BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  “Yes, Sir.”

  But was she? Yes, she understood what he was saying, but he was certainly far more convinced than she was about this so-called submissive core of hers. Then she thought about the scene the day before—the feel of the flogger striking her skin like a dozen stinging fingers, the slicing cut of the cane, the rising surge of feeling that was part panic, part thrill and finally all encompassing. She’d been completely overwhelmed by the experience and while her mind had tried to reject it, she couldn’t deny that some kind of fuse had been lit inside her, something that continued to sparkle and burn deep in her gut.

  Donovan reached for her, his fingers grazing her cheek and trailing along her neck. Leaning forward, he moved his hand so his thumb and forefinger pressed against her throat just beneath her jaw. His hand was large and he tightened his strong fingers around her neck. Jordan gasped at the sudden, intense pressure. Her instinct was to pry his hands from her throat. She could feel her pulse beating wildly beneath his touch.

  “Relax,” Donovan said soothingly, though he didn’t remove his hand. “My hand on your throat is just a reminder, Jordan. It’s a reminder that for the next two days I own you. I will control your every move and reaction, even down to the breath you take.” He squeezed a little harder and Jordan felt the pressure building behind her face. A sudden rush of panic surged through her and she whimpered.

  His grip loosened just a little, though he kept his hand on her throat. He leaned closer, his face nearly touching hers. “Do you have what it takes, Jordan? Do you have the courage, the will and the desire to submit to the Master? Just your showing up today is enough for me. By your presence you confirm I won the bet and there is more to you than meets the eye. Beyond that, I don’t want you here against your will in any way. When I let go of your throat you will have a choice. You can bend down and kiss the top of my foot as a token of your willingness to submit to me wholly and without reservation for the next forty-eight hours, or you can stand up, return to the front hall and dress, and I’ll see you at work on Tuesday night.”

  Though Donovan’s hand remained on her throat, all at once her panic eased, draining away as Jordan gazed into the blue eyes of the Master. Was it her imagination or was there a quiet longing behind the stern, dominant visage? Was this only about his desire to teach her, to reach her in some way? Or was it possible this self-possessed incredibly sexy man wanted her as much as she wanted him?

  Donovan took his hand away, his eyes still fixed on hers. Though her heart continued to pound, Jordan felt a curious sense of calm as she leaned down, touching her lips to the top of Donovan’s bare foot and brushing it with a kiss.

  ~*~

  Donovan had thought of little but Jordan’s arrival since the moment she’d agreed to the terms of the bet. He couldn’t wait to begin the fun, but if it wasn’t truly consensual, he wasn’t interested. When she kissed his foot, Donovan let out a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. This was it. The training would now begin.

  “Stand up.”

  Jordan rose from the cushion. Donovan stood too, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. He held out four strips of black leather, each about six inches long with slits cut at intervals into them, and a silver clip sewn on the outside of each. They were new, purchased just for Jordan. From his other pocket he withdrew a handful of clips.

  “Hold out your wrists,” he said. “You’ll wear these cuffs for the duration of your stay here, except when you bathe.” She held out her wrists and Donovan closed the cuffs around them one at a time, pushing the D ring through a slit and clipping it in place.

  “Now your ankles.” Donovan sat on a chair and pointed to his knee. “Left foot first.”

  Her feet were pretty, with high arches and long, straight toes. Her toenails, like her fingernails, were painted pearly pink. He secured the ankle cuffs, letting his fingers slide over the smooth skin of her muscular calf. He wanted to fuck her, but he recognized there was a lot he wanted to accomplish and that Jordan would need to achieve before she merited the gift of her Master’s cock.

  Since that first time he’d seen her at one of his shows, he’d seen the burning embers of her submission hidden beneath the confidant swagger of her dominance. He believed he could be the one to fan those embers into flames of pure passion.

  What might happen beyond that?

