BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  He had just laughed and shrugged. Back then he didn’t have the words to express the unparalleled thrill of pure erotic power and control he experienced when in the throes of a good scene. He would have described the deep intangible bond between Dom and sub when the connection was there—the way he experienced each stroke of the whip, each stinging kiss of the cane, each shudder of erotic pleasure, with as much intensity and passion as his sub. There was nothing like it—not even when he was making his music—nothing to compare in terms of pure, actualized and deep satisfaction.

  With this trainee, with this girl he wanted to know better, the connection had been immediate and sure. Something in her drove him to be his very best self, both as a Dom and as a man. Though he had to keep his feelings in check for the duration of her training, he wasn’t going to deny them, at least not to himself.

  He moved around the table and stood beside her, looking down into her eyes. “Are you ready, slave Jaime? We’re going to explore edge play now. There is no safeword, but I’ll be here with you every step of the way.” He placed his hand flat on her breastbone. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his palm. “Slow your breathing,” he reminded her. “Deep, calming breaths.”

  He waited a moment as she drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Again,” he urged, his hand still over her heart. “Again.”

  When he was satisfied she had calmed enough to continue, he turned back toward the table and picked up the long, shiny blade Mason had selected. He held it so Jaime could see.

  She drew in a sharp breath, and he was aware the heart he’d just helped to slow had kick-started back into a pounding tempo. How he loved this process of guiding a slave through a scene, of taking her to the edge of submission and then bringing her back into the safety of his dominant but loving control. He was the one who was making her heart pound with fear and desire. He was the one who would then calm her fears, only to kindle them again with a whisper, a touch, the stroke of a whip, the blade of a knife.

  He set the knife down once more and returned to the bound, naked girl. He placed his hand on her throat and gripped in a light but unmistakable gesture of control just beneath her jawline. She began to tremble, and he could feel both her fear and her desire as if they were his own. He leaned close to her ear and murmured, “Remember, I am your Master during this session, and as your Master, I will always keep you safe. The journey of a submissive is not an easy one, but you are strong and courageous, and I know you can do this. I want you to do this, for me, and for yourself. Are you ready, slave Jaime? Are you ready and willing to submit to me, to place your trust in me as I guide you through this scene?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

  “Louder,” he commanded. “Say it louder, slave.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said throatily, and he saw the resolve beneath the fear in her face.

  He nodded, satisfied, his cock twitching with anticipation. “We begin,” he said. Turning again toward the equipment table, he surveyed the gear Mason and he had set there for this session. Next to the knife kit was an ice bucket, a black satin sleep mask and a large, red candle in a glass container, along with a small box of matches. Mark picked up the box and removed a wooden match. He struck it on the side of the box and held the flame to the candle’s wick until it sputtered to life.

  He picked up the knife once again and turned back to Jaime. As he intended, her eyes fixed on the long, shiny blade, her lips lightly parted, her nipples engorged, round and red as ripe cherries. His mouth watered as he imagined suckling them.

  He placed the knife carefully on Jaime’s taut, flat stomach, balancing it so only the wooden handle actually made contact with her skin. Jaime gasped, and the knife shook slightly against her trembling muscles. Mark moved to the end of the table. In spite of her fear, or no doubt partially because of it, the pink folds of her pussy were swollen and moist with arousal.

  Leaving the knife balanced between Jaime’s hipbones, Mark turned back to the table and picked up the sleep mask. He placed it over Jaime’s eyes and slid the elastic behind her head. Moving down along the table, he lifted the knife from her still-trembling body. “I want you to focus solely on the sensations produced by the sharp, seductive edge of the blade. Taking away your sight will heighten the sensation and help you stay focused on what you are feeling.”

  Mark glanced over at Master Mason. Ashley was now on her knees on the floor in front of her Master, her head bobbing on his cock, her back marked with two vertical rows of tiny red wounds that glistened with antibiotic ointment. Mason met his eye and flashed a grin.

