looking at her, Hans rearranged himself. Tucking in his shirt, he zipped his pants and re-buckled his belt.
Finally he looked over at her. “That was acceptable,” he said. “You’ll need to work on that gag reflex, though.” He jerked his head toward the backseat. “Now, please return to the back.”
Her own lust unrequited, Jaime did as ordered, flying from the front to the back seat as quickly as possible. Hans started the car and eased back onto the road. “We will be there soon,” he informed her. “In preparation, you will remove your skirt. You are to be completely naked upon arrival. When you get out of the car, I will place a collar and leash on you, and I will lead you to the door. You are to kneel up, hands behind your head, knees spread wide in offering while you wait for permission to enter. This is understood, yes?”
“Yes, Sir,” Jaime managed, though she could barely hear her own voice over the pounding of her heart.
About ten minutes later Hans turned the car onto a winding dirt road, which they traveled for about half a mile. The land was densely forested on either side of the narrow road and it seemed they were going deep into some kind of wilderness. It was hard to imagine there was a compound situated on the side of this mountain, but Hans seemed certain of his direction.
All at once, they emerged from a thicket of trees onto a large, cleared plateau. In front of them stood a set of metal gates bracketed by high concrete walls, like some kind of fortress. As the car approached, the gates opened slowly inward and they drove through.
Jaime drew in her breath at the sight of the huge house, a mansion really. It was built of a combination of stone and wood, with lots of large windows, the effect at once grand and welcoming. Hans pulled into the curved driveway in the front of the house and turned off the engine. Jaime, naked in the backseat, drew her arms instinctively around herself.
Hans climbed out of the car and walked swiftly around the back of it, a moment later pulling open her door. He held a slim black collar and leash in his hands. Jaime emerged from the car on wobbly legs, dizziness assailing her for a moment. It was quite a bit cooler at this higher altitude, and a soft breeze blew over her breasts, causing her nipples to stiffen. The paver stones of the driveway were hard beneath her bare feet.
“I—” she began, but Hans stopped her with a stern shake of his head.
“Shh. No words. Be silent and obey.” He held up the collar by one
of the O rings set at intervals along its length. “Lean your head forward and lift your hair,” he instructed. Jaime obeyed, a sense of the surreal settling over her as he buckled the collar into place. The leash was also made of leather, save for a small length of chain at its end. Hans clipped the leash to her collar and turned toward the building, indicating with a gentle tug of the leash that she should follow.
As they walked along the stone walkway set in the center of an immaculate, emerald-green lawn, Jaime glanced up at the many windows, opaque against the sun, wondering if they were being watched. At the large double doors of the entrance, Hans stopped and tugged downward on her leash. “Kneel as I instructed you,” he said. “You will wait here until someone comes for you.”
“Yes, Sir,” Jaime murmured. She sank to her knees, still not quite able to get her head around the fact that this place actually existed, and she was really doing this. Hans watched as she lifted her arms and laced her fingers behind her head. The leash hung down between her breasts.
“Wider,” he said, nudging the inside of her right thigh with the toe of his boot. “Offer yourself.” Jaime spread her knees and thrust her breasts forward. She lifted her chin and focused on the door, her heart doing somersaults in her chest.
Hans bent down suddenly and Jaime flinched, certain he was going to slap her. But he only leaned close, his mouth near her ear. “Good luck,” he whispered, and then he stepped inside, leaving her alone as the door clicked shut behind him.
Jaime closed her eyes. The mountain air was so fresh, scented with pine and honeysuckle, and she drew in deep breaths, letting them out slowly. The collar around her neck felt just right. She wanted to stroke the soft, strong leather but she didn’t dare move out of position.
Though it seemed much longer, it was probably only about two minutes before the door opened. Two men, neither of them Anthony, stood before her. They regarded her for several long moments. She felt herself blushing beneath their intent gazes, but she managed to hold her position, though her arms were beginning to tremble from the strain.
“Stand up, slave Jaime,” said the shorter of the two men, as he reached down and took the end of her leash. His voice was strident, his mouth curved down in a frown. He appeared to be in his mid thirties, with thinning sandy blond hair, pale eyes and thin lips. He was slender with a wiry build, and clad in black leather from head to toe. As Jaime rose to her feet, he added, “I am Master Lawrence. And this”—he waved toward the man beside him—“is Master Mark.”
“You may put your arms down at your sides,” Master Mark added in a pleasing baritone. He was younger than Master Lawrence, in his early thirties, Jaime surmised. He was about six feet tall, with broad shoulders and dark brown thick, curly hair. His eyes were a lively green-brown over a prominent nose and a generous mouth. Though not in leather, Master Mark was also in black—black jeans, a black knit shirt and black, square-toed boots. There was something familiar about him, as if she’d seen him before. Maybe at The Garden?
The rest of the world fell out of focus, blurring and falling away as she stared at the man, unable to look away, unable to recall where she was or what she was supposed to do. Ah, a small but certain voice whispered inside her. There he is.
“Let’s go.” Master Lawrence, still holding the leash, gave it a yank. The peculiar spell was broken and the world resumed its normal activity as Jaime stumbled forward before regaining her footing. They entered a large foyer. The floor was made from wide planked wood stained a rich chestnut. A huge grandfather clock stood against one wall, the wood frame of dark cherry, the large silver pendulum ticking loudly behind beveled glass.
