BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  Donovan glanced at the wall clock—7:45. He sighed inwardly, his sense of duty superseding his intense desire to continue with Jordan where they’d left off the night before. “Okay, sure. I can do it. Give me the details.”

  When he returned to the bedroom Donovan saw Jordan was awake. She was lying on her back, her cuffed wrists on her chest between her bare breasts, the sheet covering her lower half. A dozen hot scenarios flashed through his mind, but they would have to wait. Still, he could at least start the morning by making sure his temporary sub girl remained in the proper mindset, however fleeting any morning session would be.

  “Good morning, Jordan. Did you sleep well?”

  “I guess so, Sir.” She held up her cuffed wrists. “I mean, as well as can be expected. I’ve never slept in chains before.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Donovan replied with a grin. “Do you need to use the toilet?”

  Jordan nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Come on, then.”

  Jordan slid out of bed, her movements made somewhat awkward by her cuffed wrists and ankles. He’d chained both sets of cuffs before directing her to climb into bed the night before, leaving plenty of play in the chains. They were intended to be more of a symbolic reminder of her status than an actual restraint.

  He’d had to exercise his own restraint with a vengeance, overruling his powerful desire to pull the naked girl at his feet up into his arms. He knew if he’d done that, however, he would not have been able to control his need to fuck her. Which he would do before their time together was up. But not yet. Not yet.

  His cock hardened as he watched her hobble forward in her chains, making her way toward him. When she stood before him, a lock of red hair falling into her eyes, Donovan instructed, “Hold up your wrists.” He released the chains and removed the cuffs.

  Jordan gripped her wrists, her fingers stroking the area that had been covered with leather since she’d arrived the day before. Crouching, Donovan released the ankle cuffs as well, leaving the restraints on the bureau before leading Jordan into the bathroom.

  He watched as she sat on the toilet. As before, she kept her face averted while she peed. Suddenly she looked up with a grimace. “Donovan, uh, Sir,” she said, her tone urgent. “I have to—can you leave me alone? Please, I really need to…” She trailed off, the sentence incomplete though her meaning was clear.

  Donovan shook his head, amused. “After what you’ve experienced so far with me, do you really think there’s anything left to hide, Jordan? A sub keeps nothing from her Master. Nothing. Modesty is not an option in a fully-realized D/s relationship.”

  Jordan groaned softly, a mutinous expression moving over her very expressive face. Donovan decided to cut her a little slack since she wasn’t, after all, his sub girl. He didn’t leave the bathroom, but he did turn away, heading toward the sink. He turned on the water and busied himself brushing his teeth, sneaking surreptitious glances in the mirror at the girl as she emptied her bowels, her face flaming red.

  When she’d flushed the toilet, Donovan turned on the shower. “I put your shampoo and conditioner in there. Don’t worry about grooming. I’ll take care of that for you later. Right now just wash up quickly, and then present yourself for inspection in the bedroom. I’ll be waiting.”

  While Jordan showered, Donovan went to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. He couldn’t decide if he should leave her at home or take her with him. He could, he realized, explain the situation and send her on her way. After all, his point had certainly been made—despite her dominant persona, at her core Jordan was deeply submissive, at least with him. Even as the thought of letting her go early occurred to him, he dismissed it out of hand. The bet had been for forty-eight hours—it wouldn’t be fair to either of them to cut it short.

  He knew he was lying to himself. It wasn’t really about fair, was it?

  It was about desire.

  Donovan pushed this thought aside. If she had hired him to train her, rather than just fulfilling the terms of their bet, he wouldn’t have given his decision two thoughts. He would have left her at home, properly naked, with specific tasks to complete during his absence. But she hadn't hired him, and she wasn’t a sub in training.

  She was—what was she?

  A beautiful young woman who had responded to each new experience with passion and honesty. A strong, sassy spitfire of a girl who had previously defined herself as purely dominant, but appeared to have the courage to embrace the submissive part of herself he was helping her to uncover and explore. The bottom line, he realized, was that he didn’t want to be apart from her, even for four hours.

