Mistress Aubrey, her back to Jaime as she pressed against Hans, who was easily a foot taller than she, said, “Good luck, boys. Make us proud.”
Despite her self-assurance that she was immune to the limited charms of the Venus butterfly, Jaime’s clit throbbed against its steady thrum as she watched Master Julian pulling at Gene’s hard cock. Gene’s eyes had closed, his face a study in concentration. His neck was flushed red, his chest rising and falling. Jaime wondered how long he’d be able to hold on before he was given permission to come.
She thought about orgasming on command. How was that even possible? You came when your body was ready to come, not when someone else told you to. And yet, this was apparently expected behavior here at The Enclave, and presumably something she would learn if she managed to hang on for the duration of the training.
She was already expected not to come until given permission. Yet, that was just as elusive a concept to her. How, again, did one control one’s body in that way? If the nerve endings were stimulated to a certain point, you climaxed. End of story. Even as she thought this, she rejected it. Master Lawrence had told her not to come, as if this were a choice. He was confident she could master control over her body and her reactions. Who was she to refuse at least to try?
Unable to resist, she looked again at Master Mark and Master Anthony. The girls were still worshipping their cocks. Both men were leaning back against the couch, their eyes closed. The naked, kneeling girls bobbed over their Masters’ laps with undivided attention.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew Jaime’s attention from the scene. Master Lawrence stood in front of her once more, Master Mason now beside him, along with Ashley. She had a tattoo of a rose on one hip, a knife with a drop of blood at its tip on the other.
Master Mason unfolded a large, thick towel on the floor in front of the platform and directed Ashley to step onto it. He turned his attention to Jaime. “Mistress Aubrey mentioned you have a bit of an issue with needles,” he said in his deep, rumbly voice. “We’ll have to work on that, young lady. Meanwhile, I thought you might enjoy a demonstration with a properly trained slave girl. Ashley can handle quite a bit of intensive needle and blood play, isn’t that right, sweetest girl?”
“Yes, Sir,” Ashley said softly. Jaime noticed then the myriad tiny scars that covered the young woman’s breasts and shaven pubic mons.
Master Lawrence stepped behind the diminutive Ashley and reached beneath her arms, bending his arms up at the elbows to catch her in a hold against his chest. “I’m going to support slave Ashley while Master Mason engages in a little needle and blood sport for your viewing pleasure.” His pale blue eyes gleamed sadistically.
Jaime would have swallowed hard, if she could have swallowed. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and turn her head away. While she’d knowingly and somewhat willingly agreed, per the terms of the contract, to engage in needle play, watching it was almost worse than enduring it. She could handle the pricking pain of a needle’s jab, but the sight of anyone’s blood, hers especially, was enough to make her pass out.
Mind over matter. You can do this. It’s safe and consensual. You’re here because you want to be. So is Ashley. These thoughts helped to steady her nerves as Master Mason produced a packet of thinly gauged needles and began to stick them one-by-one in a circular pattern around each of Ashley’s pencil-eraser pink nipples. Jaime glanced repeatedly at Ashley’s face as the needles pierced her flesh. Throughout, Ashley kept her eyes on Master Mason, her expression serene and accepting.
On the plus side, the buzzing at Jaime’s cunt had been reduced to a merely irritating buzz, her arousal from watching the oral sex scenes obliterated by what was going on in front of her. She was just congratulating herself on getting through the needle play without embarrassing herself, when Master Mason produced a small, glinting rectangle of steel. It was a single razor blade, the kind used in old-fashioned razors.
“Oh god,” she moaned, though the sound that emerged was just a garbled, guttural grunt.
“Steady,” Master Lawrence, who was watching her with a hawk’s gaze, said. “You are only a witness tonight, slave Jaime.” His voice, for the first time since she’d met him, was gentle. “This is not happening to you. This is happening to slave Ashley, and it’s what she craves. It pleases both her and her Master. Not all satisfaction is sexual, and not all pain is suffering.”
