BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  He let her nipple go but frowned sternly. “Back in position,” he snapped. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

  “It—oh, I…” She pressed her lips together, and then said, “Permission to speak, uh, Sir?”

  Jesus Christ, she was fucking adorable. Keeping his expression neutral, Cam nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “It hurt! That’s why I jerked away. I wasn’t expecting it.”

  Cam shook his head, allowing his mouth to curve into a hint of a smile. “It’s supposed to hurt, silly girl. You’re a sexual masochist, aren’t you? Look around you.” He waved his arm to indicate all the BDSM apparatus and gear in the room. “Where do you think you are? This is a BDSM dungeon. How am I going to assess your pain tolerance if you can’t even submit to a little nipple tweaking? Are you sure you want to be a member of The Power Exchange?”

  “No, I mean, yes! I mean, that is, I do want the assessment. I am a sexual…masochist.”

  She seemed to stumble over the words, and Cam could see this was truly hard for her. What had Jack been thinking, giving him such a complete neophyte to assess? She looked down, but not before he saw tears suddenly pooling in those beautiful eyes. He softened.

  “Marissa,” he said gently. “It’s not too late. You can still back out of this. I’ll just explain to Jack that we know each other outside of the scene and—”

  “No!” she burst out. “I want to stay. Please. Just give me another chance, okay? I can do this. I know I can. Please, Sir?” She looked up at him, her expression beseeching.

  “All right then.” He nodded, barely admitting to himself how delighted and thrilled he was she hadn’t given up. “Lower your arms and step down from the dais. I’ll conduct the physical examination with you lying down. It’ll be a little less stressful for you that way.”

  She nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Sir.”

  He brought her to the exam table, an old ob/gyn table complete with stirrups. She looked askance at the apparatus. That was supposed to make her more comfortable? She turned to Cam. “You want me to…to lie down on that?”

  “Yes,” he said, unable to hide his grin. He let her failure to address him correctly slide for the moment. “I do believe lying down for an exam is easier than standing at attention, but if you disagree, we can always go back to the dais—“

  “No, no, please. This is fine, Sir,” she said unconvincingly, but she didn’t move.

  Letting a little of his impatience enter his tone, Cam snapped, “Go on. Do as you’re told. You know the drill. Take off your shoes. Once you’re on the table, scoot forward, feet in the stirrups.”

  He could actually see her girding herself, her shoulders going back, her chin lifting, her hands curling into fists as she moved to the end of the table and turned so her back was to it. She stepped out of her high heels. In bare feet she only came up to Cam’s collarbone. She would have to lift her head for a kiss, as he dipped his to meet her.

  Idiot. Stop it.

  She hesitated another second, but finally put her palms flat on the table and hoisted herself onto it. She slid back against the smooth leather surface and then scooted forward as instructed, placing her feet in the metal stirrups.

  Cam moved to stand in front of her, positioning himself between her spread legs. Her body was strong and lean, but still had feminine curves in all the right places. He placed his hands lightly on her legs, and he could still feel the tremble in her limbs. He stroked the soft skin of her inner thighs. “Relax,” he soothed. “I am not the enemy, sub girl. I am your Master. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t longing to submit. Submit now to my touch and my command. Close your eyes and breathe slowly.”

  He waited for her eyes to flutter shut. He watched as she dutifully took in a large breath and slowly let it out. “Yes, that’s good,” he encouraged. “In…and out. Slow and easy. Let all resistance flow out of your body. For this moment, you belong to me.”

  He moved his hands along her legs, lightly massaging the firm muscles of her shapely calves, and then moving up again, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin where her legs joined her body, meticulously careful not to touch the delicate, sensual folds of her exposed cunt.

  Not yet.

  He moved around to the side of the table and brought his hands over her stomach and abdomen. Leaning over her, he cupped each breast, and felt the perk of her nipples hardening against his palms. Though he would have enjoyed lingering there quite a bit longer, he lifted his hands to her slender arms and gently massaged her biceps and triceps before sliding down her forearms. He massaged each hand in turn, pressing his thumbs into her palms and stroking each finger until he felt her relax beneath his touch.

