BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  He pushed down on the vibrating phallus he’d shoved inside her, forcing an involuntary grunt from her. Her labia and clit, mercifully, were now numb, though she knew she’d pay the terrible price later when the clamps were removed.

  Master Phillip had begun to tug at his cock above her, his hand moving rapidly over his shaft. Eva lifted her head higher, swaying from the effort. She tried to focus on his cock, calculating the nearness of his climax by the tempo and urgency of his groans.

  Judging the moment close, she opened her mouth as she struggled to position herself to catch the flow when he came. He gave a sudden cry, and a ribbon of white goo spurted from the now purple head of his engorged cock. Eva twisted her neck in her effort to catch the droplets as they fell. They splattered along her cheek and on her nose, and her heart lurched with anxiety.

  No! Don’t give up.

  He always did at least two streams of come, sometimes three. She contorted, her mouth agape as the second ribbon of goo erupted from his cock. The salty jism landed on her lips and graced her tongue. She resisted the urge to spit, or to swallow, instead keeping her mouth open to prove she’d accomplished the task.

  A few more drops landed on the bridge of her nose, some of it nearly getting into her eye. It didn’t matter. She’d done it! Now he would let her down—he would let her shower. He would give her food and water. He would let her rest. He would leave her alone.

  “Good girl,” Master Phillip said, crouching down in front of her. He tapped her lips with the head of his still-gooey shaft. “You did it. Now, clean me off and then I’ll let you down.”

  Eagerly, Eva sucked at her tormentor’s cock, licking it as best she could from her awkward position. “Thank you, Sir,” she gasped. “Thank you, Master Phillip, for allowing me to taste your come, Sir.”

  Master Phillip chuckled. “You like that, huh, little girl?”

  I’d rather eat shit, you fucking deluded bastard.

  “Oh, yes, Sir,” she managed, putting every bit of sincerity and coquettishness she had left into the words. “Thank you, Master.”

  “Well, you’ve earned your shower. There’s just a few little matters to attend to first.”

  Standing, he flipped off the vibrator and yanked the dildo from her body. “This will hurt, slave Eva. Do you know why you have to suffer?”

  “Because I’m your worthless cunt, Sir. Because it pleases you to make me suffer, Sir.”

  “That’s right, slave. Now take what you deserve.”

  Eva stiffened, determined to bear it, determined to stay silent. The clamps were released from both labia at once. She bit her lower lip so hard she tasted the blood on her tongue, but she hadn’t made a sound.

  When the clamp came off her clit, the pain exploded like fireworks inside her brain.

  Eva screamed.

  Chapter 7

  Jack loved the squish of wet clay slicking beneath his fingers. It was at once primitive, raw and sensual. The piece he was working on had been inspired by his recent experiences as a keyholder, and he was eager to put his vision into physical form.

  When he was working, time lost its meaning, and all that mattered was working the clay. The process was intensely physical—shaping and digging into surfaces with his fingers and palms, teasing, striking, slamming and coaxing the clay. His touch lightened as the soul of the piece began to emerge, caressing each curve with the focus and obsession of a lover.

  While he would be forever in Charles and Nora’s debt for their unstinting hospitality over the past month, it was fantastic to finally be in his own space, able once more to lose himself in his art, stopping only when physical need forced his attention elsewhere.

  He became vaguely aware of a sound—something musical and insistent, but it fell away as he focused on the curve of a thigh. A thumping sound pulled at his attention once more, and this time he lifted his head, his concentration at last shattered by the noise.

  Someone was knocking, quite loudly and insistently. Wiping his clay-smeared hands on his smock, Jack covered his work and hurried across the large loft space, moving from the studio portion to the living area. “Coming!” he yelled.

  He looked through the peephole and saw Charles’ face looming, fishlike, in his line of vision. Shit, was it that late already?

  Jack pulled open the door.