Jaime nodded. She would have thanked him for the advice, had she been able to speak. Instead, she could only drool. “Don’t look away,” he continued, his tone a little more strident. “Watch and learn.”
A wave of dizziness assailed Jaime as Master Mason slid the sharp edge of the razor in a line along Ashley’s mons. A moment later the line turned bright red. The cut was only about an inch long and presumably not deep, but within seconds droplets of blood began to ooze from the wound.
“Gungghhh,” Jaime moaned incoherently, her eyes fluttering shut of their own accord. A wave of nausea threatened to engulf her.
“Stop it!” Master Lawrence admonished sharply. “Open your eyes. Stay in the moment.”
Jaime forced her eyelids to lift and ordered her eyes to focus on the people in front of her. Master Mason was kissing his slave girl with the passion of a lover. She could see their tongues entwining as he gently stroked her cheek, his other hand cupping her mons. When he finally let her go and stepped back, he said, “Make yourself come for us, Ashley. Show this trainee your gratitude.”
“Yes, Master Mason. Thank you, Sir,” Ashley said, her eyes fixed on his. Master Lawrence was still behind her, still supporting her against his body. She reached with her left hand for her now bloodied pussy and began to rub. As her fingers moved, a few drops of the impossibly red blood splashed to the towel beneath her feet. Jaime watched, at once horrified and transfixed, as Ashley masturbated.
After only two minutes or so, Master Mason said, “Come for me, sweet slave.”
Ashley shuddered and jerked forward, her mouth open, her face twisted in what could be pleasure or pain, or both. Master Lawrence let go of her and she fell slowly to her knees, her hand still buried between her legs.
Jaime noticed a sudden jolting tingle at her clit. Master Lawrence’s hand was in his pocket. She realized he must have turned up the intensity of the butterfly with his remote. Her clit was throbbing and she longed for the feel of a hard, perfect cock to fill the emptiness aching inside her. In spite of her intense physical discomfort, her knees aching on the hard wood, her jaw muscles rigid, drool spilling down her chin and chest, and in spite of the bizarre, bloody scene before her, or perhaps partially because of it, she realized she was on the verge of a climax.
No. No, no, no, you will not come. You will not come.
“Come for me, slave Jaime.” Master Lawrence’s voice cut across her frantic inward directive.
Jaime’s eyes flew open, her gaze turning involuntarily toward Master Mark. He was looking directly at her, directly into her soul. She shuddered and jerked, letting the climax she’d managed to keep at bay sweep over her. She’d just come, not for Master Lawrence, but for Master Mark.
Chapter 8
Mark strummed his guitar, humming the tune that had awoken him before dawn. No one else was out on the deck, save for a pair of hummingbirds zipping and diving at one of the several red birdfeeders that hung from the rafters. Mark savored the utter peace that surrounded him.
The sky was pink and gold, a silver glaze washing the sides of the mountains as the sun worked its way upward. The air was crisp and cool in the early morning light. It was Mark’s favorite time of day, and his most creative. He closed his eyes as he hummed, breathing in the scent of jasmine and pine.
“Mind if I join you?”
Mark turned to the sound of Anthony’s voice. “Oh, hey. Please do.”
“Thought you might like a cup.” Anthony held out one of the two coffee mugs he had brought with him.
Mark placed his guitar carefully against the wall and r
eached gratefully for the steaming mug. “Thanks, yes.” He sipped at the hot brew while Anthony took a seat beside him. Anthony had thoughtfully prepared the coffee just as Mark liked it, with just a little cream, no sugar.
“That was pretty, what you were playing. Kind of haunting. Something of yours?”
“A tune that was in my head this morning when I woke up. I was just fooling around with it.”
“Such a talent, Mark. You think you might go back to it someday? Get a new band going? Try again?”
