She remained in position. “Yes, Sir.” Her voice cracked, and then again, “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Apology accepted,” he replied, relenting, if just a little, though of course she would still have to be punished.
He let her hair go. “Before we begin, I will assign you a safeword. You know what that is, right?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.
“I don’t expect you’ll need to use it, but just in case, your word is lemon. You do understand a safeword is a last resort, and not something to be used lightly. If you do use your safeword, all activity ceases, and we’ll need to reevaluate your training. Repeat the safeword for me now, please.”
“Lemon,” she said softly.
He stepped behind her. “Have you ever been hit with a paddle?”
“No, Sir.” Her voice was tremulous.
“It’s not sexy—not the way I do it. It hurts like hell. I’m going to give you ten swats. You will count each one out loud. You move and we start over. You miss a number and we start over. Are we crystal clear so far?”
“Yes, Sir,” she mumbled.
“Speak up. I couldn’t hear you.”
“Yes, Sir,” she shouted, like a soldier being badgered by a sergeant.
Aaron allowed himself a smile. Then he pulled back his arm and let the paddle fly.
~*~
Morgan had always thought of herself as sexually masochistic. She adored being restrained with rope and leather, held down while a dominant lover had his way with her. She loved a good, hard spanking or a sensual flogging, or even the delicious sting of a single tail whip. That was why the gig at Tom’s club had been so perfect—she actually got paid to express and enjoy her kink. Even without sexual attraction thrown into the mix, there was no greater high than slipping into the arms of erotic pain, and she’d been proud of how much she could tolerate—getting to be a real pro at the club, soon to be offered a full-time job.
But apparently she’d only been playing in the minor leagues. The first savage blow of the paddle against her wet skin took her breath away, smashing her forward and wrenching an ugly grunting sound from deep in her throat. She felt like she’d been hit with a two by four, and there was nothing even remotely sexy about it.
“Count,” he ordered.
“One!” she shouted.
The second blow hurt even worse than the first, and the “two” came out as a wail. Tears blinded her eyes. No fucking way she was going to make it to ten. God, why had she been so stupid? How had she gotten her wires so crossed?
“Three,” she cried as the unrelenting wood made hard contact with her flesh.
He’d had an erection, damn it. He was as hot for her as she was for him. He’d sent her mixed signals. It was his fault!
“Fuck,” she screamed as the paddle caught her just at the sensitive spot where her ass met her thighs.
“No, that was four,” the sadistic bastard behind her said, his voice maddeningly calm. “We will do that one again, and make sure to count.”
The paddle crashed into her. She yelled the number, her mind going blank, save for her determination to get through. Five. Then six. Seven…eight…
Nearly over. You can do it. You can make it…
Though she had been freezing a few moments before, now she was sweating and thought she might pass out. Snot ran from her nose and tears streamed down her face. Her entire body was trembling and her ass and thighs were on fire.
“Ten,” she finally whispered, and then her limbs gave way. She sank to the floor, her head falling into her arms on the bench. She began to sob, an ugly, rasping sound that hurt her throat.
Strong arms encircled her from behind and lifted her into the air, and then she was pressed against Aaron’s strong chest. In spite of his being the one who had caused her anguish, she buried her tearstained face against him.
Without saying anything, he carried her up the stairs to the third floor as if she weighed little more than a child. She kept her face hidden as they moved down the hall.
He set her down on her stomach on a mattress and pulled away. She lifted her head and opened her eyes to see they were in her bedroom. For the briefest, hopeful second she thought he was going to lie down beside her.
But he took a step back and said, “Punishment is over, and we’ll start with a fresh slate in the morning. I’ll send in one of the girls to tend to you.” And with that, he was gone.
Morgan lay motionless for several long moments. She was as exhausted as if she’d run a marathon. It took a supreme effort just to raise her arm, but she managed to reach back to gingerly touch her ass. Her skin was hot and felt bruised. If she’d had the energy, she would have gotten off the bed to look at herself in the mirror. But wait—there was no damn mirror in this damn room. There was nothing but the bed and nightstand.
