BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  Cam held out his hand and she unclasped her hands and placed one in his. He led her up to the finished attic. Instead of the usual boxes and suitcases, there was a St. Andrew’s cross, a spanking bench, a kind of chain and pulley mechanism hanging from the ceiling, a rack filled with whips, floggers, canes and paddles and, in the corner, a camp cot with a pillow and a neatly folded stack of blankets on top of it. The floor had been covered with a wood laminate that gave the appearance of hardwood. In another corner stood a small sink and a toilet, partially hidden by a partition.

  Small, high windows on two of the four walls let the afternoon sunlight into the space. Beneath one of the windows there was an old end table with several dozen candles on it, some of them partially burnt down. Marissa’s imagination immediately shifted into overdrive as she thought about the women Cam must have brought here over the years.

  “Stand at attention, there.” Cam pointed to a thick square of carpet set in the center of the room beneath the pulley and chains that hung from the ceiling. Marissa moved into position, her heart thumping. Cam came up to her and stood close. She could smell the scent of his sandalwood aftershave as he leaned down to kiss her lips. She started to reach for him, but he stepped back with a shake of his head.

  “I didn’t tell you to move. You will not make assumptions, slave M. Nor will you take liberties. You will do as you are told, and nothing else. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Marissa breathed.

  He reached for her breasts, capturing her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and twisting them, lightly at first, and then harder so she winced. In spite of the pain, or no, because of it, she felt a gush of desire throb through her sex, and a small moan escaped her lips.

  He let go of her nipples and reached for her throat with one hand, the other sliding down over her mons. Gripping her pubic hair, he tugged lightly at it, while his other hand tightened at her throat. “To be a submissive sex slave is to be completely accessible to your Master. Nothing shielded, nothing hidden. If you are sincere in your wish to belong to me, I will require that you are shaved smooth at all times.”

  He wasn’t asking her, she realized. He was informing her this was a condition. Though only a few weeks before Marissa would have refused outright, she found herself excited by the prospect, even eager. “Yes, Sir. I want that. I want to be fully accessible to my Master.”

  “Are you ready now, slave M?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she answered without hesitation, surprising herself with the strength of her conviction.

  “Excellent. I have everything we need under the sink. You will lie back on a stool and remain perfectly still while I groom you.”

  He brought a high stool with a wide, round seat and set it down. He went to the cot and returned carrying a towel, which he draped over the stool. He directed Marissa to perch on it, legs spread, feet anchored on the rungs.

  Cam went to the sink in the corner of the room and turned on the water. Reaching into the cabinet beneath it, he pulled out various items, including a large plastic bowl, which he filled with water and a squirt of liquid soap. He returned to her with the water bowl, a second smaller bowl, a disposable razor, a pair of scissors and a small can of shaving cream.

  “Reach behind you and grip the back legs of the stool,” Cam said.

  Marissa reached back as directed, feeling at once lewd and sexy with her breasts thrust forward by the arch of her back, and her pussy on display. She tried to stay very still as the sharp scissors snipped around her privates. Cam worked quickly but carefully, dropping tufts of pubic hair into the empty bowl. When he was done, Cam lifted a washcloth out of the water bowl, wrung it out and placed it over her mons. He rubbed the cloth gently over her, lingering at her clit, which had already swollen and hardened while he was trimming her. After a few moments, he dropped the washcloth back into the bowl.

  He shook the can of shaving cream and squirted a small amount onto his palm. He spread it with his fingers, lingering teasingly at her labia until she began to pant with desire. Ignoring her, he took the disposable razor and pulled away its plastic wrapper. He worked with sure, careful strokes, moving the fingers of his left hand in the wake of the razor until he was satisfied. When he was done, he took the washcloth again from the sudsy, warm water, wrung it into the bowl and then gently washed away any remaining shaving cream.

  He stepped back to look her over. “Beautiful,” he said, the admiration clear in his tone and in his expression. “You’re like a work of art.” He met her eyes and smiled. “You may sit upright. I want to show you the full effect.”

