BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  Jesus god, he wanted this woman. As much to distract himself from the nearly uncontrollable urge to touch the wetness he was sure he’d find between her legs, he again picked up the cane.

  He warmed her skin, moving more quickly this time to a level of intensity he knew was hard for her to take, certain, though, that it wasn’t too much. He felt in perfect control now, master of his game, ready to take her where she needed to go.

  He stepped to the side, drawing his arm back and letting the cane crack against her skin, this time leaving not just a line, but a rising welt.

  Jordan screamed.

  Power surged through Donovan’s body, pooling in his throbbing cock. At the same time, a deep, fierce tenderness filled him, and he wanted in the worst way to take this trembling, sexy woman into his arms. He wanted to kiss away the pain he himself had inflicted only a moment before. He was surprised by the intensity of his own reaction with a woman he barely knew. He needed to rein in his feelings.

  Focus on the scene.

  “What was it you said to Rita, Jordan? You wanted to take her to the edge of what she thought she could handle, right? And if she proved herself worthy”—he struck her again, adding a second welt—“you would help her move past it, to a place of true submission, true surrender.” Jordan’s hands were clenched into fists over the cuffs. “Let me do that for you,” Donovan urged. “Let me take you where you’ve always needed to go.”

  He set down the cane and reached for a long-handled riding crop. He smacked the looped rectangle of leather against Jordan's ass, a steady thwacking against one cheek and then the other, the sound punctuated by her breathy, mewling cries.

  Her ass was a lovely cherry red now, with several beautiful welts on each cheek. Her breathing had deepened and slowed, the panic easing from her body as she began to surrender at last.

  He reached once more for the flogger, and began to flog her body from ass to shoulder and back again in a steady rain of stinging leather. She groaned, a guttural, primal sound, utterly feminine and deeply arousing. It was all Donovan could do to stay focused, but he managed through an act of sheer will.

  He continued to flog her, even harder than before. Jordan moaned softly with each stroke. Her head had fallen back. Her lips were parted, her eyes closed. Her fingers were unfurled, her body limp, though held fast in its bonds.

  “Yes,” Donovan whispered in awe, thrilled as he always was by a submissive’s total surrender. He continued for a few minutes longer, slowly easing the stroke of leather until it was back to a gentle caressing swish, soft as butter against her heated skin.

  Finally he set the flogger down and released Jordan from her bonds. “You did it, Jordan. I knew you could.”

  ~*~

  Jordan drifted in an altered state—not quite conscious and yet at the same time keenly aware of what was going on around her. She felt a deep sense of utter wellbeing. The feeling was unfamiliar and yet welcome, as if she’d been seeking it without knowing it, unaware of its lack until this moment. She let herself fall back into Donovan’s arms, as trusting as a baby that he would catch her.

  He carried her across the dungeon into one of the private aftercare rooms. He settled on the sofa and gently deposited Jordan beside him. She would rather have stayed in his arms, curling into him like a child as he held her close.

  No longer in the safe confines of Donovan’s strong embrace, some of the sensual lethargy that had settled over Jordan’s senses like a soft, snug blanket began to burn away and she suddenly remembered she was naked. There was a folded sheet on the cushion beside her, and Jordan reached for it, wrapping it around herself.

  The skin on her back and especially her ass was still burning from the extended session. The experience had been at once scary and powerful. She had to admit she had a new level of respect for the subs who knelt so willingly at her feet. By the same token, she was deeply shaken by her own reaction to the scene, though she couldn’t yet tease out what part of it was simple sexual attraction to the sexy man seated beside her, and what part meant more.

  “So,” Donovan said, pulling her from her reverie. “You get it now, huh? You see there’s more to this whole D/s thing than maybe you thought?”

  Jordan turned to face him. “I have to admit, Donovan, I learned a lot today. It was quite an, um, intense experience.” She knew she wasn’t expressing herself very well but she didn’t have the vocabulary, nor if she were honest, the inclination to share her tumultuous feelings with the Master. Instead she asked with a nervous laugh, “So. Do I have the job?”