  Donovan gave an internal shrug. Let the future take care of itself. He was interested in the now. He looked into Jordan’s eyes, which were wide, the pupils dilated. Her cheeks were gently flushed, her nipples standing at pert attention. A sudden fantasy of pushing her back against the kitchen table and fucking her then and there roared through his head like a freight train. He angled away from Jordan so she wouldn’t see the bulge of his erection as he pushed the image down.

  Donovan moved toward a drawer where he kept various toys and pulled out a metal dog leash. Returning to Jordan, he said, “Put your wrists together.” He clipped the cuffs together and then attached the leash to the clips. Taking the leather handle of the leash, he tugged gently. “Let’s go. I’ll show you around.”

  He led her out of the kitchen, pleased that she followed docilely. They went up the stairs, Jordan behind him by a few steps, her wrists held out before her. He led her first into the bedroom. He watched her take in the cuffs hanging from the corners of the four-poster bed, and the whips displayed on the wall above the bed.

  “Oh,” Jordan said softly.

  Donovan tugged at her leash to pull her from the room. “Meanwhile, let me show you my home dungeon. You’ll be spending a lot of time in there.”

  He led her along the hallway to the second bedroom, which he’d converted into a fully equipped BDSM playroom. His cock hardened as he visualized this lovely young woman tethered in the black rubber spider’s web, or bent over the spanking horse, or hung suspended from the ceiling beams, her back and ass striped by the lash, her bare chest heaving in anticipation of more to come.

  He led Jordan into the center of the room and removed the leash from her wrists, though he left them clipped together. He allowed her a little time to take in the space. As a Domme herself and active in the scene, he knew he didn’t have to explain the purpose of the equipment and toys. He couldn’t wait to get started.

  Crossing to the sofa he’d installed against one of the walls, Donovan sat. “Jordan, your training begins now. You’ve committed to staying, and to doing your best to obey and to learn. We could start with a typical warm up session, not all that different from what you experienced yesterday at the club. Fact is,” he continued, “I’m feeling a little self-indulgent at the moment, and we’re going to start with a good, old-fashioned spanking. Get over here and lie on my lap.”

  He rubbed his palms together in eager anticipation as the girl approached. He could see the hesitation in her eyes and feel her resistance. To her credit she came to him. He helped her into position as she lay awkwardly over his knees. He wished suddenly he was naked so he could feel skin on skin while he spanked her.

  Not yet, he told himself. Not yet.

  He felt a tremor move through her body as he stroked her back and ass. He cupped her rounded cheeks, noting one faint mark that still lingered from the whipping the day before. He would add more marks, many more, before the two days were over.

  He thought of other women he’d marked over the years, some just casual play partners, others he’d had a serious relationship with, though those never lasted too long. All of them, to a one, had loved to go to the mirror after an especially intense session and twist back to see the marks of courage he’d painted on their flesh.

  Would Jordan feel the same way? Or was she only going through this experience because she was stubborn as a mule and determined to prove she could do it? Time would tell, he supposed. For now all he needed to do was give this dominant sub girl a spanking she wouldn’t soon forget.

  “I want you to relax. No squirming. It’s okay if you make noise, but don’t ask me to stop. I’ll stop whe
n I decide.” He paused, stroking the satin of her skin. “Are you ready?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. Donovan could feel the tension she was holding in her body. If she were at all trained, he would have punished her for this hesitation in responding to a direct question, but as it was he just waited. He continued to stroke her, moving his palms over her ass and the backs of her thighs. He let his hands trail along her sides, pressing them against the soft, yielding curve of her breasts.

  “Yes, Sir,” she finally whispered. “I’m ready.”

  Chapter 7

  For the first time in years, Jordan thought of Billy, a college boyfriend. He’d called her his kinky partner in crime, as the two of them had explored budding BDSM fantasies in the privacy of his studio apartment. Billy was mostly masochistic, though still finding his way, while Jordan was just beginning to acknowledge her dominant impulses. Back then they didn’t have any of the BDSM toys she’d come to acquire over the years, though Billy was inventive with his use of wooden spoons and clothesline.