She let her hand fall to her side and lay there, drifting in her thoughts. What the hell was she doing here? She loved the idea of submission, but did she have what it took to get there?
And how embarrassing to have had him reject her like that. And how incredibly stupid of her to have tried such an amateur move with a professional trainer.
It was his fault. Why did he have to be so fucking hot?
But was that all it was? Was she sticking around because Aaron Sterling floated her boat? Was that enough?
When she was able to quiet the noise in her head, her heart whispered something different. She was here for more than a flirtation with a hot guy. A part of her yearned for what Laura and Claudette seemed to possess. She was being offered the chance to achieve that, and she’d be a fool to walk away. How thrilling to be trained in the art of erotic submission. Just saying it sounded sexy.
She pushed the tangle of damp hair from her face and slipped a hand beneath her body. As she stroked the smooth skin of her newly shaven mons, she reviewed the astonishing events since her arrival at the Chateau that afternoon. In a way, it was like being in a fairytale—an erotic fairytale—and she was the captured princess. But in fairytales there was always a prince, too, right?
Annoyed at her circuitous thought process, Morgan was glad when someone knocked lightly on the doorframe. She looked up, hoping to see Aaron, or at least Laura, but it was Kristen who appeared, a first-aid kit in her hand.
The tall woman was no longer dressed in the white cotton house slave uniform she’d been wearing earlier. Her large breasts were showcased in a black satin bustier, and she wore some kind of leather and metal contraption in lieu of underwear.
She entered the room, her eyes widening as she gazed at Morgan. “You look like something the cat dragged in.” Her gaze moved to Morgan’s ass. “Shit, your butt is red as a tomato. Did he use the paddle?”
Morgan nodded, a blush rising in her cheeks.
“Man, what did you do to deserve that? And your first day here, too.” She clucked her disapproval.
Morgan didn’t answer, instead asking, “What’s that thing you’re wearing?”
“This?” Kristen glanced down at herself. “Oh, that’s my chastity belt.” She looked up with a grin. “I’m a total sex slut. No matter what they do to me, I can’t keep my hands off my own twat, so Michael keeps me locked up when I’m not being used. I can’t even pee without permission.” She didn’t seem at all distressed as she shared this information. In a way, she seemed almost proud.
But then she frowned. “The play parties are the best, because sometimes they take off my belt and let me come. Master Michael was just about to remove the belt so he could fuck me, when Trainer Aaron interrupted the fun. He asked for a house slave volunteer to come tend to you, and since Laura was all tied up and suspended upside down from a hook in the ceiling and Rick was busy sucking off Scott while Gerard beat his pretty little ass, nurse duty fell to me.” She came closer to the bed and set down the first-aid kit next to Morgan.
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “I didn’t ask for anyone to come.”
“That’s a pun, right?” Kristen sa
id with a grin as she sat down on the mattress. “Maybe I’ll make you eat me out as thanks. It’s the least you could do.”
Morgan’s horror at the prospect must have shown on her face, because Kristen laughed and said, “Just kidding, kiddo.” She touched the belt at her waist. “Not like you could get to it even if you wanted to.” Sobering, she added, “Though I’d get over that squeamishness about girl parts if I were you. If the Masters decide you need to lick some cunt, then you’ll be licking some cunt.”
Morgan said nothing as she absorbed this information. She would leap off that bridge if and when she came to it. “Ouch,” she said as Kristen touched her ass.
“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Kristen said. “There’s no broken skin. It’s not so bad, really. You’ll have some bruising, but that’s no big deal.”
She smeared something creamy and cool over Morgan’s heated skin. It felt good, and Morgan sighed her appreciation.
“Seriously, though, what did you do to get punished right out of the gate like that?”
Morgan hesitated, but then said, “I, uh, I forgot to say Sir.”
“You’re shitting me. No way you’d get a beating like this for such a small thing. Especially not on your first day. What’s the real reason?”