  “There you are,” Charles cried, reaching out to clap Jack on the shoulder. “We were about to give up. Did you forget?” Charles carried a bottle of champagne in his hand. Nora and Harry Fuentes stood just behind him, both holding white boxes, Harry’s a pizza box, Nora’s something from a bakery, tied with string.

  “Oh, man, I’m really sorry,” Jack said, stepping back and gesturing for them to enter. “I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t realize how late it was, I know, I know,” Charles interrupted with a laugh. Turning to Nora and Harry, he added, “I told you he was in there. He used to do this back in college, too. When Jack’s creating, the world just falls away.” Facing Jack, he said, “I bet you forgot to eat today, too, am I right?”

  As if on cue, Jack’s stomach rumbled audibly, and they all laughed, Jack included.

  “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “That pizza smells fantastic. Come in.”

  “Chocolate éclairs, too,” Nora said, holding up the box.

  Jack grinned. Nora had learned while hosting him what a sweet tooth Jack harbored, one she shared. “Yum. There’re plates and stuff in the kitchen. I don’t have champagne flutes, but I do have wine glasses.” He waved toward the small galley kitchen that occupied a corner of the loft.

  “Wow, Jack, it turned out even better than I imagined,” Nora said, turning slowly as she took in the finished space. “I bet the light is incredible during the day. All those windows!”

  Jack nodded happily. “It’s exactly what I wanted. I get sunlight from all sides, depending on the time of day.”

  “We’ll set up the dinner. You go clean up,” Charles said, eying him.

  Jack looked down at himself. He was covered in clay dust, his fingers still caked with wet clay. He was wearing only his work smock and a pair of old blue jeans, his chest and feet bare. “Right,” he said. “I’ll go wash up. See you in a jiff.”

  When he returned from a quick shower, the pizza was on the table, along with plates, napkins and wineglasses. As he entered the living area, Charles, bottle at the ready, popped the cork. He poured the champagne into the glasses, and Nora handed one to Jack and another to Harry before taking one for herself.

  Charles lifted his glass, and the others followed suit. “To one of my oldest and dearest friends, Jack McQuade. Congratulations on taking possession at last of your gorgeous loft and studio.”

  “And to one of my newest friends and an excellent Dom, welcome to New York. We’re glad to have you as a fellow keyholder,” Harry added.

  “We miss you, but much happiness in your new space, Jack,” Nora added. “It’s perfect.”

  They all drank, draining their glasses. Charles refilled them with what remained of the champagne, and Jack brought bottles of water to the table, along with some parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes for the pizza. As they ate, the focus of the conversation was on Jack’s work. Nora, especially, seemed interested in the actual process of sculpting, and what it involved.

  After dinner, Jack made coffee and they each had an éclair, even Charles, who usually refused sweets. As he sipped his second cup, Jack looked across the table at Nora. She was a beautiful woman, with thick, shiny auburn hair that fell to her shoulders, dark blue eyes, a long, aquiline nose and a pouting, rosebud mouth. She was lithe and graceful, confident in her body, comfortable in her skin. She radiated that indefinable submissive serenity Jack had been striving to capture in his latest series of sculptures.

  As if sensing his gaze, Nora looked up and smiled brightly. “Hey, can we see the studio?”

  “Yeah,” Charles added with a grin. “Let’s see what had you so distracted we practically had to break do
wn the door to get your attention.”

  Jack pushed back from the table. “Sure. Follow me.” He led his guests into the studio and lifted the large canvas he’d dropped over his work to reveal the partially finished nude.

  “Oh,” Nora breathed.

  “That looks a lot better than the big lump of clay that was here when I helped you with those boxes the other day,” Charles added with a grin.

  “Dios mio,” Harry said with obvious appreciation. “This is fucking amazing, brother. You’re like a real artist, huh?”

  Charles laughed, Jack grinned, and Nora protested, “Harry, are you serious? You’ve never heard of Jack McQuade’s work? Jack’s only like one of the most renowned sculptors in North America.”

