BDSM Club Series Box Set

by Claire Thompson

  Before allowing Morgan to turn around, she added some creamy rouge to Morgan’s nipples, which stiffened in response to being touched. Finally, she unpinned Morgan’s hair and fluffed it with her fingertips around Morgan’s face.

  The whole process only took a few minutes, and when Morgan turned around to the mirror, what she saw startled her. “Wow,” she said, admiring the dewy glow of her skin, and the way the subtly but artfully applied eye makeup made her eyes look like clear blue-green crystal.

  She looked to her nipples. She’d been worried they would have been painted a ridiculous clown red, but instead they were just slightly darker than before—a lovely, dusky rose. Smiling she met Laura’s eyes in the mirror. “You should do this for a living, Laura. You’re really good.”

  Laura offered another shy smile. “Thanks. I love doing it.” She put away the makeup and said, “We better get moving. We only have about a half hour before dinner, and I want to introduce you to some of the other house slaves, if you’d like that.”

  “I would, thanks,” Morgan said, wondering if she and this girl might actually become friends.

  As Laura walked to the bathroom door, Morgan said, “Uh, what about my clothes?”

  “Your clothes?” Laura looked confused.

  “Yeah. I’m, like, naked?”

  Laura smiled then. “Of course you are. You’re a new trainee. You won’t be permitted clothing for at least a few days. It’s part of the process.” Morgan’s shock must have shown on her face, because Laura added, “Relax, it’s no big deal. Nudity is commonplace here at the Chateau. No one will bat an eye. You’ll see.”

  Aware she didn’t have much choice in the matter, Morgan shrugged and told herself to go with it. “Okay,” she said dubiously.

  Laura led her back downstairs and into a large kitchen, which was filled with gleaming stainless steel appliances and wide butcher-block counters. Claudette was nowhere in sight, but a stocky guy of around thirty, dressed in a white T-shirt and white cotton drawstring pants, was chopping vegetables at the counter. A tall woman in a white dress like Laura’s, her dark hair pulled back into a long braid, stood at the range stirring a pot of something that smelled wonderfully of butter, garlic and red wine.

  The guy looked up as they entered, his eyes moving brazenly over Morgan’s naked form. So much for no one noticing. “What have we here?” Of medium height, he had a mop of dark hair falling into brown eyes over a snub nose, a twinkling, roguish expression that reminded Morgan of a leprechaun.

  “This is our new trainee, Morgan.” Turning to Morgan, she said, “This is Scott, also a house slave.”

  “Hi,” Morgan said.

  The woman turned from the stove. Broad-shouldered and long-limbed, her large breasts pressed against her dress, the nipples round and fat. She was in her late twenties, Morgan guessed, and while not exactly pretty—her nose and eyes too small and too close together for her face—she had a wide, generous mouth that curved into a lovely smile as she said, “Nice to meet you, Morgan. I’m Kristen.”

  Scott started to say something else, but Claudette entered the kitchen, and both Scott and Kristen turned back at once to their duties. Claudette had changed from her white gown into pale green silk and had swept her lovely silver hair into a flattering chignon. Emerald earrings dangled from her lobes, but her feet were still bare.

  “The bread,” Claudette said breathlessly. “It should be ready. I forgot the timer.” She nudged Kristen aside and pulled open the oven door. The delicious, yeasty scent of freshly baked bread filled the room, and Morgan’s stomach rumbled. Breakfast was ages ago. She’d been too nervous and excited to eat since then, but now her salivary glands went to work overtime.

  After removing two long, crusty baguettes, Claudette finally noticed Laura and Morgan. “Ah,” she said, regarding Morgan with a critical stare and then a nod. “Much better.” She smiled at Laura. “Well done, ma chérie.” Laura beamed at her praise, while Claudette continued, “You still have a few minutes before the evening meal. You have time to show Morgan the slave quarters, if you like.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Laura replied. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  Just past the kitchen, they took a narrow stairway down into a finished basement that consisted of one large room, with smaller rooms off to the sides. There were four sets of bunk beds, with two on each side of the living space, for a total of eight beds. Each bunk was neatly made, its coverlet tucked smoothly over a single mattress. A woven cotton throw rug lay over the concrete floor. Quite a contrast to the opulence upstairs.