  “Lift your arms up over your head.” He was pleased when she obeyed without protest and without opening her eyes. He touched her underarms and she startled slightly, but didn’t wriggle away. Good—not overly ticklish.

  He moved back to stand between her spread knees. Leaning forward once more, he placed his hands around her throat and squeezed lightly. Her eyes flew open, the pupils dilated so wide there was only a ring of blue-green iris rimming them. She gasped, her hands moving toward his. He stopped her with a firm shake of his head. “I didn’t tell you to move. You need to trust me, sub girl. You are safe. Keep your arms over your head.”

  She blew out a shaky breath, but she let her arms fall back into position. He could see that his hands at her throat were a trigger for her, though he surmised by the way she had begun to pant, and the fact that her nipples were hard as pencil erasers, that the trigger was a positive one, even if it was a little scary.

  He tightened his fingers at her throat, though he was careful to keep the pressure light as he gauged her reaction. Her lips parted and she began to tremble again, but her eyes were shining and the whimper she emitted sounded sexual to his trained ears.

  Why not find out for sure?

  Keeping one hand on her throat, he brought the other down between her spread legs. He touched the soft folds of her cunt, which felt damp and hot. Moving his finger carefully between the folds, he sought and found her entrance. The muscles of her cunt seemed to suck his finger inside and then clamp down. She was slippery wet, and as he moved his finger inside her, he applied a little more pressure to her throat. She groaned, her hips arching lewdly upward, which forced his finger deeper into the tight, wet grip of her cunt.

  Standing between her legs as he was, his palm was positioned directly over the hard nubbin of her clit, and he pushed and ground against it, knowing full well what he was doing. She actually squealed, her breathy cry sending a jolt of pure lust directly to Cam’s cock.

  She was shuddering, panting, her hips arched and gyrating as she tried to fuck herself on his hand, and he had never witnessed anything sexier in his life. He wanted her in the worst way. He wanted to rip down his pants and plunge himself into her without mercy or restraint. He wanted to fuck her while keeping his hand tight around her throat, a primordial and powerful display of his dominance and complete control.

  Christ, this had never happened to him before, not like this, not with someone he barely knew, and most especially not with someone from the hospital! Someone he would have to face on Monday, who would have to face him.

  Jesus, what was he doing?

  He pulled both his hands away and stepped back. She lay there panting, her body convulsing as if in aftershock. The skin on her chest, neck and cheeks was mottled pink. Holy shit—she’d orgasmed.

  She was sublime. No other word for it.

  Without realizing what he was doing, Cam brought his juice-slicked fingers to his nose and inhaled the heady aroma of her musk as he stared down at the beautiful woman. He had to get a grip. He had to regain some semblance of self-control. He was supposedly a master trainer, but he was behaving like a rank amateur.

  Marissa opened her eyes and fixed them on his face. He dropped his hand quickly to his side. She bit her lower lip and then said, “Permission to speak, Sir?”

  He n
odded and cleared his throat. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Sir. I didn’t mean to do that. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Offend me? In what way?”

  She shook her head and looked away. “Never mind, Sir. Nothing.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about, but rather than slow the momentum any more than it had been, he said simply, “No problem. You’re very sexually responsive, and that’s a good thing in a submissive. You can get off the table now. It’s time to see how well you handle erotic pain.”

  ~*~

  Marissa was grateful that Cam didn’t make her put the heels back on. She was also grateful for his hand as he led her across the room. Her legs felt wobbly, and her face still burned with embarrassment for having come like that.

  The numbness of her shock at discovering that her trainer was her nurse had started to wear off, but it was replaced by a confusing jumble of terror, longing and pure, unmitigated lust. Didn’t it just figure that she would fall for a gay guy?

  She’d found him attractive at work, but it hadn’t bothered her, not really. She wasn’t stupid enough to waste her time pining after some gay nurse, and he was easy enough to ignore when wearing his scrubs and sensible shoes.