  For a moment, Mark wished he were alone with Jaime, the scene private and belonging only to the two of them. He knew even as the thought entered his mind that it was inappropriate. For now, at least, he was Jaime’s trainer, nothing more. And this was his first real scene with knives—he needed Mason there as mentor and spotter in case anything went amiss.

  Turning back toward the table, Mark put away the sharp knife he’d used to set the scene in Jaime’s mind. He selected two more knives, one still in its metal sheath, the other in a velvet bag. He set the bag down beside her on the bondage table and moved close to her head, holding the sheathed knife near her ear.

  “Prepare to suffer, slave Jaime,” he whispered. He unsheathed the knife, and the unmistakable sound of the metal sliding against metal reverberated in the dungeon. The sound was primal and dangerous, designed to trigger Jaime’s fight or flight response. She gasped. He lightly touched the sharp point of the blade to Jaime’s right nipple.

  With a cry, Jaime jerked her head, the only part of her body she could move.

  “Stay still,” Mark admonished, his heart beating hard along with hers. Satisfied the mind fuck was now in full swing, he set the sharp knife aside. He picked up the velvet bag and slid what Mason had referred to as the dead knife into his hand. This knife’s blade had been purposely dulled using steel wool so that it wouldn’t cut the skin, even if you tried.

  But Jaime didn’t know that.

  “Stay very still,” he warned again. “I don’t want to cut you—at least not unintentionally.” He glanced again at Mason, who lifted his right hand in a thumbs-up gesture of approval.

  Turning back to Jaime, Mark held the dead knife at a forty-five degree angle against Jaime’s arm and lightly scraped the blade along her skin. Jaime startled and gasped again, but was unable to flinch or jerk away. The bonds were doing their job.

  “You belong to me, slave Jaime,” Mark murmured as he drew the tip of the blade between her breasts. He touched the edge of the dull blade to her throat and dragged it along the pulse of her carotid artery. She shuddered. “A sudden move, a press of the blade, and you would feel the bite of steel and then the warm, wet ribbon of your life’s blood…”

  Jaime clenched her hands into fists over her head, her breath a shallow pant. Mark could feel the rise of her panic, which threatened to engulf her if he moved too far, too fast. He wanted her on the edge, yes, but he didn’t want her to tumble over, to lose control, to forget her courage and her grace. It was his job to pay attention to her body and her cues, and to help her stay on the path of true submission.

  Setting the knife aside a moment, Mark leaned over the blindfolded girl and spoke gently. “I need you to relax your body,” he said. “I want your surrender, not your resistance.” He cupped her hands with his and gently forced her fingers to uncurl. He stroked her cheek, his voice soothing. “I want you to breathe. Center yourself. Focus. Stop anticipating and just give yourself to the sensations. Hold nothing back.”

  He continued to stroke her soft skin until the coil of her tension eased a little more, and her breathing slowed to something approximating normal. He wanted to bend down and kiss her, but knew he mustn’t. Instead, he moved his hand, trailing it along her throat and moving lower, drawing a circle around her distended nipple with his finger. He brought his thumb and finger together and squeezed the rigid nubbin, giving it a sudden, sharp twist.
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  Her cry of pain sent a jolt directly to his cock, and the power surged like an injection of pure heroin directly into his veins. He reached for the second nipple, twisting it until he drew another delicious cry of pain from the masochist bound, naked and spread before him. He cupped her smooth cunt, feeling the damp heat and Jaime moaned. However frightened she was of the knife play, the girl was sopping wet.

  Unable to resist, he held his palm to his nose and inhaled the intoxicating scent of her musk. Tamping down his own immediate desires, Mark stepped away from the sexy girl. He selected a large knife and slid the blade into the ice bucket. Once satisfied it was fully chilled, he returned to Jaime. “Remember, stay perfectly still.” He laid the flat of the icy blade across both nipples. Jaime stiffened and shuddered.

  He returned to the table and grabbed several pieces of ice from the bucket. Leaving the knife balanced over her nipples, he moved to the end of the table. “Hold your breath,” he ordered. “I don’t want you to move a muscle.” He waited a beat as he watched her comply. Then he pressed an ice cube into the heat between her spread legs. Jaime cried out, her brain no doubt trying to process the sensation at her cunt—was it a blade? Had he cut her?