  “Hey, sorry,” Harry said with an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know anything about art. But I can definitely see why you’re famous, man,” he added, his eyes moving over some of the pieces Jack had on kiln shelves around the studio. “This stuff is really cool.”

  “Thanks,” Jack said with a smile. “And no apologies necessary. I’m afraid Nora’s exaggerating just a little.”

  “No, she’s not,” Charles said, in that tone of his that said that was that, end of discussion. “So, tell us about this latest piece. I’m really liking what it’s shaping into. Very sensual. Very…” He paused, as if searching for the word.

  “Submissive,” Nora supplied.

  “Precisely,” Jack said, pleased. “In fact, I calling the piece Grace, but it’s not a woman’s name. It references submissive grace, and that’s what I’m trying to capture in her lines and curves. Here’s the maquette for the piece.”

  “The what?” Harry said, as they all moved closer to examine it.

  “It’s the French word for a small-scale model of something,” Charles supplied, since the term was used in architecture as well as art.

  “Could I hold it?” Nora asked.

  Jack handed the small sculpture to Nora. She ran her long, slender fingers over the curves of the kneeling nude with the touch of a lover, her eyes shining. Jack’s heart gave a sudden, painful squeeze as he watched her. Would he ever find someone as loving, sensual and submissive as Nora for his own? He didn’t covet Charles’ sub girl—but he couldn’t deny he longed for what they shared. Was there someone like her out there for him, now that he was finally ready to seek her out?

  “So, Jack,” Harry said, distracting Jack from his thoughts. “I have a session booked in the harem room at Hawthorne Dungeon at nine with two lovely ladies I know from Club de Sade. They’re not pros,” he added, anticipating Jack’s question, “just two sexy girls I scene with from time to time. I told them I’d bring along another Dom if he was available, and I had you in mind. Nora and Charles are joining us, and Nora’s going to dance for us. What do you say? Can you tear yourself away from all this sculpting stuff long enough to enjoy a private scene?”

  Jack started reflexively to say no. He wanted to get back to his work. He had a show coming up at the end of the month, and he’d hoped to be further along than he was. But he stopped himself. New York was home base now. He’d been here several months, and he’d barely gotten out. He kept telling himself he was ready to meet a woman he could claim for his own, but if he stayed buried in his studio, how would that ever happen?

  Nora and Charles were smiling hopefully at him, and Harry was giving him an encouraging grin. “Sure,” he said. “That sounds like fun. Count me in.”

  ~*~

  Nora was tired but happy, the high from her erotic dance performance in the harem room still giving wings to her feet as she quickly showered in the sub lounge while Charles and Jack waited for her in the harem room. The two sub girls had gone on to the club with Harry, Jack declining their invitation to continue the party. Nora hummed softly to herself, her body thrumming with anticipation of their lovemaking, once Charles and she returned home.

  Before the dance, she’d enjoyed watching Harry and Jack put those two young women through their paces, engaging them in predicament bondage with one another by way to tethering them using two sets of nipple clamps, the chains extended between them. The men stood behind each girl with a cane, painting lovely red stripes over their bare asses, and each time one girl twisted and jerked beneath the cane, both girls’ nipples were painfully tweaked. Neither sub was particularly well trained, and there was plenty of jerking and yelping going on.

  Nora had been perched on Charles’ lap as they watched the increasingly intense scene unfold, and when his fingers had slid beneath her short skirt to find her bare pussy, she’d been unable to stifle the moan of pure lust. He’d teased and titillated her just to the edge of orgasm as they watched the girls in their erotic dance, their nipples pulled taut by the clamps and chains between them, their cries underscored by the whistle and crack of rattan against firm flesh.

  “You will not come,” Charles murmured sexily into Nora’s ear as his fingers slid into her wetness. “Not until we get home, and not until you’ve had a good, hard spanking.”