  He moved quickly toward the back wall, returning with a full-length mirror, which he placed in front of Marissa. She stared at the image of her denuded sex, fascinated and surprised. She had expected something along the lines of a plucked chicken, and instead saw the petals and folds of an exotic flower in varying shades of pink, darkening to red in her lust.

  Cam crouched in front of her and placed a hand on either thigh, forcing her legs wider apart. He leaned toward her sex and touched her hooded clit with the tip of his tongue. Marissa blew out a shuddery breath as he drew his tongue in a long, smooth line between her labia.

  Cam lifted his head to look at her face. “Don’t come. You do not have permission to come. Understood?”

  Marissa nodded, and whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

  His warm, wet tongue felt like heaven as it glided over and between her labia and teased in a swirling circle around her clit. His kisses felt different—more intense, more sensitive—without the cover of pubic hair. Marissa knew at this rate she wasn’t going to last long. When he pressed a single finger into her wetness, Marissa cried out involuntarily, “Oh god! Fuck me. Please.”

  “Shh. No talking,” Cam admonished, before ducking back to lick and suckle her.

  Marissa felt the uncontrollable rise of an orgasm as Cam relentlessly licked and fingered her. “I can’t,” she gasped. “I’m going to, please, oh, Sir. I can’t help, oh…”

  An orgasm thundered over and through her and she began to shake on the stool. Cam gripped her thighs harder, never letting up, though he had to be aware she was coming. She moaned, the sound deep and guttural in her throat, and then rising to a high, piercing wail she was powerless to suppress.

  When he finally pulled back, she fell back against the stool and would have toppled off it if Cam hadn’t been there to pull her into his arms. Still cradling her, he sank to the carpet with her in his lap. “Naughty, naughty girl,” he said into her ear. He chuckled. “If you were properly trained, I would have to whip you for that transgression, slave girl. But I’ll cut you some slack, since this is your first time in my dungeon.”

  Marissa, her breath returning somewhat to normal, looked up at Cam. “I’m sorry,” she began in a rush. “I didn’t mean to. It was just so intense. I was trying not to but—”

  Cam silenced her with a finger to her lips. “Shh, it’s okay. I don’t need to hear any excuses. You did what you did. There’s no getting around that. And while I’m not going to whip you, you are going to be punished.”

  “Punished?” Marissa whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

  “Perhaps punished is too strong a word in this instance,” Cam said. “Corrected might be the better term.” He pushed her gently from his lap and got to his feet. “I’m thinking some nice hot wax melted onto that smooth, disobedient cunt of yours will be a good reminder in the future of what happens to slave girls who come without permission. Have you ever had hot wax dropped on your labia?”

  Marissa felt suddenly faint, and she reached instinctively to cover herself with her hands. “On my labia?” she echoed.

  “Answer the question.”

  “No. No, Sir. Isn’t that dangerous?”

  Cam shook his head. “Not with the right candles. It will scald a bit—leave you a little tender perhaps, but no lasting harm. As I say, a good reminder. We’ll use the spanking bench for this. You will lie on your back, ass on the edge
of the bench, feet planted firmly on the ground on either side, legs spread. I’ll put a cushion under your ass so you can offer your cunt more easily.”

  Again, he wasn’t asking—he was instructing, and Marissa found herself getting to her feet and walking toward the bench. She waited while he brought a towel and a cushion from the cot. He placed the cushion on the bench and draped the towel over it. “Go on,” he said, pointing to the bench. Marissa lay down, her pussy still gently throbbing from the orgasm, her heart fluttering wildly.

  Cam left her and returned a moment later with a fat red candle on a small china plate, a box of matches beside it. He placed this on the floor beside the bench and knelt next to her. He reached for her face and gently stroked her cheek as he gazed into her eyes. “Do you trust me, slave M?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Marissa replied without hesitation.

  “Good. I promise never to give you reason to doubt that trust.” He picked up a small bottle and squirted something into his hand. “This oil will make the wax removal easier afterward.” He rubbed the oil over her mons and labia, his touch sending electric currents of desire through her.