  He slid a second piece inside her and then gripped her warm thighs with his cold fingers. She shuddered and moaned. He moved back along the table and lifted the blade to reveal her reddened nipples, the areolas puckered from contact with cold metal.

  Setting the blade aside, he stroked Jaime’s cheek and saw she was clenching her jaw. He massaged her jawline with his thumbs for a few seconds. Not wanting her too relaxed, he slid his hand down to her throat, squeezing just hard enough to remind her who was in charge.

  A deep, sensual shudder moved through Jaime’s body and she shivered. Mark placed his hands over her breasts, cupping them. Her nipples jutted against his palms. “Poor baby,” he crooned. “Are you cold?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’ll just have to warm you up then,” he said with an evil grin she couldn’t see. He brought over the candle and tipped the glass ever so slightly, letting just a few drops splash down to her breasts.

  “Ah!” the blindfolded girl cried, straining helplessly in her bonds.

  He let a few more drops land in a red pattern over her nipples. Jaime hissed with pain as Mark moved the candle slowly above her body, letting the wax splatter in a line down her stomach. He held the candle poised over her vulva and let several drops of hot wax fall.

  As they made contact, Jaime whimpered. Mark glanced over at the pair on the recovery sofa. Both Mason and Ashley were watching now, Ashley once more perched on her Master’s lap. Mason’s eyes were glittering with intensity. Yes, he mouthed, nodding slowly. Keep going.

  Mark set down the candle on the table and retrieved a small, narrow, rectangular spatula perfect for removing wax. The wax had cooled and hardened on Jaime’s skin. Mark leaned close to Jaime’s ear. “I’m going to use a very sharp knife to remove the wax,” he said quietly. “You must stay perfectly still, slave girl, so I don’t accidentally cut you. Understand?”

  Jaime nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t upbraid her for failing to answer a direct question with the proper title of respect. She was nearing sensory overload, he could see. Rather than distract her with protocol, he would give her just the push she needed to fly right over the edge.

  He started with her chest, scraping the hardened wax from her engorged nipples and along the soft curve of her breasts. Jaime was trembling, a real knife’s blade no doubt looming large in her mind’s eye.

  “You are doing so well, slave girl,” Mark said, truly in awe of her courage and resolve. “You just need to slow your breathing. Embrace what is happening to you. Take it inside and use it to empower yourself.” He put his other hand on her chest. Her heart was beating fast. “Breathe,” he said again. “In…and out. In…and out. Yes.”

  Once she was calmer, he continued to drag the edge of the spatula along her abdomen, chipping away the bits of dried red wax as he moved down her body. Jaime, still believing a knife was at play, had begun to tremble again.

  “Stay very still,” he reminded her as he positioned himself at the end of the table. Carefully, gently, he scraped the bits of hardened wax from her spread cunt. This wax came off the most easily, aided no doubt by the slick lubricant of her arousal.

  “Would you like to come, slave girl?”

  “Oh god,” Jaime moaned, arching her hips wantonly upward as best she was able in her bound position. “Yes, please, Sir. Please.”

  His cock and balls ached. Christ, he wanted to fuck her. Forcing his own selfish desires aside, he smiled cruelly, though Jaime couldn’t see. “To earn that privilege,” he said, “you will have to pay. I’m going to spank your cunt with the flat side of this knife. As long as you stay still, you won’t be cut. If you can manage that, you will be rewarded with an orgasm.”

  Jaime inhaled in a sharp, quick gasp. If she refused or balked, he decided he wouldn’t press the issue. He had given her a choice. Let her make it.

  “Yes,” she finally said, her voice low and throaty. “Yes, please, Sir. I want it.”

  “Then you shall have it. You will come on my command.”

  Mark touched the flat of the spatula against her spread vulva. Jaime tensed and gave a little whimper of fear, but stayed very, very still.