  Mostly, though, they’d done just what Donovan was doing now. Spanking had been their foreplay of choice, and Jordan had even been on the receiving end a time or two. Though it had been little more than a game, Jordan had thought them sophisticated and wild at the time. The spankings had never been especially hard. It had been more about forbidden fun and pushing the envelope of acceptable behavior. D/s or the concept of erotic suffering had never really entered into it.

  But Billy had been a boy, and Donovan was every inch a man. Jordan could feel the hard muscles of his thigh against her stomach. She could feel his power and his absolute control of the situation. She could feel her own lack of control, her wrists cuffed in front of her as she lay naked on his lap.

  She couldn’t deny his hands felt wonderful moving over her body, massaging away her tension with his big, calloused palms and fingertips. As he touched the sides of her breasts, she had to stifle the impulse to moan, to roll over and reach for him.

  “What’s your safeword?” Donovan asked.

  “I don’t have one. I’m a Domme,” Jordan found herself retorting.

  “Then I’ll give you one. Apple. I don’t expect you’ll need it, but if for some reason you can’t tolerate what is happening at any time over the course of the next two days, you can use it. You understand it’s a total scene stopper, right? You use it, you better sure as hell mean it.”

  “Yes, yes, of course I understand,” Jordan replied, trying to keep the testiness out of her voice. He had stopped touching her while he delivered his little lecture. She wanted his hands back on her body, stroking her breasts and smoothing her back. At the same time, his words disquieted her. A safeword! Would things really get that intense? Apple, she said silently, committing it to memory.

  “Okay, then. Time for your spanking.”

  Like the pro he was, Donovan started with an easy, steady smack, warming her skin in a lightly stinging caress. Soon, however, his palm landed harder, the sound of contact cracking in the air. Jordan was determined to remain still. She would show the Master just how courageous and obedient she could be, whether or not there was anything to his assertion she was secretly submissive.

  Suddenly the sting intensified. He wasn’t hitting her any harder, but he’d changed the shape of his hand and now each cupped blow landed with painful precision. Though she’d planned to stay quiet, an “Ah!” of pain pushed its way out of her mouth.

  The next several blows hurt even more, and Jordan felt sweat prickling beneath her arms and on her forehead. She grunted, clenching her fists as if this could somehow help her handle the pain.

  “Relax,” Donovan instructed from above. “When you tense, you bunch your muscles and that compresses the nerve endings and intensifies the pain. That’s not submission, Jordan. It’s resistance. It’s disobedience. Relax. Breathe. Flow with the pain. It’s a river. Let it take you.”

  Easy for you to say. Jordan clenched her teeth to keep from snarling this at him. Still, she tried to do as he said, willing her muscles to unclench and drawing in a deep breath of air. Still his palm crashed against her, hard as wood against her throbbing cheeks.

  She jumped when she felt the fingers of his other hand brush along the back of her thigh. They moved inward, pushing her legs apart and for a second Jordan forgot the stinging pain of the spanking. She gasped as his fingers touched her sex, tickling along her outer labia. She groaned as one digit slid its way into her opening. She could feel the clench of her muscles around the finger and her clit pulsed.

  He continued to spank her as hard as or perhaps harder than before, but it was suddenly easier to bear, juxtaposed against the deep and arousing pleasure of his finger moving like a small, hard cock inside her. Again she groaned, but then grunted with pain as his palm crashed hard against her.

  Keeping one finger inside her, he maneuvered until she felt a fingertip graze her swollen clit. In spite of herself, Jordan’s pelvis twitched, shifting to increase the pressure of his touch. She heard him chuckle softly over her head as his fingers were withdrawn from her sex. “Stay still, randy girl. You’re not in control here.”

  Embarrassed, she stilled, though her clit throbbed. He spanked her without the sweet distraction of his other hand. It fucking hurt! If her hands hadn't been cuffed in front of her, she would have put them over her ass to shield herself from the blows. As it was, she had no choice but to endure the spanking, whimpering and again squirming beneath his hard touch despite his admonition to stay still.