  He returned to the bedroom, coffee mug in hand. Jordan was toweling her hair in the bathroom. She caught his eye in the mirror as he sat on the bed. She hung the towel on a rack and came out of the bathroom, her hair damp and sweetly tousled, her skin rosy. She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms uncertainly.

  “Hands behind your neck, back arched, feet shoulder-width apart,” Donovan instructed. He stood, setting the mug on the night table, and approached the naked young woman. Her breasts were thrust out provocatively by her position, and he resisted an impulse to dip his head and take a nipple into his mouth.

  Instead he put his hand on her throat, his fingers pressing lightly on either side of her jaw. He watched her face as he applied gentle but steady pressure. She reacted as she had the first time he’d done this—her eyes widening, the pupils dilating, her lips parting, her breath quickening. Clearly this was a trigger for her—the hand on the throat did more than a thousand words could do to place her quickly into a submissive headspace.

  When he released her throat, she sighed, leaning slightly forward, her body language as clear as any spoken word. Don’t stop. Interesting. He would love to explore breath play with her, but not now. There was no time this morning.

  Instead he moved his hands along her arms, stroking her armpits with his fingers and then drawing his hands down her sides and back up to her breasts. While staring into her eyes, he found her nipples, feeling them stiffen and swell as he rolled them between his forefingers and thumbs. Her lips parted again, a small cry of pain escaping when he twisted the engorged nipples. He twisted harder, his cock springing to aching attention. After a minute, he let her go and stepped back.

  He went to the bureau and retrieved a small flashlight. “Bend over and grip your ankles. Keep your legs spread. I’m going to inspect your cunt and asshole.”

  Jordan stared at the flashlight, color moving once again over her cheeks. Donovan silently dared her to disobey, holding her gaze in his. Finally she lowered her arms and bent forward, reaching for her ankles. She was limber, her legs straight as she held her position. Donovan moved around behind her and crouched, flicking on the flashlight and moving it over her ass and sex from behind.

  She had a perfect pink pucker between her ass cheeks, and a gorgeous, pouty cunt. Of course, he already knew that. The point of this procedure was more about erotic humiliation and control. That Jordan was willing to subject herself to the exercise was further proof in Donovan’s mind of the submissive fire burning deep inside her.

  He could fuck her now, right here. He could grab her hips and thrust into her from behind, not even taking the time to lead her to the bed, instead just pushing her to the carpet as he sank his rock-hard cock into her wet heat.

  Donovan shook his head to break the sexual spell that was weaving around him. Plans had changed. He was a grownup who could control his impulses. And he’d promised Gordon he’d step in. He needed to let Jordan know what was going on.

  “Okay. You may stand up,” he said, annoyed that his voice came out hoarse with lingering lust. He cleared his throat, adding. “Let’s go have some breakfast. I need to talk to you about something.”

  Once they were at the table, Jordan in her place on the cushion at his feet, Donovan fed her and himself scrambled eggs and bacon, along with coffee and orange juice. It felt so right, somehow, to have this wom
an kneeling beside him. As if she’d always been there.

  Donovan realized he knew next to nothing about Jordan, nor she about him, and yet the connection between them had been instant and strong. He found himself looking forward to getting to know more about her, both in and out of the scene.

  As they ate, Donovan could see the question in Jordan’s eyes about what he wanted to talk about, but he was pleased to note she didn’t speak since she hadn't been asked a direct question. Finally, Donovan set down the fork. “Something came up this morning. I’m going to have to step in for a fellow medic who’s sick. There’s a street fair later this morning, and our volunteer firehouse has a tent to give vaccinations to the homeless.”

  Jordan raised her eyebrows. “You’re a medic? I’m confused.”