  “Good girl,” Mark encouraged. He began to tap lightly against the wet, pink folds of her cunt, gently at first, and then harder. Even though there was no danger of cutting her, the metal striking her delicate flesh had to sting. Taking careful aim, he caught her hooded clit with the square end of the spatula.

  Jaime screamed, her hands clenching once more over her head, but her restraints and her sheer self-will kept her body still, save for the lingering tremble in her limbs. Mark continued to paddle Jaime’s spread cunt until the folds were dark red. Jaime was breathing hard, her chest heaving. In spite of the erotic pain she was experiencing, he could see the glisten of her juices at her entrance.

  Dropping the spatula, he stroked the slick, reddened folds with his fingertips. Using his other hand, he pushed two fingers into the tight, wet heat of her cunt. He could feel the vaginal muscles spasm against them. Jaime was panting, her whole body shaking with the strain of resisting what he was doing to her.

  “Now,” he said, thrusting his fingers like a cock moving in and out of her hot, sticky cunt. “Come for your Master.”

  Jaime groaned, the sound low and then rising up a feminine scale as she climaxed. Her body was sheened with sweat, her mouth a lovely O beneath the black satin of her blindfold. He continued to stroke and finger fuck her as she keened and shuddered, until finally she sagged back against the table, completely limp.

  Mark moved quickly around to the head of the table and removed her blindfold. Jaime didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t move. There was no gentle rise and fall of her chest. Mark leaned closer, his fingers seeking the pulse at her neck. The beat was strong, her skin warm. Relieved, he stood again.

  “Hey,” he said softly, looking down at her with a smile as he stroked her cheek. The aching tenderness he felt at that moment made tears come into his eyes. Blinking them away, he queried, “You alive?”

  After a few seconds, Jaime’s eyes fluttered opened and she inhaled deeply, as if emerging from a trance. She blinked several times as she focused on his face. “No, Sir,” she said, smiling the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. “I think I died and went straight to heaven.”

  Chapter 12

  “Okay, girls. Let’s see how your Dominatrix training is coming along since our last lesson.” Mistress Marjorie stood in front of Jaime and the others—Katie, Lucia, Danielle and Ashley—who were all kneeling at-ease in front of her on yoga mats. Mistress Marjorie was beautifully dressed as always, today wearing a sheer burgundy silk blouse tucked into form-fitting black leather pants, her feet shod in high-heeled black leather mules. Her small, high breasts were clearly visible
beneath the fabric, and the heart-shaped crystal padlock sparkled on her slave collar in the soft light of the dungeon.

  “One thing I’ve learned over the years,” she said as she looked from girl to girl, “is that in order to truly master something, first you listen and pay attention, then you practice, and finally, you teach. Ashley and Lucia, you will be the teachers during this first part of the session. Katie and Danielle, while you’re both adept with the flogger, each of you could use more finesse and control with the cane.” She turned at last to Jaime. “Jaime, with only one session under your belt, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Jaime agreed. While interested from an intellectual standpoint in the mechanics of wielding a whip and a cane, she was especially intrigued with what was planned for later that morning. Mistress Marjorie called it Sadie Hawkins Day at The Enclave, and while Jaime didn’t know what that was, she’d gathered from the other female subs’ excited discussion during grooming that morning that today was a day when things were turned on their heads, and subs became Dommes, at least for a few hours.

  During a training session with Mistress Marjorie earlier in the week, Jaime had been given a large flogger, a single tail and several canes of varying lengths and thicknesses. She’d worked on wrist and arm techniques, using the boxing bag that hung in the corner of the positions training room as her subject.

  “Sometimes,” Mistress Marjorie had explained when beginning the lesson, “as a trained slave, you might be called upon to dominate another sub for the pleasure and amusement of your Masters. As such, you’d better know what the hell you’re doing. During these first two weeks, there isn’t a lot of time to focus on this aspect of your training, but if you’re invited to join The Enclave as a full-time staff slave, you’ll be expected to become proficient with a flogger and a cane, along with basic bondage techniques and the proper use of sex toys on others.”