BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  Though the place was less than half the size of her apartment in New Jersey, somehow it seemed bigger. Maybe it was because of the large windows on the east and south walls that revealed the rolling hills and woods behind the structure, and gave play each morning to a gorgeous sunrise. Or maybe it was because the only furniture Jordan had acquired so far was a mattress and box spring, two old beanbag chairs and a small kitchen table and two chairs, all of which she’d bought secondhand at a thrift shop.

  The apartment wasn’t that far from the club, another good omen in Jordan’s mind. She arrived at work a little early on Friday evening. After their initial flirtation her first night there, Jordan hadn't seen Donovan. He hadn't come to the club Wednesday or Thursday, apparently having some other obligation. Jordan tried not to speculate about where the professional Dom might be, or who he was with. After all, it was none of her business—she barely knew the guy.

  The dungeon had been somewhat quiet as a result of his absence, with no sexy shows by the Master to draw the attention and admiration of the players and the gawkers alike.

  Jordan changed into her uniform and knocked on Gene’s open office door. He looked up from his laptop with a smile. “Hey, there. Come on in.” Gene waved toward a chair. “What’s up?”

  After greeting him, Jordan said, “I was thinking.” She spoke quickly to keep from losing her nerve. “When Donovan’s out, I wouldn’t mind stepping in. You know—I could handle a public scene or two. Kick up the action a little on his days off.”

  Gene lifted his eyebrows and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Go on.”

  “I was thinking it might add a new dimension to have a Mistress onboard. Not that I need to tell you,” she added, recalling his murmured Yes, Mistress to Annette her first night at the club, “but in my experience there are plenty of male subs eager to scene, and never enough Dommes out there ready to take them on.”

  Gene regarded her for a long moment. Jordan sat quietly, hoping she projected an air of confidence. Finally he said, “The club’s reputation hangs on what the Master does. He’s the reason we’ve made a name for ourselves as more than just another hangout for kinksters to get their rocks off.”

  Jordan nodded. She knew Gene was probably right, but being bathed in the atmosphere of the BDSM club these past couple of nights had left her aching to flex her whip arm and feel the warm press of a sub boy’s lips on her foot as he thanked her for the session. If she got paid in the process, so much the better.

  “Maybe I could do scenes on a smaller scale,” she offered. “We could charge for my scenes and they could take place in one of the private play rooms. I could split the take with the house.”

  “And who would cover for you while you were off playing Pro Domme for fun and profit?”

  Jordan took a breath, aware Gene would probably wonder where the hell she got off offering suggestions after having worked there less than a week. But what the hell, what did she have to lose? “We could hire another waitress? Part time? Don’t you agree it would add a new dimension to the club, having a Mistress on the staff to complement the Master?”

  Gene lifted his hands as if in defeat and laughed. “I have to admire your balls. Not even here a week and already you’re gunning for a promotion.”

  “Oh, well I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s cool. I actually kind of like the idea. But I have to run it by my partner. Donovan will be back tonight. We’ll talk it over and let you know.” He glanced at his watch and stood. “Doors open in an hour. Let’s get to it.”

  ~*~

  Linda lay on her back in a sturdy black mesh hammock, her arms and legs raised high and spread wide, secured in Velcro cuffs dangling from thick rope knotted into bolts in the ceiling. With her spread legs facing the audience, her voluptuous form was positioned to leave nothing to the imagination—her dark gumdrop nipples perking in the center of her large breasts, her shaven pussy exposed between her ample thighs.

  Linda, a highly responsive submissive, was one of Donovan’s favorite scene partners, as she always gave the audience a good show. She was a wonderful pain slut and could orgasm at the drop of a hat, both from pleasure and erotic pain.

  Six red Japanese hot wax drip candles designed especially for BDSM wax play stood in tall brass candlesticks on the side of the stage. A snake of eager volunteers was lined up and waiting, each eager for their chance to drop melted wax on the naked, bound woman. At Donovan’s signal, a dozen or so men and women stepped up onto the stage one at a time. Selecting a candle, they held it over Linda’s body under Donovan’s watchful eye. Linda sighed with each droplet, as if it were a loving caress, rather than a burn on her skin.