Morgan’s face heated, and she was glad Kristen couldn’t see it. Speaking into her arms, she admitted, “I tried to kiss him.”
“What? You’re mumbling.”
“I tried to kiss him.”
Kristen’s soothing touch fell away. “You what? Are you fucking kidding me? You tried to kiss the trainer? Are you out of your mind?”
Tears of embarrassment and chagrin pricked Morgan’s eyelids. “I guess I am,” she admitted miserably. “He had an erection. He was talking about sexual training. I thought he was coming on to me.”
Kristen snorted. “He had a hard-on, so what? I wouldn’t make too much of that if I were you. After all, he’s around naked girls all the time, and he’s only human. But as to coming on to you?” She barked a small, derisive laugh. “You’re a novice slave, for chrissakes. If he wanted to fuck you, he’d fuck you—it’s his right. Not that Aaron Sterling has ever chosen to use any of the slaves.” She sighed dramatically, adding, “Which totally sucks. I would love to be used by him. Since he’s been here, he pretty much keeps to himself when he’s not working. He rarely comes to the play parties, and as far as I know, he’s never touched any of the girls for his own pleasure, or the boys either for that matter.”
She resumed her ministrations. “Seriously, though. He could have thrown you out of the program for that kind of infraction. He must see something in you, to let you off with just a paddling. But I’d watch myself if I were you, kiddo. Being pretty and young doesn’t get you too far here, not like out in the real world.”
“The real world? So this isn’t real?”
“You know what I mean. The Chateau is a place unto itself—a safe, sexy, wonderful haven for masochists like me who need to be chained and cuffed and used. I’m never happier than when I’m on my knees, servicing one of the Masters, or even when I’m scrubbing out toilets, my poor cunt throbbing in my chastity belt, the welts on my back itching as they heal. For me it’s heaven on earth.” She sighed happily to emphasize the point.
“I was an accountant out in the real world,” she continued. “I hated my job and I hated my life. I had a boring vanilla husband who was horrified by my perverted masochistic tendencies, as he called them, and who tried to get me to go to a psychiatrist for a cure. The cure was to divorce the bastard. When a friend at a play party recommended this place, I showed up with nothing but the clothes on my back and the promise to serve and obey. They accepted me with open arms, and I’ve never been happier or more complete. And now that I’ve met Master Richard, my deepest held dreams might just be coming true.”
Recalling Laura’s mention of Kristen’s slave contract being for sale, Morgan asked, “What does that mean exactly? Is he going to, uh, buy you?”
“I sure as heck hope so,” Kristen said. Before Morgan could ask her to elaborate, however, she patted Morgan’s butt and rose to her feet. “I want to get back to the party. We can talk later. You have permission to wash up and then you’re to go to bed.” She grabbed the kit. “See ya!” She hurried from the room without a backward glance.
Morgan lay there a while longer, thinking over Kristen’s story. She seemed so happy with what to Morgan seemed like so little. She was basically a maid, cook and occasional sexual toy. Some guy maybe wanted to buy her contract, whatever that really meant. She slept in a bunk in the basement with three other people and was forced to wear a chastity belt at all times, needing permission just to use the toilet. Yet, while she didn’t exude the grace and serenity that seemed to hang around both Laura and Claudette like an aura, she seemed genuinely content.
Morgan rolled off the mattress and walked slowly down the silent hall to the bathroom. She looked into the two other bedrooms, both of which had more furniture than hers did—one with a bureau and a chair, the other with those things plus a small table, a mirror and a throw rug.
In the bathroom, she stood in front of the sink and twisted back to see herself in the mirror. She drew in a breath as she examined her ass, which was indeed bright red, small bruises already forming on the fleshiest parts of her cheeks. “Jesus,” she whispered, both horrified and thrilled.
Turning away, she used the toilet and then opened the drawer with her name on it. She washed her face and brushed her teeth. As she brushed and wound her still-damp hair into a braid, she thought about her trainer, about the man himself. It wasn’t just that he was gorgeous, or that he was dominant—there was something else about him, something compelling she couldn’t quite define that drew her to him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so attracted to a guy.