“I honestly don’t know,” he replied, rolling the idea around in his head, and then letting it slip away. “We were on the road for five years straight, pretty much. We were all heading for a brick wall, not just Jake.” He shook his head sadly. “You know what they say…but for the grace of God…”
“That had to be very hard, watching him self-destruct like that,” Anthony replied quietly. “I can understand why you need a break from that whole scene, at least for a while.” He smiled thoughtfully. “You’re still so young. Plenty of time to figure out what’s next, when you’re ready. I’m glad you’re here now, with us. I hope, whatever you ultimately decide, that you continue to make this your home. You’re an excellent addition to The Enclave.” They both sipped their coffee. “By the way, I think your training is coming along very well.”
Mark’s smile was easier this time. “Thanks. Though I’m not sure Lawrence would agree with you.”
“Oh, I think you’re wrong about that. Lawrence is just very—exacting. He’s old school, doesn’t believe in any overt display of affection during the training process. Don’t get me wrong. He’s very, very good at what he does, but he can be a little, uh, rigid.”
Anthony took a long drink of his coffee. “You, on the other hand, are a romantic. Just be mindful of setting limits and sticking with them. You need to be firm and consistent, yes, but don’t think you have to lose your humanity or compassion in order to achieve that. You’re finding and developing your own style, what works for you as a Dom. Just follow your instincts. You’ll be fine.”
Mark was silent as he thought about this, his mind instantly veering to the scene on the veranda with the trainee. It was true Jaime’s tears had momentarily circumvented his mind and gone straight to his heart. Had he done the wrong thing, offering her gentle encouragement, and then taking her into his arms? Had he behaved, not like a Dom, but like a potential lover?
There was something about the girl, something that spoke directly to him. From the moment he’d first seen Jaime, he’d sensed a spark of passion and strength in her, something that went beyond her obvious physical beauty and desire to submit. When the tears had spilled down those soft cheeks, it had been the most natural thing in the world to take her into his arms.
But had he done her, and himself, a disservice in the process?
He was almost certain Lawrence would say that he had. But then, as Anthony had pointed out, Lawrence and he had very different styles. Mark understood a Dom needed to bend his sub, but not break them. And Jaime, he’d sensed at that moment, was near the breaking point.
Just follow your instincts, and you’ll be fine.
Yes, in his heart of hearts, Mark felt he had done the right thing in offering her the comfort he had. If holding her so close had resulted in a raging erection, that was beside the point. He was human, after all.
He looked up from his coffee cup musings and smiled. “Thank you for the advice and encouragement, Master Anthony. I do believe coming here was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Mark. We’ll do some more work this morning on Shibari bondage. We need to get a better sense of Jaime’s endurance and comfort level with extreme bondage. We’ll use Danielle as well—she’s very limber and compliant. She’s also due for a bit of a punishment. Did you hear what happened with the hiking boots?”
“The hiking boots?” Mark echoed, shaking his head. “What happened?”
“Apparently, Danielle was careless when giving Jaime her boots. She gave her the wrong size. Jaime got blisters as a result. Aubrey took care of it—no big deal—but that sort of behavior needs to be addressed and dealt with.”
“Agreed,” Mark replied. Switching gears, he asked, “Did you find Jaime at The Garden?”
Anthony smiled. “Yes. Just like I found you at Lair Sade.”
“And I was definitely lost.” Mark laughed, but then sobered. Lair Sade, a private, members-only BDSM club in Charlotte, had been a haven for Mark after the band’s breakup and his return to his hometown to lie low and lick his psychic wounds. It was a chance to rediscover a part of himself that had lain dormant for far too long, his life consumed with music, touring and all the attendant insanity that had accompanied it. Though he hadn’t yet shaved off his signature beard or cut off his dreadlocks, members at Lair Sade were used to discretion in all things dealing with the outside world, and no one had hassled him or even let on they knew who he was, which had been just what he’d needed at the time.
“You weren’t lost, Mark,” Anthony said with a kind smile. “You just needed time to heal, to rediscover. I’m glad you were willing to take the leap from casual scening to a real exploration into D/s as a lifestyle. You’ve got what it takes, Mark. You’re not afraid to put your heart and soul into the process. You’re willing to give as much as you demand of your subs, and that’s key. Without that, it’s just a game.”