  When everyone who wanted to had taken a turn, Donovan lit a new candle, this one white, a nice contrast to her dark skin, which was the color of rich, creamy chocolate. He held the candle over Linda’s breasts, letting the hot wax thoroughly coat her nipples before dripping a trail down her body as she twitched, gasped and sighed.

  A few of the more daring volunteers had let some of the red wax drip onto her spread labia. Donovan held the white candle close above her cunt and let the melted liquid fall in hot splashes on the tender folds. Linda squealed and yelped as Donovan coated her cunt with white wax. He could feel the yearning in the crowd—some of them longing to feel the searing, sensual burn of the wax, others aching to inflict it.

  Glancing out at the audience as he worked, Donovan saw Jordan standing in the back of the crowd, a fist to her mouth, her eyes wide as saucers. Did that look of longing in her eyes stem from a desire to do what he was doing, or to experience it?

  He grinned inwardly at the memory of her hot denial when he’d suggested she might like to submit to his dominance. Me thinks the lady doth protest too much had come to mind, though he hadn't called her on it at the time.

  He’d been looking forward to seeing her the next night and upping the ante of their flirtation. If he could have gotten out of his obligation to run the two-day seminar for a power exchange group in Los Angeles, he would have done it in a heartbeat. Well, he was back now, and damned if the girl wasn’t glued to the stage, watching his every move with hungry eyes.

  Let’s see what you think of this, Mistress Jordan. Setting the candle carefully back in its holder, Donovan selected a single tail whip from the rack. “Slave Linda,” he said in a voice loud enough for the spectators gathered around the stage to hear, “are you ready for me to remove the wax from your body?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Linda replied in a breathy rasp.

  He held the whip so she could see it. “Shall I use this to whip it away, slave girl?”

  “Oh, yes, please, Master. Please.” Linda’s dark eyes were shining, her body trembling in anticipation.

  The room was silent as Donovan positioned himself beside the bound woman. He focused first on her breasts, alternating between the two mounds as he flicked at the hardened wax, causing it to crack and chip away with each stinging stroke.

  When he could, Donovan stole glances at Jordan, who remained on the edge of the crowd, her body leaning toward the stage as if pulled by some kind of magnetic force. He still couldn’t decide from her expression if she wanted to do what he was doing, or have it done to her.

  Returning his focus to the luscious naked woman bound before him, Donovan flicked the tail down Linda’s body, sending bits of red and white wax flying over the stage. Linda writhed and moaned, sweat glistening beneath her arms and on her forehead, her eyes squeezed closed. Donovan leaned close, murmuring for her ears only, “Are you okay, Linda? Do we continue? We can stop now if you’ve had enough. You did great.” He stroked her cheek. Her skin was fever-hot.

  Linda opened her eyes, fixing them on his face. “More,” she begged in a throaty voice. “I want more.”

  Nodding, Donovan returned his focus to her cunt. He struck her between the legs with the tip of the whip, shattering the wax, which fell in pieces to the stage. Linda squealed, a long, peeling sound that
echoed through the room. He continued to flick her with the whip, keeping the sting purposefully light on her tender flesh.

  Linda’s entire body began to shake, her toes curling, her fingers gripping tightly to the ropes above the cuffs. “Oh, god, oh yes, oh please, oh fuck, oh yesssssss!” she cried, her chest and neck flushing red as she orgasmed to the stroke of the single tail.

  Finally she lolled her head to the side, her mouth agape, her hands limp, and Donovan dropped the whip. The room erupted into applause and raucous whoops of approval. Looking to the front of the crowd, Donovan nodded toward Linda’s partner, Rose, who leapt up the three steps and raced to Linda’s side, wrapping her arms around the naked woman.

  “You did so good,” Rose crooned, kissing Linda’s face over and over between her words. “My sexy slave girl, you did so good.”