  Donovan nodded. “Yeah. I run the club with Gene now, but before that I was a fulltime paramedic with an ambulance corps. I still do volunteer work to keep my skills up, and also because it’s the right thing to do. I can’t take the night shifts anymore, obviously, but I work a couple of mornings a week, sometimes riding the ambulance to 911 calls, but mostly doing stuff like working at these street fairs and free clinics. A guy I work with is out sick. He called this morning, begging me to cover for him.”

  “Oh.” The single word was laden with disappointment. Jordan’s crestfallen expression tugged at Donovan’s heart. He realized he hadn't made himself clear.

  “I’m not suggesting we cut your training short. Not at all. I was thinking, if you wanted to, you could come with me to the fair. Of course, I would expect you to remain in proper sub mode, and as such I would provide certain, uh, incentives, to make sure you did so.”

  Jordan flashed such a dazzling smile at Donovan that he laughed with delight. “I take it that’s a yes?”

  “Yes. Yes, Sir.”

  ~*~

  Jordan shifted on the folding chair, trying to adjust to the fullness of the butt plug and flexible dildo Donovan had inserted before they left his house. In addition to the phalluses filling her ass and cunt, beneath her long, flowing skirt she was wearing special panties that contained a fitted butterfly vibrator Donovan had tucked against her clit. The wireless remote was in his shirt pocket.

  She watched Donovan and the other man who had been introduced to her as Mike as they sat at either end of a long table with their disposable syringes, cotton balls and alcohol, expertly inoculating the long line of mostly women and children waiting patiently for their turn.

  When they’d arrived at the open-air tent, Donovan had Jordan sit near the edge of the tent wall to his left, partially hidden in shadow. It felt strange to be just sitting there instead of helping out, but she reasoned she would probably get in their way. Mike and Donovan seemed to have everything well under control.

  As she watched Donovan at work, she realized she’d never really imagined him as anything but the Master, always in Dom mode, 24/7. Seeing him in this new light gave him an added dimension in her mind. She found that she quite liked this new side of him—the altruistic volunteer, giving of his time and expertise because it was “the right thing to do.”

  The sudden whirring at Jordan’s clit startled her out of her reverie. She glanced sharply at Donovan, recalling his words earlier that morning. “Two important aspects of submission,” Donovan had lectured as he had eased the phalluses into her body, “are discipline and self-control. While I’m doing my work this morning, you will sit quietly, hands folded in your lap. You aren’t yet properly trained to override your physical impulses, and I get that. Nevertheless, no matter how much you want to come, you will resist as long as you possibly can. When you do come, you’d better do it as discreetly as you can, again for obvious reasons. There will be a cost, however. I want you to keep track of how many times you climax. You will be punished for each orgasm when we return to the house.”

  Jordan hadn't tried to protest this inherently unfair edict. After all, she’d played the same game with her sub boys, teasing them to ejaculation, and then punishing them for coming. Today’s promised punishment, she realized with a frightened thrill, was probably going to be a lot more intense than the slap and tickle games she’d played back at Betsy’s club, in what already seemed like a different lifetime.

  Donovan’s hand moved casually to his shirt pocket, a small smile lifting his lips. He didn’t turn to look directly at Jordan, but she was fairly certain he could see her in his peripheral vision. Jordan shifted on the chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs in an effort to ease the constant, stimulating tickle at her clit.

  She hadn't even been with Donovan a full twenty-four hours, and already she felt as if she never wanted to leave him. Each new experience, since the moment she’d arrived the afternoon before, had been more intense and mind blowing than the last. Her entire notion of herself as a dominant had been completely shaken, like a kaleidoscope being tipped and turned, the pieces of her psyche aligning and realigning into patterns she never would have believed possible. Yet somehow, with each startling revelation, the Master had kept her feeling safe, and not only that, but longing for more.

  Jordan realized her mouth had fallen open, her breathing coming in rapid, shallow pants. She shifted again on the chair, closing her mouth and pressing her thighs together. She watched a child of about three who sat in his mother’s arms, squirming and crying as Donovan quickly inoculated the boy. “All done, big guy!” Donovan produced a red lollypop from a bowl, holding it out to the boy, whose crying promptly stopped as he reached for the candy.