  Those words alone nearly sent Nora over the edge, but she managed to control herself. Though she adored a good whipping and craved the sharp sting of the cane, there was nothing she loved more than Charles’ hard, perfect palm crashing down on her ass. He would start slowly, warming her flesh with light slaps, his fingers sometimes straying between her legs to tease her already rock-hard clit. Slowly but surely the spanking would intensify, until each smack pushed her hard into the mattress, until her skin turned to fire, her cunt to pure molten lust. He would take her through the stages of pleasure: mounting pain, resistance, begging protest, acceptance and finally her full embrace of the experience as her spirit soared free.

  When he finally claimed her with his cock, she would come almost immediately, and then again, and again, and again, until she lost all track of time, space or sense of herself outside the realm of their lovemaking.

  To distract herself from coming while on Charles’ lap, Nora had focused on the scene in front of her. Harry was completely absorbed, his face creased with concentration as he caned his sub, skillfully adjusting his position and wrist motion to change the intensity and target of each strike. Jack, on the other hand, while also skillful and attentive, had seemed to Nora to lack the passion, if that was the right word, for what he was doing. It was as if his body and his mind were engaged, but not his heart.

  He’s lonely, Nora thought, not for the first time, as she finished her shower and reached for a towel. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find plenty of submissives more than willing to scene with him. That had been abundantly clear by the attention he got when they took him to local clubs. Jack was handsome, confident without being arrogant, and also a really nice guy. But Nora understood he wanted more than just a scene partner.

  Jack, like Charles, was deeply romantic. His nomadic lifestyle up until now and the sacrifices he’d made for his art had left him alone, and lonely. He’d jokingly asked Nora several times if she had a sister or a clone, but beneath the teasing, she understood he was longing for the closeness and connection she shared with Charles. If only she knew someone to introduce him to, someone available, emotionally healthy, and worthy of a wonderful guy like Jack.

  As Nora walked from the shower room into the lounge area to dress, the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end. Though the room was empty, she felt a presence. Confused, she stood with the towel wrapped around her and tried to focus on what she was feeling. She closed her eyes, quieting her mind and stilling her thoughts so she could capture and harness the energy that lingered in the room like a fading mist.

  She moved closer to the marble counter that contained two sinks set against a mirrored wall, and the feelings pulsing through her intensified. She felt desperation and longing and just beneath it an urgency that wouldn’t be ignored.

  Her eye fell on the soap dish that sat on the countertop between the sinks. The soap was resting at an odd angle on its dish. Not sure what motivated her, but following her gut, Nora r
eached for the soap. The feeling of urgency intensified. Holding her breath, Nora peered at the soap as though the answer might be divined from the object.

  She stared down at faint marks traced raggedly into the bar. She pushed through her shock to focus on what the marks could mean. “Oh my god,” she whispered. The marks weren’t random scratches. She could make out words.

  Pls help me. Held in att

  What was att? The last t of the word had an odd tail to it, as if the person writing it had been suddenly startled, and had stopped what they were doing.

  Was it a joke? Even as she forced herself to ask the question, Nora knew this was no joke. The energy in the room was too strong to be contrived. Someone was in trouble. Someone was being held against their will, and they were in this house—she was suddenly sure of it.

  The attic.

  That was the word the person hadn’t been able to complete.

  Phillip.

  The moment the name slithered like a snake into her mind, her heart knew the truth. Her skin crawling, her heart slamming in her chest, Nora threw on her clothes and ran from the room to find Charles and Jack, the coded bar of soap clutched tightly in her hand.

  Chapter 8

  “Nora, what is it! What’s wrong?” Charles leaped from the sofa where he and Jack had been chatting while waiting for her. Jack whipped his head toward the door to see what was wrong, also reflexively coming to his feet as a result of the alarm in Charles’ voice.

  Nora was clutching something in her hand. Her face was flushed, her expression troubled and urgent. She hurtled into the room and exclaimed breathlessly, “I think that bastard has done something horrible! I think he has somebody hidden upstairs! I knew he was a snake! I told you, Charles!”