  “Control yourself,” he said, though he was smiling. He lit the candle and held it over her groin. “You will keep your legs spread and your cunt offered up to me. You will not move out of position. You may cry out, and if you are in true distress, you may use your safeword. But I think you can handle this. In fact, I know you can. This particular wax is made for this kind of play. It will hurt, but it’s not dangerous. Remember, this is just a correction as we begin to work on orgasm control.”

  He held the candle over her spread sex and Marissa tensed. Though she believed him that it was safe, she clenched her hands into fists as she waited with anxious anticipation. She squealed as the first hot drop landed on her smooth mons, more out of fear than actual pain. When wax landed on the tender folds of her inner labia, her cry of pain was real. But she could do this. She could and she would. For Master Cam. For herself. She arched her hips upward in silent offering.

  “You make me proud,” Cam said softly. There followed a steady stream of splashing hot liquid until her mons and labia were covered in the cooling red wax.

  “Thank me for the correction, slave,” Cam said when he was done.

  “Thank you, Sir,” Marissa replied, surprised to realize how much she meant it.

  Using a small metal comb, more oil and a wet cloth, Cam easily removed the dried wax, leaving Marissa’s smooth cunt tender, but otherwise none the worse for wear. Finally he reached for her hands and helped her to her feet.

  “I think that’s enough for a while. Let’s go downstairs. I have something I want to show you.” He led her down to the second floor, retrieving the pile of her clothing and tucking it under his arm as they moved down the hall. He stopped at his bedroom and said, “What I want to show you is in here.”

  He led her to the bed and pushed her gently down. Quickly pulling off his clothing, he climbed naked onto the bed beside her.

  “What did you want to show me?” Marissa giggled, snuggling against him.

  “How much I love you,” Cam replied, pulling her into his arms.

  Chapter 8

  One night as they lay in bed together after lovemaking, Cam lifted himself onto an elbow. “Hey, I almost forgot to tell you—Jack and his partner, Jessie, are having a piercing ceremony to cement their bond as Master and slave. Jack has invited Dorian Martin, a master piercer and body artist, to do the honors. I thought you might like to observe. Dana and Tony will be there. What do you think? Would you like to go?”

  “A piercing ceremony?” Marissa tensed at the thought, at the same time experiencing a sudden, unexpected thrill of longing.

  Cam nodded and smiled. “A ritualistic piercing can be a symbol of ownership—of submission. Who knows”—he shrugged—“we might want to look into it for ourselves when you’re ready.” He pulled her into his arms, whispering into her ear, “A lovely little gold ring on your labia—a sweet, private reminder that you’re cherished and owned.”

  “Me? My labia?” Marissa squeaked, pulling back to look into her Dom’s face.

  Cam laughed gently, his beautiful blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Only if and when you’re ready, darling. That’s never something I would demand of you. It would have to be something you asked of me.”

  “Oh.” Conflicting feelings of relief and dismay moved through Marissa. Sometimes she just wanted to be told what to do. Isn’t that what Masters were supposed to do? Even as she thought this, she knew Cam’s approach was the correct one. She understood Cam had no desire to run roughshod over his submissive, taking her power from her, but rather he continually sought to engage her, while always respecting her physically, intellectually and psychologically.

  Marissa had come a long way since fantasizing about the kind of submission Master Mark demanded on the online BDSM site. What Cam offered was real, and while it required Marissa to respond with courage and grace, it was worth all the effort she put into it, and then some.

  For now she decided to focus on the invitation itself. It was gratifying to realize she was becoming an accepted member of the BDSM community, one invited to events such as this. She leaned again into Cam, who wrapped his arms around her. “I’d love to come,” she said, resting her check against his warm chest. “I look forward to meeting Jessie.”

  The next morning at the gym, Dana and Marissa agreed they would meet after work to go shopping for new outfits for the occasion. “I’ll help you pick just the right thing for a night at Jack’s place,” Dana said with a grin.