  Donovan shook his head, smiling wryly. “Yes. Now that I’m confident you’ve at least had a taste of what it means to submit at the hand of another, I feel comfortable offering you the position.” His tone was light, but she sensed something else simmering beneath the surface. She knew it was just a matter of time before they got to the greater issue at play here. She felt a knot in her stomach. She wasn’t yet ready to admit her feelings on the matter, not even to herself.

  Though she didn’t know him well, she knew better than to think Donovan would let her off the hook. And sure enough, he followed with, “Now, as to that bet of ours.” He let the sentence hang.

  “Um,” Jordan said nervously, stalling for time. “What were the terms again? You had this crazy idea I’m secretly a sub at heart, right? I think we can rule that out pretty quickly.”

  “Come again?” Donovan made an exaggerated expression of confusion. “That wasn’t the bet, though I would argue with you, even so.”

  “What do you mean, you’d argue?” Jordan retorted, feeling some of her old dominant fire returning. “Subs get off on the pain. I endured it, yeah. But I definitely did not get off on it.”

  “Masochists get off on the pain,” Donovan corrected. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, even for them. It’s in how you process the pain, how you experience it. Which brings us back to the actual terms of the bet.”

  Jordan stiffened, waiting, aware she didn’t really have a leg to stand on, and reeling from what this could possibly mean about herself. Her whole notion of herself as a Domme had been turned on its head with one session with the Master.

  Donovan seemed to sense her capitulation, though she hadn't responded directly. “The terms of the bet,” he continued, “were that this process would help you uncover the submissive part of your psyche that I’ve sensed in you from the first time I saw you watching me on the stage.”

  He turned to face her, capturing her gaze with his brilliant blue eyes. “Can you honestly look me in the eye right now and tell me you weren’t affected, deeply affected, both physically and emotionally, by what just took place between us?”

  Flames of heat moved over Jordan’s cheeks and throat. She felt at once hot and cold, as if she were coming down with a fever. A part of her wanted to deny it—to refute his allegations, to pretend she hadn't felt what she’d felt, hadn’t been shaken to her very core by the depth of her own reactions.

  As if reading her mind, Donovan reached for her hand, taking it gently into his own. “It’s not a sign of weakness, Jordan. Surely you see that? To submit takes great courage. I felt your courage today. You were afraid, but you rose above the fear. You accepted the challenge and embraced it.”

  Jordan found herself unable to speak, all the sassy, smartass retorts she should have had at the ready completely wiped from her repertoire. She stared mutely at the handsome Dom, wrapped in his spell as surely as a fly in a spider’s web.

  Finally he let go of her hand and stood, breaking the mood between them. Jordan leaned back, as if suddenly released, and breathed a long sigh of relief.

  Donovan shoved his hands into his pockets, cocking his head in her direction. “I take it from your silence that you agree with me, Jordan. I have won the bet, and I fully intend that you will fulfill its terms. Today was just a taste of what I plan to give you. Tomorrow is Sunday. I will expect you at my house no later than one o’clock. You can pack a bag if you want, but you won't
need much.” He flashed an evil grin, his blue eyes sparkling.

  He held out a hand and Jordan took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. The sheet still wrapped around her body, she made her way to the changing room, where she’d left her clothing in a neat pile on a bench. As she pulled on her things the full import of what had just happened really began to sink in.

  If today was just a taste, what in the world could she expect from two solid days and nights at the mercy of the most compelling Master she’d ever met?

  “Holy cow, Jordan Anne Heller,” she muttered aloud. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?”

  Chapter 6

  Jordan stood at the front door of a small two-story white house with green shutters flanking the windows, her wheeled suitcase beside her. Excitement and uncertainty warred inside her. She must have been temporarily insane when she agreed to the bet. What the hell had she signed herself up for? If she were honest, though, brutally honest, this was about more than the bet. The Master was super sexy. He had to be attracted to her to even make such a bet in the first place. What had he said? Forty-eight hours as his personal sex slave. Not just his slave, but his sex slave.