  “You all sleep down here in one big room?” Morgan asked, surprised.

  Laura nodded. “That’s right. Unless one of the Masters wants us in his bed for the night.”

  As Morgan took in this information, she looked around the large room and was startled to see three sets of iron manacles screwed into the back wall, with cuffs for both wrists and ankles. “Whoa. That looks like something out of a medieval torture chamber,” she said, stepping closer.

  Laura followed her gaze. “That’s the punishment wall. Trust me, you don’t want to end up there.”

  While Morgan did love to be bound in chains, she agreed that, in this environment, which was decidedly different from the BDSM play clubs, it was probably not a good place to be.

  To change the subject, she asked, “So what’s the story on Scott?”

  “He’s got an interesting history,” Laura said. “Not a typical sub at all. He actually started out as a Dom. He initially brought his girlfriend here for training and took several lessons himself in the art of erotic dominance. In the process, he connected with his submissive nature. Ironically, his girlfriend left the training within a few days, but Scott ended up staying on. He’s been with us several months.”

  “Wow, talk about a switch,” Morgan said. “And Kristen?”

  Laura smiled. “Kristen’s a total slut.”

  Morgan raised her eyebrows, mildly shocked at Laura’s proclamation.

  Laura laughed. “She’ll tell you that herself. It’s not a slur, not here at the Chateau. She’s a sex slut and a pain slut, and she can take as much as anyone can give. She loves being here because both the Masters use her often and harshly, and this suits her. She’s got a contract out for sale, too, and there’s one guy I know she’s got her eye on. Hopefully it will work out for them. Kristen’s a lot to handle.” She smiled fondly as she said this, and Morgan could tell there was genuine friendship between them.

  “I never even knew a setup like this existed. It sounds like you’ve found real satisfaction with the lifestyle.” She bit her lip, wondering again if she had what it took to succeed here. She wasn’t anywhere near as submissive as Laura, nor did she consider herself a sex or pain slut, though she enjoyed both. What if she couldn’t handle this training thing? What if she failed right out of the gate?

  As if reading her mind, Laura said gently, “Don’t worry, Morgan. This is all new for you, and your trainer will know that. There are many ways to submit, and as long as you’re genuine and sincere, you’ll find success. I guess it’s like anything that matters. You get out of it what you put into it. You probably feel like you’re in a little over your head, but give yourself a chance.”

  “Thanks,” Morgan replied as she hugged herself. Though she didn’t want to admit it to her new submissive friend, she wasn’t in just a little over her head. She was in way, way over it.

  Chapter 3

  As they approached the dining room, Morgan caught a glimpse of white linen, crystal and fine china through the arched doorway. Her pulse quickened at the thought of seeing Aaron again. Being naked while everyone else was clothed was both strange and exciting. Hopefully her new trainer would like what he saw.

  Instead of entering the dining room, however, Laura led her past it into the kitchen. “I thought we were supposed to go in to dinner,” Morgan said, confused.

  “Oh, slaves don’t eat with the Masters unless specifically invited. We eat back here.�
�� Laura took her to a smaller dining room just off the kitchen, where a man and two women were already seated on padded benches on either side of a wooden table, the guy and one of the girls in white, the third naked. They all looked her over appraisingly, the girls with smiles, the guy with a bored, disinterested air.

  “Hey, guys, this is Morgan, our newest trainee.” Nodding toward the man, Laura said, “Morgan, this is Rick—he’s a house slave.”

  “And the personal property of Master Gerard,” Rick added with evident pride as he touched the black leather collar with silver studs he wore around his neck. The only person at the table wearing a slave collar, he was very good-looking, tall and broad-shouldered with brown wavy hair burnished with gold highlights that fell to his shoulders and large, liquid brown eyes. Only his square, masculine jaw saved him from being pretty.

  “Hi, Rick,” Morgan said, offering a smile.