  Several men also joined them on the stage, helping to lower the hammock and release Linda from her bonds. Rose knelt beside her lover and spread a special salve over her skin, spending extra time on her labia, as Linda moaned and sighed her approval.

  Donovan glanced out again to gauge Jordan’s reaction, but she was gone.

  ~*~

  If she’d thought she was busy the first three nights, they were nothing compared to Friday. Jordan barely had a chance to breathe from the minute the club opened. Her one consolation was that the busier she became, the more tips found their way into her apron.

  She’d been startled with just how thrilled she was to learn Donovan would be back and doing a show that night. During her break, she’d slipped immediately into the dungeon to catch his first scene, trying to tell herself her interest was professional—she could learn a few things from the Master in case the partners agreed her idea to work as a pro Domme was a good one.

  She’d embarrassed herself by gasping along with the woman on the stage as the melted wax dropped on her spread pussy. Thank goodness no one around her had noticed—everyone was riveted to the scene in front of them. Watching him wield the single tail with such precision and erotic skill had unnerved her, and she had fled, confused by her reactions and desires.

  It’s just because he’s so good at what he does, she told herself as she handed an order across the bar to Annette. It’s not that you want him or want to experience for yourself what he does, it’s that you want to be him. But her hands were shaking as she set the drinks down in front of customers.

  She found herself glad to be so busy. It left her little time to obsess about the man so effortlessly controlling the crowd in the dungeon beyond the bar.

  Finally it was time for last call. Donovan and Gene were working in the dungeon, cleaning the equipment and storing toys while Annette did her bar work. Tommy helped Jordan bring the remaining dishes to the kitchen and wipe down the tables.

  When they were done it was nearly three in the morning. Jordan was beat, but as she had each night so far, she experienced a kind of fierce satisfaction she’d never felt at the bank.

  Frank, the cook, and Tommy were the first to leave, followed soon after by Gene and Annette. Jordan was disappointed Gene hadn't approached her about her idea, but she held her tongue. Probably he hadn't had time to talk it over yet with Donovan.

  Jordan could have followed Annette when she changed, and walked out to the parking lot with Gene and Annette, but instead she lingered, nursing a glass of ice water at the bar, all too aware of Donovan, who was still moving around in the dungeon.

  When the back door clicked shut, Donovan appeared in the doorway of the bar. “Oh,” he said, acting surprised. “You still here?”

  “Like you didn’t know,” Jordan retorted with a grin, lifting her chin. What was it about this guy that made her act like a teenager?

  Coming into the room, Donovan lifted the hinged section of the bar and stepped behind it. Taking a glass, he scooped some ice and squirted cola into it. He raised the glass, tilting his head back as he drank. Jordan found herself staring at his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. She tried to place a slave collar around his throat in her mind’s eye, but the image refused to materialize.

  Setting down the empty glass, Donovan hoisted himself up over the bar, dropping his legs beside Jordan and slipping down onto the stool beside her. Jordan stiffened, readying herself for him to give her a hard time over her reaction while watching the wax scene earlier that evening.

  But to her surprise he said, “Gene mentioned the idea of you doing some private scenes with paying customers. We need to talk it over more, but I’m onboard with the idea in theory, provided you know what you’re doing.”

  He was sitting close to her, his shoulder nearly touching hers. Along with the delicious scent of leather, she could smell his skin, an earthy combination of sweat and soap with a touch of something citrusy. She found herself leaning into the hard muscle of his shoulder and it was an act of sheer will to pull away.

  Jordan reached for her water glass, holding it between them like a shield. “I’ve been playing the club scene in New York City for about five years,” she said. “Like I told Gene, I know my way around a whip.”

  Donovan turned on the stool to face her. “What’re you doing tomorrow afternoon, say around four?”

  “Around four?” Jordan echoed stupidly. Was he asking her out?