She returned to her bedroom and lay down once more on her stomach. Slipping her hand beneath her, she cupped her bare mons. Despite everything that had happened, or no, because of it, she was wet, her clit as hard as a dried pea. Closing her eyes, she began to rub herself, visions of her trainer slipping into her mind’s eye.
He unbuttoned his white linen shirt and pulled it from his broad shoulders. He took off his boots and yanked open the fly of his jeans. Kicking away the pants, he revealed a large, thick cock, which he fisted in his hand as he raked her naked body with a sexy, claiming gaze.
“You belong to me, Morgan,” he said in his low, sexy voice. “I wanted you the second I saw you. I came to America in search of the perfect sub girl, and now I’ve found her. Spread your legs and offer yourself to me. I’m going to fuck you now.”
He draped himself over her, his hard cock nudging inside her as he gripped her throat with his big, strong hand. Her insides melted at his dominant touch, and she groaned against his mouth as his lips crushed hers.
“Yes,” she moaned into the pillow as she rubbed herself furiously. “Yes, Master Aaron. Take me. I’m yours.”
She came hard and fast, and then drifted in the pleasure of the small but satisfying orgasm until sleep came to claim her.
Chapter 5
Something was shaking her, irritating her, pulling her out of an especially good dream. She shrugged away the offending touch and rolled over.
“Morgan, wake up. You want another punishment before the sun’s even up?”
Morgan’s eyes flew open and she rolled onto her back, the dream vanishing in an instant. “Geez,” she said with chagrin as she focused on Laura. “Does the whole place know I fucked up?”
Laura, dressed again in spotless white, her pink nipples visible beneath the sheer fabric, shook her head with a smile. “No. Don’t worry. I only know because Kristen can’t keep her mouth shut to save her life. I doubt Aaron shared it with the other Masters. From what I understand, he tends to keep his methods to himself.”
She yanked back the warm, comfy coverlet from Morgan’s bare body. “Now get up. Your hair’s a mess, and we only have a half hour
before breakfast. Diana and Tara are already up and doing their workout.”
“Their workout?” Morgan echoed, confused.
“Yes. It’s important as a sex slave to be in the best physical shape you can. Diana is working off the bit of excess weight she carries, while Tara is building up her core strength and stamina.”
As Morgan climbed out of the bed, Laura looked her up and down appraisingly. “You’re in excellent condition, and you’re only here for two weeks, so you probably won’t be given a workout regime.” She walked around Morgan as she spoke, and when she saw her ass, she said in a matter-of-fact tone, “You’ve got paddle bruises. Those fade quickly.” She moved toward the door, turning back to admonish, “Now hurry up. If we’re late to breakfast, we’ll both be punished.”
Breakfast, which consisted of a choice of fresh fruit, yogurt, scrambled eggs, bacon and blueberry waffles, was as delicious as the dinner had been, though, as before, Morgan had to eat hers while kneeling on the floor by the slave table. There was little small talk and no lingering as they ate their meal. Rick, Morgan noticed, was absent from the table.
“Where’s Rick?” she asked, curious.
“Master Gerard often keeps Rick with him at night. He likes to take his breakfast in his rooms,” Scott offered.
“Sometimes he takes me to his bed, though,” Kristen interjected. “When Rick becomes too insufferable.” She laughed.
Morgan wrinkled her brow in confusion. “But isn’t Master Gerard…” she trailed off, not wanting to sound politically incorrect by pointing out the obvious.
Kristen, intuiting Morgan's unspoken question, giggled. “Oh, you’re thinking Master Gerard is totally gay. He’s bi, actually. Likes to play on both sides of the fence. His preferred flavor is definitely male, but he enjoys the occasional female sub girl, as well. It makes Rick no end of jealous when Master Gerard chooses me over him.”
“You really shouldn’t goad Rick the way you do,” Scott said. “You know that dude has a temper.”
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