  Thinking back to the elaborate and extremely revealing outfits Dana liked to wear to the club, Marissa laughed. “Oh, I just bet you will. I get the final say, though, agreed?”

  They went to Dana’s favorite BDSM boutique in the Village. The small space was filled with racks of leather bustiers, corsets and dresses. Boots and high heels lined the floor around the perimeter of the room, and BDSM gear and paraphernalia hung from hooks along the walls, hefty price tags dangling from their handles.

  Dana selected leather bras with the cups cut out, crotchless leather pants, and miniskirts so short they would barely cover a person’s hips, much less the rest of them, each time announcing the item would be perfect for Marissa. Marissa chuckled and shook her head at each outrageous suggestion.

  “Come on, Marissa,” Dana urged. “You’re not a newbie anymore. Quit with all the modesty crap, will ya? Oooh!” she interrupted herself, moving toward a pair of thigh-high boots with six-inch heels. “These are perfect!”

  “If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll choose a few items on my own,” Marissa said with a laugh. “You just focus on you.”

  Reluctantly Dana agreed, after extracting a promise from Marissa to “step outside the box”.

  Marissa finally settled on her outfit—a long black velvet skirt that hugged her hips, with slits on either side to mid-thigh, and matching black velvet open-toed high heels. She paired the skirt with a low cut black leather corset with thick satin sashes crisscrossing in front and back. The salesperson pulled them so tight Marissa could barely breathe, but she had to admit as she regarded herself in the full-length three-way mirror that the effect was stunning.

  “Wow!” Dana enthused when she saw Marissa. “You’re right. You can do your own shopping. I was a fool to ever doubt it,” she quipped with a grin. She had chosen a black leather miniskirt and the thigh-high boots she’d had her eye on, along with a sheer white silk blouse beneath which her bare, perfect breasts proudly jutted.

  Marissa had to admit, she hadn’t had this much fun shopping for clothing in years—if ever. She couldn’t wait to wear her sexy new outfit. She felt like a caterpillar just coming out of its cocoon, ready and eager to spread her wings.

  Tuesday night found Marissa jumpy with excitement and nervous energy. As they rode the subway from Cam’s home in Queens to Jack’s Chelsea apartment, Marissa looked around at the other passengers, w
ondering what they’d think if they had any idea that this handsome man beside her in his unassuming white knit shirt, faded jeans and sneakers would soon transform into a sexy Master, his lean, muscular body clad in a black leather vest and leather pants soft and smooth as a second skin.

  How marvelous to think this man—this kind, compassionate nurse, this sexy, thrilling Dom—loved her, Marissa! Another bit of lyric from one of her grandmother’s favorite songs drifted into her mind, this one from Westside Story—and I pity any girl who isn’t me tonight.

  The doorman at Jack’s apartment building seemed to know Cam. He nodded and smiled as he pulled the door open for them. “You can go on up, sir,” he said, doffing his uniform cap. When they arrived at Jack’s fifth floor apartment, a slender man in his early thirties opened the door. He had a shock of red hair and narrow, merry green eyes over a small, freckled nose. He was shirtless, his lower half clad in loose white linen pants held up by a drawstring at the waist. His feet were bare. A thin collar of dark green leather with a gold padlock dangling from an O-ring at its center circled his neck.

  The man stepped back to welcome them in and, after exchanging a hug with the man, Cam turned to Marissa. “Marissa, allow me to present Jesse O’Brien, Jack’s partner and sub.”

  Not Jessie, a woman.

  Jesse. A man.

  Marissa took a second to readjust her brain as she realized her error. She hoped her initial puzzlement hadn’t shown on her face. She held out her hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Jesse.”

  Jesse took her hand in his. “Likewise, I’m sure.” He spoke in a soft, Southern drawl. Everything about him was a contrast to the dark, powerful presence that was Jack, but as Marissa well knew, opposites often attracted. “Master Jack’s just making a pitcher of Sangria,” Jesse continued, shutting the front door behind them. “Dana and Tony haven’t arrived yet.”