  He smiled back, but with what seemed to Morgan a hint of a sneer.

  “And this is Tara,” Laura said, indicating the thirtysomething woman in a white dress. “She’s a trainee, like you.”

  Tara had straight black hair and pretty dark eyes, though her olive-tone skin was marred by faint but still-visible acne scars. She smiled, revealing small, even white teeth. “Hi, Morgan. Welcome to the adventure of your life.”

  “Thanks,” Morgan said uncertainly.

  “This is Diana,” Laura continued, gesturing toward the other naked girl, who was in her mid-twenties, Morgan guessed. She was heavyset, with large breasts capped by long, dark nipples, and a round, pretty face framed by short strawberry blond hair.

  “Hey there,” Diana said, glancing down at her own bare breasts, and then back at Morgan with a grimace. “You get used to it—eventually.”

  Hoping this was true, Morgan started to slide onto the end of the bench, but Laura stopped her with a gentle but firm hand. “I’m sorry, Morgan, but new trainees don’t sit on the furniture.” At Morgan’s confused look, she added quickly, “Don’t worry, you’re not being punished. This is just how it starts out. We all took our turn on the floor.” She pointed to a small, square rubber pad. There was a plastic placemat beside it set with a napkin and silverware.

  “Are you serious?” Morgan glanced at the others to see if they were in on the joke, but she was met with amused smiles, rather than conspiratorial grins.

  “It teaches humility,” Rick said, looking down his nose at her from across the table. “Clearly, you could use some.”

  Startled by his vehemence, Morgan lowered herself to her knees.

  Kristen entered the room, carrying a large bowl of something that smelled delicious, Scott just behind her with a basket of bread. They placed the food on the table and took their seats. “The Masters have been served,” Scott said. “Tara, you’re on service duty if the bell rings.”

  “There’s a button under the table in the dining room,” Laura explained. “If they need anything, Claudette pushes it, and it rings here.” She pointed toward a large, old-fashioned round bell mounted on the wall. “We take turns doing dinner service duty.”

  The food was served and passed, and Laura reached back to hand Morgan a bowl of stew and a piece of warm bread, a glob of butter melting on it. Hunger overcame the strangeness of the situation, and Morgan took a bite of bread, which tasted as good as it smelled. She was also given a glass of ice water. Setting the bread and glass on the placemat, she picked up her fork and speared a tender piece of meat that was floating in a thick broth, along with carrots, mushrooms and onions.

  “Mmm,” she said involuntarily as she chewed, her eyes fluttering shut in appreciation.

  Kristen smiled across the table at her. “Like it? That’s beef bourguignon. Claudette taught me how to make it. She’s a fabulous cook.”

  As Morgan ate her meal on her knees, the others also focused on their food, little conversation taking place beyond requests for the salt or the water pitcher, and comments about how delicious the food was. No one paid Morgan much attention, though Laura did glance back at her from time to time with a kind smile.

  The service bell clanged at one point, startling Morgan, and causing Tara to leap to her feet and streak out of the room. Morgan wiped her bowl clean with the last of her bread, and was about to ask for seconds, when Kristen, who had left the table several minutes before, returned with a tray of small ramekins containing individual portions of crème brûlée, Morgan’s favorite, topped with fresh raspberries. Whatever else went on at this place, the food was fantastic.

  As they were finishing their dessert, the bell sounded again—this time three quick rings in succession, and everyone at the table put down their spoons and stood. “Dinner’s over,” Laura said, looking back at Morgan. “Bring your dishes to the kitchen sink. Then you’re to report to the positions studio. You have ten minutes to wash up and get ready. Be sure to take your gear bag with you. Wait on a mat on your knees, eyes down, arms behind your back. Don’t look up when the trainer enters the room. Wait for him to tap your shoulder.”

  Morgan’s heart kicked instantly into overdrive at these instructions, the last few bites of her dessert forgotten as she scrambled to her feet. “Oh, man,” she said. “I’m so nervous, my palms are actually sweating.”