  When his fingers finally slid back between her legs, Jordan again groaned her approval. Forgetting herself, she writhed against his hand. It felt so good. This time he slid two fingers inside her. Jordan wanted more. She wanted to be fucked. She needed to be fucked.

  Again that soft, confident laugh. Jordan would have bristled but she was too busy reacting to the steady, stinging blows of his hard palm intertwining with the intense, perfect thrust of his fingers inside her and the hot stroke of a fingertip at her clit. If only he would stop hitting her, damn it, then she could come!

  The blows intensified and Jordan lost her sexual rhythm. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. “No!” she cried, the word ripped from her mouth. “I can’t!”

  Donovan didn’t reply. He kept right on smacking her, his other hand still buried between her legs. Finally exhaustion forced the tension from her muscles and Jordan found her fingers and toes uncurling, her body sinking heavily against Donovan’s legs.

  “That’s it,” Donovan murmured encouragingly. “You’re getting there.”

  His fingers moved at her sex, which felt swollen and very wet. Jordan moaned and sighed, both from pleasure at his expert touch and relief that the spanking had become easier to bear. Intellectually she recognized her nerve endings were probably deadening from the repeated blows, though he continued to hit her as hard as before. But was that all it was?

  Whatever was happening, there was no question that she was going to come. His touch was the perfect combination of gentleness and intensity. She could feel the rising tremble in her loins and hear her own steady, uncontrolled moaning, made breathy as she panted through the pain of the spanking.

  “Oh god, oh god,” she heard herself gasping.

  His palm struck her mercilessly, while his fingers remained relentlessly perfect inside her. “You will ask permission to come.” He spoke so calmly while she writhed and panted on his lap, barely able to process his words, her brain short-circuiting against the steady onslaught of pleasure and pain.

  Like a wave, her orgasm rose inside her, lifting her out of herself. She tried to speak, to ask, to beg. “Please, can I, oh god, oh fuck, oh…”

  “Yes.”

  The wave crashed, sending her tumbling head over feet, caught in its vortex, sucked down into the most intense, all-encompassing orgasm she’d ever experienced in her life. Dimly she heard the sound of someone keening and realized it was she. Her heart was smashing through her chest as she twisted a
nd flailed on Donovan’s lap, her body lifted into an arc of nearly unbearable pleasure.

  Finally she collapsed, completely spent, her body bathed in sweat, her heart thumping steadily against Donovan’s legs. She felt him release the clips that held her wrists cuffs together, and then his arms moved beneath her, lifting and turning her until she was cradled against him, her cheek resting on his chest.

  She wasn’t sure how long she lay in his arms, her eyes closed, not quite conscious. Her mind felt blank, but it was a peaceful emptiness, like drifting in a vast, calm ocean, warm sun bathing her body, suspended in utter, perfect serenity.

  When she finally opened her eyes, he was looking down at her as if memorizing the planes and angles of her face. When he saw her eyes were open, he smiled, a small, soft smile without a trace of arrogance. Still bathed in the afterglow of the experience, Jordan found herself smiling back.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered and then parted her lips, lifting her chin in invitation.

  Donovan leaned down, touching his lips to hers. They kissed lightly at first. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his mouth on hers. Then his kiss deepened, his tongue entering her mouth as he pulled her close.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her tongue glide past his. This was good. It felt right. She could feel the hard press of his erection against her hip. He wanted her. He would make love to her now. Her cunt throbbed. In spite of the recent powerful orgasm, she was ready for him. She longed to feel his cock filling her.

  She pulled away from his kiss long enough to whisper in his ear, “I want to fuck you.” She pushed at his shoulders, trying to shove him onto his back, the scenario already full-blown in her mind. She would undo his belt, pull the zipper of his fly open, drag the denim from his legs. Triumphantly she would grasp his erect shaft and bend down to lick away the drop of pre-come at its tip. Then she would straddle him, locking eyes as she eased herself onto him.