  “Yeah. I’m thinking we could meet here. I have a good friend who happens to be a serious pain slut and is always up for BDSM play. You could give me a demonstration of your skill set as a Domme—how you handle a whip, how you set up a scene, aftercare and the like. You can bring your own gear, or we have a full arsenal of toys available here for you to use. That work for you?”

  “Yes. That works for me.” Jordan’s mind leaped forward, already planning various scenes in her head with which to impress the Master. She would use a ball stretcher, adding weights in increments to either side of the thick metal ring. She would have the pain slut bend over, legs spread, while she popped his ass and hanging balls with a single tail. With the ball stretcher still in place, she would truss his cock and balls with thin, strong rope and tie the rope to a hook in the wall or ceiling. She would warn him to stay very still as she flogged him, if he valued his family jewels.

  “Excellent,” Donovan replied, pulling Jordan out of her fantasy. “Give me your cell number. I just need to confirm with Rita. If she’s available, we’ll meet here tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Wait,” Jordan blurted, confused. “What? Rita?”

  Donovan lifted his eyebrows, his mouth curving in a sardonic smile. “Her name is Rita, yes. Is there a problem?”

  “Yes, I mean, no. That is, I wasn’t expecting a woman. The idea I discussed with Gene was for male subs.” She started to say she’d only ever dommed men, and had zero interest in women, but stopped herself, not wanting to lose the opportunity to become more than a waitress at the club.

  Donovan’s smile had edged into a full out grin. “I’m not setting you up on a date, Jordan. This is an audition—a chance to show your skills as a Domme. What difference could it possibly make if the sub is male or female?” The grin faded. “Now,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You want to do this, or not?”

  He was right. What difference did it make? This wasn’t casual play at a club designed to get her off. She would be offering a professional service. Admittedly, CBT was out, but she could still show Donovan she knew her way around rope and leather, and understood the psyche of a sub and knew how to give them what they wanted, and even better, what they needed.

  She shook her head, smiling. “No, of course, you’re right. It makes no difference. Yes, I want to do it.” Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out the order pad and scrawled her cell phone number on it. Tearing off the sheet, she handed it to Donovan.

  As he took it, their fingers brushed, his touch sending an unexpected jolt of something like electricity through her fingertips. She pulled her hand back, startled, and only just stopped herself from putting her fingers to her lips.

  Oh shit, she thought
with an inward groan. I’m falling for a Dom.

  Chapter 4

  Jordan looked seriously hot in the black satin corset that accentuated her curves. Her black leather pants molded like a second skin to slender legs and a cute little ass. Velvet ribbons were laced in a vertical row of X’s along the front of the corset, ending in a bow just between her breasts. Donovan’s fingers actually itched with the desire to pluck the bow loose and let her breasts tumble free.

  Down boy.

  Donovan willed away the hard-on that was threatening. He was here to observe, nothing more. And so far, so good. Jordan had arrived a few minutes after Rita, and when Donovan introduced the two of them, Jordan pointed to her stiletto-clad feet and said in a haughty but at the same time sexy voice, “Greet me properly, slave girl.” Rita had dropped at once to her knees and kissed the top of Jordan’s pretty feet.

  Before meeting that afternoon, Jordan and Donovan had a long telephone conversation regarding Rita’s limits, likes and dislikes so Jordan could jump right in with the scene. Donovan had been impressed by Jordan’s questions and observations, all of which showed she knew her way around a dungeon and had a good understanding of what made submissives tick. Of course he still planned to pay close attention during the actual session. If they did end up hiring Jordan to provide private scenes for club members, he wanted to be damn sure she knew what she was doing.

  Jordan spoke to the woman kneeling at her feet. “Tell me your safeword, Rita.”

  “Red light, Mistress.”

  “Very good,” Jordan replied, her eyes briefly meeting Donovan’s before returning to look down at the woman kneeling before her. “The Master has told me of your limits, your passions and your fears. I am going to push your sensual envelope, Rita. I want to take you to the very edge of what you think you can handle, and if you prove yourself worthy, I’ll help you move past it.” There was power in Jordan’s voice and a confidence Donovan hadn't heard before.