  A little shiver of erotic anticipation moved its way through Jordan’s body at the thought of Donovan making love to her, but did she really have to go to such an extreme to get him into bed?

  Okay, back to the brutal honesty. There was more going on than just sexual attraction. Whatever had happened the day before had unlocked a door hidden deep inside Jordan she hadn't even been aware was there. Though she didn’t necessarily agree with Donovan’s characterization of her feelings as submissive, her curiosity had certainly been piqued. Not one to turn her back on new experiences, she would push forward and learn more about this part of herself. If nothing else, it would make her a better Domme.

  That didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous. Though it had been a very busy and exhausting Saturday night at the club, and she hadn’t made it home to her apartment until after three, she’d been wide awake by ten, too keyed up by the thought of what was in store to fall back asleep. She’d waited until noon to text Donovan, not wanting to disturb him before then. He’d texted back immediately with his address, telling her to come on over when she was ready.

  She looked for the doorbell. Not seeing one, she lifted the heavy brass doorknocker and let it fall against the door. As if he’d been standing just on the other side, the door swung open and there stood Donovan, his dark hair wet, his cheeks smooth from a recent shave. He had on a light blue T-shirt that made his eyes look even bluer than usual. He wore black jeans and his feet were bare.

  “Hi,” Jordan said, feeling suddenly shy.

  “Come in, Jordan.” Donovan stepped back, gesturing her inside. She found herself in a small foyer. She could see a living room through the arched opening to her right. At the back of the foyer there was a stairway that led to the second floor.

  Donovan eyed Jordan’s suitcase. “Whatever’s in there, you won’t be needing much more than your toothbrush.” He flashed a wicked grin and Jordan drew in a breath, her stomach fluttering madly. Was she really going to go through with this? Was she nuts?

  Donovan reached around her, shutting the front door and turning the deadbolt. His shoulder brushed hers as he moved and she caught a whiff of his scent—part soap, part aftershave, part pure male, and her nipples hardened in response. He stepped back and looked her over, his eyes sweeping her from head to toe and back again. Jordan fidgeted a little under his gaze. He hadn't told her what to wear, so she’d just dressed as she always did on her days off, in a casual knit top and jeans, sandals on her feet. She wondered if her nipples were poking through the lace of her bra and the cotton of her T-shirt but she didn’t want to look down to see.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  Though she’d heard him plainly enough, Jordan stalled for time. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Strip. I want you naked. Subs don’t wear clothing in my house. Not unless they earn it.” He stared at her, waiting for her to obey. She could feel the power of his will and, though her mind remained in turmoil, her fingers began to obey him. She found herself reaching for the hem of her shirt, which she grasped and lifted over her head, letting it fall to the floor. She kicked off her sandals, unzipped her jeans and pulled them down her legs.

  Donovan’s eyes were burning holes into her skin, and she felt it heating as if he’d lit a pilot light inside her and turned up the flame. He’d already seen her naked, and she wasn’t especially shy about her body, so what was the big deal?

  “Go on,” he said in a quiet but firm voice. “Everything.”

  Swallowing, Jordan reached back and released the clasps of her bra, letting it fall forward. She dropped it onto the pile of clothes on the floor beside her. Finally she hooked her fingers into the waist of her panties and slid them off, kicking them aside.

  “Donovan, I’m not sure—” Jordan began.

  Donovan touched her lips with his fingertips. “Shh. No talking right now.” He let his hand fall, but she could still feel the imprint of his touch on her mouth. “For the next forty-eight hours, you will only speak when answering a direct question or when I give you permission. When you do speak you will address me as Master or Sir. Got it?”

  Jordan opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. He wasn’t doing anything unusual. She would have given a sub boy the same instructions at the beginning of a scene. He was just playing the role of her Dom for the next forty-eight hours. She’d agreed to the terms of the bet, so why not play along?

  “Yes, Sir,” she answered.

  Donovan nodded. “That’s better. Come have some coffee. We’ll talk about my expectations for the weekend.” He turned and walked through the short hallway, not looking back to see if she followed. Not knowing what else to do, Jordan did follow.