  But seeing him decked out in that muscleman T-shirt and black leather, his usually combed back hair falling into his eyes, his five-o’clock stubble adding a roguish appeal to his features, while she stood naked as a jaybird in front of him—holy cow! She’d nearly fallen down with shock.

  And the way he’d stared at her. Yes, he was clearly taken by surprise too, but his eyes had moved over her hungrily, making her feel even more naked than she was, if that made any sense. At the same time, though, it had felt as if he were caressing her with his gaze, as if he wanted her. But maybe that was just a talent he’d developed as a trainer—a way to make the submissive feel desired, whether male or female.

  She’d told herself she could handle the situation—she wanted to explore this part of herself too much to blow it—and she could have! She was doing okay, that is, until he put his hand on her throat, and his other hand on her cunt.

  Something about that big, masculine hand closing around her neck, bringing with it the knowledge that he had complete power over her, erotic and otherwise, had nearly undone her. Her poor clit was throbbing and when he slipped his fingers into her, that was bad enough. But that thing he did with his palm! Oh god, it was amazing. She wanted him to do it again. And again. And again…

  Where did a gay man learn to touch a woman like that?

  Though she was apprehensive about what came next, she was also excited. Erotic pain. Just the words were enough to send a shiver through her loins. Dana was right—how had she survived this long without being clued in to her submissive and masochistic needs? And if Cam were anywhere near as capable in the erotic pain department as he was in the giving straight girls orgasms department, she was definitely in for an intense experience.

  “I understand from Jack that you’ve responded well to a bare-handed spanking. Have you ever been flogged or caned? Have you ever been whipped?” Cam’s deep, sexy voice pulled Marissa back to the moment.

  Her heart jolted into a higher gear at these questions. “No, Sir. None of those things. Not yet.”

  A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Good answer. Not yet. Well, let’s remedy that, at least in part. I believe the flogger is the next logical step. I have something new I think would be just right.” He moved toward a rack and selected a medium-sized flogger with dozens of black leather tresses dangling from a thick braided handle.

  “I think I’ll keep you standing for this exercise.” He pointed to the polished wooden column that rose from the floor to the ceiling, which Marissa knew from the outer room was called a whipping post. “Hug the post and bring your hands together around it. I’ll cuff your wrists so it’s easier for you to stay in position. I’ll leave your feet free. Since we’re at a point in the assessment where it’s possible you might need it, what’s your safeword?”

  Marissa felt a ridiculous but undeniable sense of pride that she had one. “Lemon,” she said promptly, adding a belated, “Sir.”

  “Lemon,” Cam repeated. “Okay. Stand at the post. I’ll get a new set of cuffs for you.” Marissa moved to the whipping post and carefully pressed her bare body against the cool wood. She wrapped her arms around the thick pole and turned her head so her cheek was resting against it.

  Cam returned with a set of canvas cuffs with Velcro on either end, a ring of metal dangling from the center of each. He put one around each of her wrists and then clipped them together by the rings. Oddly, instead of making her feel more vulnerable because she was now bound, she found herself easing into a softer place, if that was the word. Somehow the wrist cuffs soothed her, and she wished he would also bind her waist and ankles, but she said nothing.

  He moved out of her sight and a moment later she felt his strong body pressed up against hers from behind. He smelled so good! Something woodsy and masculine. She wondered if he had a lover—a partner. Was the guy a sub? Did he cuff him to a whipping post and flog him before making love to him?

  Stop it, she ordered herself sternly. It is what it is.

  “Are you ready, sub girl?” Cam’s mouth was so close she could feel his breath tickling her ear. Though she’d just had a powerful if unexpected orgasm, her perverse cunt, which apparently didn’t know the man leaning against her was gay, perked to instant and throbbing attention.

  “Yes, Sir,” she managed, though in fact she was frightened of the flogger, which had to hurt way more than a mere spanking.