  The steady whirring continued at Jordan’s cunt and she shuddered. Donovan turned suddenly, looking at her head on. He smiled, laugh lines radiating from his brilliantly blue eyes as he reached once more into his shirt pocket. The whirring suddenly intensified, making Jordan gasp involuntarily. Again she pressed her lips together, breathing hard through her nose.

  She glanced at Mike at the far end of the table, relieved that he wasn’t paying her the slightest bit of attention, still busy with his own line of patients. She looked back at the Master, who had continued to watch her while a large man settled himself precariously on the small folding chair facing Donovan and rolled up his sleeve. All at once, before she could even entirely process what was happening to her, a rush of overwhelming sensation surged through her groin and she began to tremble, tumbling into an orgasm right there in front of everyone.

  Only Donovan, thank god, seemed to realize what was happening to her. He cocked his head, his eyes blazing into her as she shuddered in her attempts to remain still and quiet while the orgasm washed over her. Finally Donovan turned back to the man waiting for his shot, reaching into his shirt pocket as he did so. Mercifully, this time he turned the remote down to a steady but tolerable hum, though even that small amount of stimulation was hard to bear in her hyper-aroused state.

  Donovan continued to adjust the remote as the hours passed, sometimes turning it so high Jordan was afraid everyone around them would hear the whirring between her legs, though to her great relief, no one seemed to notice above the hubbub of the fair. Sometimes he turned it off completely for a while, only to restart it when Jordan had drifted into a nearly-dozing state in her chair.

  The whole experience was a major exercise in patience and self-control, as he’d warned her it would be. Left to her own devices, Jordan wasn’t the type of person to sit still doing nothing for five minutes, much less three hours. Being forced to do so was curiously freeing, and she found herself relaxing in a way that was unfamiliar but somehow welcome.

  This didn’t happen right away, however. For the first hour, in between bouts of erotic torture with the butterfly, Jordan found herself constantly shifting and fidgeting, her fingers tapping on her thighs, her legs bouncing. But as the time passed, she found herself settling into a kind of peaceful stillness. She didn’t have to do anything except sit there quietly, waiting for the Master to finish his work. True, there was the challenge of resisting and then controlling the orgasms that threatened to overwhelm her fro
m time to time, but even that exercise took on a kind of restful life of its own after a while—a rhythm of arousal, control, surrender and recovery.

  When the tent was finally closed for a lunch break, Donovan stood from his seat and stretched his arms over his head, causing the trio of snakes on his left biceps to undulate. He shook hands with Mike, who thanked him for standing in for Gordon, and then turned to Jordan, holding out his hand. “Ready to go?”

  Jordan took his hand, allowing him to pull her up. He kept her hand in his as he led her through the throng of people crowding the street. She walked a little awkwardly toward his car, the phalluses still buried inside her. She was exhausted, she realized, her legs wobbling slightly. All those orgasms could take it out of a girl.

  Once they were in the car, Donovan turned to her. “How many times?”

  Jordan blew out a breath, her stomach suddenly clenching with anxious anticipation. “Eight. I think,” she replied honestly.

  Donovan lifted his eyebrows. “You think?”

  Jordan looked away from his penetrating gaze. “Yeah. I mean, yes, Sir. Sometimes I wasn’t sure where one started and the other left off. It was, um, pretty intense sometimes.”

  To her relief, Donovan just laughed. “Was it, now?” He began to drive, weaving through the traffic down a long, steep hill. “Eight times, huh,” he mused quietly, grinning to himself, his eyes on the road. “Someone’s due for some serious punishment.”

  Chapter 11

  It felt strange to be sitting across from Donovan in the little café they’d decided to stop at for lunch after leaving the fair. In just the short time she’d spent at his house, she’d already gotten used to, indeed, found she quite liked, kneeling naked on a cushion at his feet while he fed her with such loving attention. The experience was not only an exercise in submission. It was also highly erotic and at the same time, oddly comforting.