Pleased but mildly embarrassed at the praise, Mark deflected, “I’m looking forward to working with Jaime. What’s her experience in the scene?”
“Jaime’s never been formally trained,” Anthony replied, “but she’s got a lot of potential. Master Julian was quite enthusiastic about his session with her yesterday. He’s going to continue to work with her on anal comfort and acceptance—one of her weak areas. From what I can glean so far, she’s a true submissive with a fairly high tolerance for erotic pain. She’s inexperienced but eager.”
“Like me.” Mark laughed.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Mark. You’ve already mastered many of the key training techniques and skills. More importantly, you have a natural penchant for erotic dominance without the attendant ego that sometimes gets in the way.”
Mark wondered if Anthony was making an oblique reference to someone else, but he didn’t pursue that. “Breakfast should be ready by now,” Anthony said, rising from his chair. “The girls picked fresh blackberries and raspberries yesterday, and Mason was just taking out some muffins when I went in for coffee. I’m going to go snag a few before they disappear.”
Mark stood as well and picked up his guitar. Breakfast was the only informal, self-serve meal at The Enclave, with fresh fruit, yogurt and cereal always available, along with whatever biscuits, muffins or egg dish Mason was in the mood to prepare. Though Mark ate sparingly in the mornings, when he entered the house from the deck, the aroma of the fresh muffins, along with the mouth-watering smell of frying bacon and brewed coffee drew him toward the kitchen as surely as if he’d been on a leash.
Aubrey and Gene were at the dining room table eating their breakfast, professionally dressed for their workday. Not for the first time, Mark wondered what it must be like, working together by day as doctor and nurse, the consummate professionals, and living together in the evenings as Mistress and slave. However the relationship worked, it was clear the pair was in love.
Love. He’d written enough lyrics about it, but did he really have any idea what it meant?
A muffin in hand, Mark loped up the stairs to his bedroom to put away his guitar, his mind turning to bondage rope and lovely, naked slave girls.
~*~
Chains clanked against the edges of Jaime’s dream. She opened her eyes, instantly awake. The soft, warm glow of the night-light bathed the room. She lay curled on her side, her hands folded beneath her cheek.
The cuffs and chain had made it difficult to get comfortable at first, but oddly enough, or maybe not so oddly, given how she was hardwired
, she’d been incredibly aroused by her predicament. Once left alone, she’d lifted her hands in front of her face, turning her arms this way and that as she admired the leather and chain that held her captive. There was enough give in the chain to allow her to touch herself despite her wrists being cuffed together, and the thought of the cold metal links moving over her body as she stroked herself had been tempting in the extreme.
She’d resisted, not only because she was exhausted from her very long and very intense first day, but because the tiny red light of the webcam aimed directly at her bed reminded her she was being watched. Who was watching her? Was Master Mark watching her?
Though she doubted there was someone actively monitoring her at all times, she didn’t dare take the risk. There had been a very specific clause in the contract about never touching herself in a sexual way when alone, unless expressly directed to do so. She wasn’t about to fuck things up by taking such a stupid chance.
There was a light knock at the ajar door. “Buenas dias, sleepyhead.” Lucia stepped into the room. “Time to get up.”
Jaime struggled into a sitting position, holding her cuffed wrists in front of her. “What time is it?”
“It’s nearly seven o’clock. You are to report for an outside training session at the dungeon beside the veranda at eight. Master Lawrence permitted you to sleep a little later than usual your first night here. But you need to move now so you won’t make either of us late. I’ll see you in the bathroom.”
“Wait,” Jaime called to Lucia’s back. “What about these?” She held out her wrists, the chain clanking between her breasts.
Lucia turned back to face her. “You can undo the cuffs yourself. Just release the clips. It’s a little awkward, but you’ll get used to it soon enough.”
BDSM Club Series Box Set Page 12