  The others had already filed out of the room. Laura placed a hand on Morgan’s back. “It’ll be okay, really. Aaron’s strict, but he knows what he’s doing. Remember your goals, and you’ll be fine.”

  Morgan nodded. “Thanks.” But as she carried her dishes to the kitchen and then climbed the stairs to her bedroom, she wondered what her goals were, exactly. Yes, she would like to learn the grace and ease Laura seemed to wear like a second skin, and she wanted to succeed with the training to secure a fulltime job at Tom’s club, but did she really have the drive and fervor necessary to get through whatever was in store for her?

  “Two weeks,” she murmured over and over to herself as she used the toilet and washed her hands. “You can do anything for two weeks.” As she was drying her hands, she noticed that the cabinet Laura had taken the supplies from earlier had a column of three drawers down one side, each with a label pasted onto it with a name written in a round, feminine hand: Tara, Diana, Morgan.

  Curious, she pulled open the drawer with her name on it, and inside found her toothbrush, birth control pills, hairbrush and toiletries. She pulled open the other girls’ drawers, which had the same basic assortment.

  Mindful of the time, she hurried to her bedroom and swept up the toys still laid out on the bed, stuffing them back into the gear bag. She seemed to be the only one on the third floor at the moment, and she was tempted to explore the other rooms, but didn’t want to be late for her first session with the gorgeous Aaron. She raced down the stairs and found the room with the mirrored wall and yoga mats.

  She glanced at herself in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair and then tossed it back, imagining Aaron was watching her. Whatever Laura had used on her lips had left color there, despite the meal, though Morgan would have liked to add a little gloss to make them appear more kissable to her sexy trainer. Her nipples were still tinted that pretty dusky rose, and she rolled them between her thumbs and forefingers to make them stand at attention.

  The sound of heavy boots on the stairs made her jerk her head toward the door, which was ajar. Hurriedly, she moved to a nearby yoga mat and lowered herself once more to her knees. She straightened her spine and thrust out her breasts as she brought her hands behind her back and loosely clasped her left wrist with her right hand.

  Her heart was pounding furiously as the footsteps grew louder. The tall, sexy guy entered the room, and she remembered at the very last second to lower her eyes.

  ~*~

  Aaron came into the room, nearly tripping over the gear bag the new trainee had dropped carelessly just by the entrance. Nudging it aside with his toe, Aaron looked over to her. He could see she was nervous, her breath shallow and fast, tension radiating from her body. He waited a few moments
for her to calm down.

  From what Michael had told him, she was un-owned and untrained, with limited experience in the scene, not at all their typical client. It had been a while since Aaron had dealt with a complete novice, and with only two weeks to whip her into shape, both in fact and metaphorically, he was facing a definite challenge. The first step would be to see what she could handle, and then they could move on from there.

  She was gorgeous, which actually annoyed him. He would have to be sure not to let her beauty interfere with the training.

  Good, her breathing had slowed, though he could still sense her tension. She was strung tight as a violin bow.

  Bending down, he lightly touched her shoulder. “Stand up.”

  Without permission, she took her hands from behind her back and flopped forward, pressing her palms against the floor as she hoisted herself upright with all the grace of a football player. On her feet, she shook back her hair in a coquettish way and thrust out her pretty breasts like she was on the set of Baywatch. She fixed him with what she no doubt imagined was a smoldering stare, her lips curving into an undeniably sexy half smile.

  In spite of his professional disapproval of her obvious attempts at seduction, his body responded, his cock stiffening in appreciation. He would need to nip this kind of nonsense in the bud. Frowning, he pointed to the mat. “Back on your knees. That was disgraceful.”

  Her expression faltered, the teasing smile falling away. “What?”

  “You will address me as Trainer or Sir. I said get back on your knees. I’ve seen more grace from an old, arthritic dog. Obviously, we have a long way to go. We’ll try it again, and I’ll give you some instruction this time.”

  Her cheeks tinged with pink, her mouth working as if she were about to protest. Lucky for her, she thought better of it, instead pressing her lips into a tight line as she sank back to the mat with as much, or rather as little, grace as when she’d stood.