  They entered a small but cheery kitchen with natural wood cabinets and windows that let in the lemony summer sunlight on either side of an old-fashioned white enamel gas range. There were two ceramic mugs, a bowl of sugar and a small creamer on a table made from polished oak, set with four white chairs with red cushions on the seats.

  Donovan moved toward the counter where a coffee carafe sat on its warmer. “Cream? Sugar?” he queried as he returned to the table and poured coffee into the mugs.

  The coffee smelled wonderful and Jordan’s mouth watered in anticipation. “Both,” she said, feeling very odd to be naked in this man’s kitchen. She started to sit on one of the chairs, but Donovan stopped her.

  “Subs don’t sit on the furniture without permission.” He pointed to a red cushion under the table that matched the ones on the chairs. “Pull that out and kneel on it. Hands clasped behind your back.”

  “But how will I—”

  “Jordan, close your mouth!” Donovan barked. Startled, Jordan did just that. Donovan again pointed to the cushion. In a gentler tone, he said, “Kneel there. Stop anticipating everything I do and say. Stop anticipating, period. Your job, your sole job for these two days, Jordan, is to obey and respond. Nothing else. You are not running this show. You need to let go. Of everything.”

  He continued to point at the cushion and Jordan found herself slowly sinking down onto it. She knew he was right. She wouldn’t have tolerated one of her sub boys continuing to speak and to question her after she’d told him to be quiet. Okay, so she wasn’t a sub—that was understood—but at least she could pretend to behave like one. It was, after all, just part of the scene, part of the game.

  “Hands behind your back,” Donovan reminded her as he sat down on the chair beside her. Jordan did as ordered, watching as he stirred cream and sugar into one mug, and just a bit of cream into the other. He lifted his mug and took a long sip. Setting the mug down, he lifted the other and leaned toward her, holding it near her mouth. The coffee-scented steam rose tantalizingly into her face.

  “I’ll hold it for you while you drink. You ready?” Donovan said.

  Th
e coffee was hot! What if he spilled it on her? It took every bit of self-control not to insist he let her hold the mug and drink it herself.

  Stop anticipating.

  “Yes. Yes, Sir.”

  Donovan placed the lip of the mug against Jordan’s mouth. She opened her mouth a little and he tilted the cup carefully, letting a small bit of the hot liquid spill onto her tongue. The coffee was excellent, strong but not bitter, and Jordan savored the taste as she swallowed. He gave her several more sips and then set the mug down. As he drank from his mug he continued to look at her, his eyes moving with lazy, sensual appreciation over her bare breasts and lingering on the auburn patch between her legs.

  Jordan felt suddenly self-conscious about her pubic hair. She knew the trend these days was to be completely shaven. On the BDSM porn sites she liked to visit from time to time pubic hair had become the exception, not the rule. She did groom herself, keeping her labia and bikini line smooth and soft, but she’d never wanted to shave herself bare. She’d always thought it smacked too much of submission, and Jordan Heller was nobody’s sub. She might be playing one for the weekend, but she’d be damned if she’d shave for the part!

  If Donovan knew what she was thinking, he made no comment. He set down his mug and lifted hers again, holding it carefully to her lips and letting her drink until the coffee was gone.

  “More?” he asked.

  Jordan started take shake her head no and then caught herself. “No thank you, Sir.”

  Donovan took another sip from his mug. Setting it down again, he turned to face her. “For the next two days you will do nothing without my permission. You won’t eat, use the toilet, shower or orgasm without my express permission and direction. Though I am aware you’re untrained as a sub, you are familiar with D/s protocol and as such I will expect more of you than a typical sub-in-training.

  “I’m going to introduce you to an array of erotic tortures and sexual assignments as a way to gauge your response to various stimuli. I want to explore and expand on your reactions at the club yesterday. I want to understand what precisely excites you, what frightens you, what touches that inner core of submission. I know it probably seems right now like I’m just out to have fun with you, but there really is more to this. I think if you can actually connect to this basic part of yourself, it will open up a whole new vista of experience and depth in your life. You with me so far?”