That was where any typical foyer decoration ended, however. Several sets of rusty-looking manacles in various sizes had been hung along the walls, dangling from thick chains. Whips and floggers were positioned in X patterns, much like swords crossed on a coat of arms. An ominous iron device with cruelly curving talons hung above a large chair set against the wall, its base, arms and back covered in pointy spikes. “Some of Master Anthony’s medieval torture collection,” Master Mark said, following Jaime’s horrified, fascinated gaze. “Be a good girl, and we won’t have to put you in the Judas chair.” He smiled, revealing even, white teeth. Jaime was far too nervous to smile back.
She was led on the leash through a huge living room that contained several distinct groupings of furniture. One wall was almost entirely of glass, opening onto a breathtaking, expansive view across the mountains and down into the valley below. There were two fireplaces, one of them big enough to walk into.
As they moved through the room, Jaime saw a couple sitting on the couch, a man in a chair nearby. Hans was kneeling beside the man’s chair, the man’s hand proprietarily on his shoulder. Hans was naked, save for his beautiful slave collar. His nipples were pierced with silver barbells, and his gaze was fixed on what Jaime knew in an instant must be his Master, the love light shining from Hans’ eyes.
Instead of stopping for introductions, Jaime was marched past them and into a small, windowless room. The space was empty, save for a St. Andrew’s cross set against one wall and a metal-barred cage, barely big enough for a large dog. An involuntary shudder of fear moved through her and she looked away. A thick flogger with many suede tresses hung on the wall beside the cross, a canister of whips and canes on the floor on its other side.
Master Lawrence removed the leash. “We received three reports from slave Hans,” he said in his stern voice. “Before you are introduced to the others, you will have to be punished. Each transgression has earned you five strokes, for a total of fifteen. You will remain completely silent during the punishment, or we will be forced to begin again.” He pointed toward the St. Andrew’s cross. “Since you are not yet trained in the art of holding a position, you will be bound to the cross for your punishment.”
Jaime stood in the center of the room, her heart slamming against her ribs. “Go on, move,” Master Lawrence snapped. “Stand with your face to the cross. Master Mark will secure your wrists and ankles.”
Jaime stepped onto the small raised platform at the foot of the cross. Her arms felt leaden as she lifted them against the smooth wood of the X. Hans had warned her she would be punished, but she hadn’t expected it so soon.
Master Mark closed the thick nylon cuffs around each wrist, pressing the Velcro into place to bind her arms against the wood. He crouched behind her and tapped at her ankles, directing her to place her legs in position so he could secure them as well.
Jaime leaned into the cross with a sigh, the familiar, welcome sense of comfort at being securely bound offsetting somewhat the jangle of nerves still warring inside of her. She looked at the flogger—her favorite kind of whip. Fifteen strokes wasn’t so much. She could certainly handle it. She would probably even enjoy it—she loved the caressing sting of soft suede tresses against her skin. Maybe this was just a symbolic kind of punishment, something designed to put her into the proper headspace, not that she needed it.
Yes, she could totally do this.
“Master Mark,” Master Lawrence intoned. “The cane, if you please.”
Chapter 4
The split-second warning whistle of bamboo hurtled through the air, but it was not enough to prepare her for the fiery stroke of impact. In spite of Master Lawrence’s admonition, Jaime screamed.
“I heard a sound,” came his voice from behind her. “Did you hear a sound, Master Mark?”
“I did.” Master Mark appeared in Jaime’s peripheral vision, and she turned her head toward his voice. She was breathing too fast, her head spinning. She’d been caned before, many times, but never like this. Never without the slow, sensual warming of the skin, the steadily increasing intensity that allowed her to tolerate, then accept, then embrace the sting.
Master Mark placed his hand on Jaime’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Warmth spread through her body at his touch, and her heart eased its rapid beat, at least a little. “Courage,” he whispered.
Fortified by his touch and the masterful calm of his tone, she drew in a deep—
The second stroke caught her just as hard as the first, and just as unexpectedly, but somehow she managed to bite back the cry that rose in her throat, emitting only the tiniest of sounds. But was even that too much?
“One,” intoned Master Lawrence.
Relief flooded Jaime, despite the fiery sting of the second welt she felt rising on her ass. They hadn’t heard her muted cry. She could do this. Just hang on, let the pain flow through you.
Another whistle, followed instantly by the searing cut of the cane.
“Two.”
Fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Breathe.”
Jaime tried to draw in a breath, but her lungs seemed to have collapsed.
“Three.”
Jaime opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d squeezed shut. Master Mark was still beside her, his gaze steady on her face. She focused on his clear green-brown eyes. He had a dark, thick fringe of lashes, the kind women would kill for. He was really quite—
“Four.”
Thought exploded like china dashed on stone.
“Five. Six…”
“Breathe. “His voice was soothing, even just the one word. She reached for it and clung.
“Seven. Eight. Nine.”
She could do this. She was doing it. It wasn’t so bad, not anymore. The skin was numbing, acclimating, she was more than halfway through. Her lips were sealed, her lungs had regained their ability to inflate, and Master Mark was still there, still watching, vigilant.
“Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.”
She sagged with relief, her head falling back, her mouth agape. Sweat pricked beneath her arms and at the nape of her neck. Her ass was in flames, but she had done it—she had taken her punishment.
The two men crouched on either side of her, each grabbing the edge of the thick nylon cuffs and yanking at the Velcro in unison. Jaime shifted, causing her leash, which had been hung over the center of the X, to clank lightly against the wood. Master Mark leaned across her back as he reached for both wrist cuffs. She could feel hard muscles beneath the soft fabric of his shirt as his body brushed hers. It took every ounce of self-control not to lean back into his inviting strength and warmth.
BDSM Club Series Box Set Page 5