  Cam stepped back. “Good. We begin.” He appeared once more in front of her and held the handle of the flogger close to her face. “Kiss it,” he ordered. “Kiss the flogger as a gesture of your appreciation for what it can give you.”

  Though this sounded a bit contrived to Marissa, she dutifully touched her lips to the soft, fragrant leather.

  He moved again and she could just see him in her peripheral vision. “We’ll start light,” he said, “and gradually increase the intensity. My goal is to see what you can handle, and how you handle it. Feel free to cry out. It’s okay to tell me if it hurts, or to say that you don’t think you can take it anymore, and I’ll listen to you, though I won’t necessarily stop—not until I think it’s time.

  “Regarding your safeword—be very, very careful about using it. It’s an absolute last resort, and should only be used if you sincerely believe I’m not getting the message and the action needs to stop immediately. I should tell you, I’ve never, not once in the six years I’ve been doing this, had a sub need to use their safeword. I will pay attention to your body and your reactions, and all you really need to do is open your spirit to what I’m giving you. That said, you can use the safeword if you think you have to, but know that all action will cease at that moment, and the session will end. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Marissa said, now thoroughly terrified at the thought she was going to be taken to the point of crying out and screaming that she couldn’t take it anymore. Nonetheless, she was determined to see this through. No way was she going to back down now.

  “Okay, then. We begin.”

  The first strokes were little more than the brush of leather whispering over her skin. It almost tickled. After about ten of these, however, the intensity increased a little, and the leather now lightly smacked her skin, though still nowhere near as hard as Tony’s palm had been. This wasn’t so bad. She could totally do this!

  The flogger moved away from her ass now, landing between her shoulder blades. It stung, but at the same time, it felt good. It felt right. The leather moved down her back to her ass, this time striking harder, so the sting matched that on the thinner skin of her back. Next the flogger shifted to the backs of her thighs.

  The first really hard stroke took her by surprise, and Marissa gasped and tensed. “Relax,” Cam said at once. “Flow with t
he pain, not against it.”

  She had no idea what this meant, but Marissa did her best to relax, in spite of the fact she was naked and tethered to a whipping post, while an incredibly sexy gay Dom smacked her ass with a flogger.

  He hit her again, just as hard, and Marissa yelped a little. “Flow with it,” she heard him whisper behind her. He struck her again and again, each time a little harder than the last. It hurt, make no mistake, but at the same time her body seemed to crave the pain, just as it had when Tony had spanked her. Or no, even more. She thrilled to the thuddy caress of the flogger as it crashed against her with the force of an ocean’s wave.

  Yes, her body whispered, yes, yes, yes.

  And then, without warning, he changed his angle so just the tips of the leather strands made contact with her skin. It stung like hell, and ripped her from the near-trance she had entered. The stinging little tips brushed the sides of her body and it felt like a hive of angry bees swarming over her skin.

  “Ow!” she yelled. “Fuck, that hurts!”

  “Take it.” Something in Cam’s tone spoke to something deep inside Marissa’s psyche.

  The panic that had been rising subsided, and she found that, while the whipping still stung, she could bear it. She could take it.

  He resumed the thuddy strokes once more, covering her flesh from thigh to shoulder in a dark, sweet fire of sensation that was nearly as good as, or no, be honest, maybe even better than, sex.

  “Oooooo,” someone moaned, the word charged with eroticism. Vaguely Marissa was aware she was the one making the sound, but she’d lost the capacity to censor or control her reactions. “Oooooo,” she moaned again. There was no more pain, though Cam was flogging her just as hard, if not harder, than before.

  Or, no, that wasn’t right. It did hurt. But it hurt so good. Though she didn’t understand it, the erotic pain, the pleasure, the power, the passion of what this man was doing somehow reached past the reserves built up over a lifetime of holding back the most intimate part of herself. It peeled back layers of control, of fear, of longing, of need, reaching to the very core of Marissa’s being. “Yes,” she whispered, the word a sibilant hiss of pure, raw need. “Yessssssssss…”