Masters of the Club

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “It’s what she chose,” Thad answered.

  “But wouldn’t you like to see her suffer yourself?”

  “I see plenty. She’s not a Gillian. She’s a Kate, and this Kate is a soft white lamb with a black streak that needs a little playtime now and again. Right now, she needs a ruthless ass of a man, not the man that loves her, taking her that deeply. Vitorio does it with such finesse … it makes her happy, and she’ll come home more content, and well …”

  “Truth is you just hate to punish her.”

  “Of course, I do—never said I didn’t have my own soft streak amidst my black heart. But I did love lambasting your wolf in sheep’s clothing. Little bitch,” he murmured under his breath. “Tell me, are you going to enjoy punishing Gillian?”

  “If it gives a woman what she needs, then I have no problem. I’m certainly not going to give her up to Vitorio.”

  “Then punish her hard. Make her sweat a bit before you use that charm on her again.”

  “I don’t doubt I’ll have to,” Mike replied. “Right now, I have a feeling that she’s pissed as hell at me.” The two men parted when they reached the cabin—Thad had to catch a late plane to Milan. And Mike retrieved his favorite punishment paddle, then returned to the woodshed to finish off Gillian’s trial by fire.

  ***

  There was a breathless quiet in the shack when Mike Bellamy entered. No smacks, no wails, no sizzling implement, no desperate wails—just a submissively reposed woman waiting for her ordeal to end. Mike almost winced seeing the state of Gillian’s ass. The deep scarlet hue was etched with streaks where the paddles, straps and the nasty rod had roughed her skin.

  Vince Calleoni was just finishing, the last of four before a dreadful finale. Mike was sure she didn’t need more, but then that wasn’t the point. A errant member always took the whole of the masters available when the punishment was agreed on by the membership. Gillian was in luck that only five could be there—in the past he’d seen twenty masters paddle, strap and cane a needy submissive. Yet, what these men lacked in numbers, they made up for in efficiency. The treatment would be enough to wipe the slate clean between him and Gillian, so they could start again—or as was more appropriate—start over.

  Vince left the shack nodding his head grimly at Mike. He still wasn’t convinced that Bellamy was right about this new member. The look on his face spoke volumes about his disapproval, but then, he didn’t understand how Mike had so brilliantly orchestrated Gillian’s failed first initiation. Mike knew that this initiate needed to flounder miserably. She needed to see for herself why no master thought she was right for the life she claimed she wanted.

  “You have a hot burn on your ass, Brahms,” he said. Her eyes immediately shot open hearing his voice rise out of the smoldering darkness, interrupting her momentary repose.

  Gillian watched the man take a position nearby, leaning against an old table, looking as though he could instantly break out into one of his signature jaunty smiles—or as was likely the case—turn vile and hard like the chill look of his deep amber eyes.

  “You look good,” he said. Obviously he admired her pose, now a strained and painful one.

  “I would have thought you might have had a clue,” he began. “I signed every note to you with my first initial. I didn’t wear the ring or douse myself with my cologne when I was going to spend time with you, but there was the sound of my voice. I thought eventually you’d find that distinctive enough. I guess I practiced well, I certainly tried. Maybe I’m even better than I thought.”

  His mockery annoyed her, and the anger she thought had fled, now started to churn again in her sour stomach. To her further dismay, the realized the desire along side that anger. She hated the vile combination because it meant that he would win. He’d always win with her, being just the kind of man that she needed. Worse still, Mike Bellamy knew this as well as she did.

  “You’re pissed, aren’t you?” he asked, just rhetorically. “And you’d probably like to spit in my face.”

  He was so right.

  “But I bet you’re turned on?”

  Right about that too, she told herself.

  “So, Gillian, your thighs must be burning by now, tell me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Yes, what!” he snapped, his voice bit. “Are you ever going to learn?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stared at her eyes, venom seeming to pour from his. He was displeased with her still. “Maybe not in the conference room,” he began to speak, “or in your office, or in court—yes, you might even in court address me with that term of respect, but you will, when we’re alone, never fail to recognize that I am the master and you a mere wanting member. If I have to spank that truth into you, imprint it on your sorry little bottom daily for a year, I will. You’ll get so sick of being spanked, you will eventually learn. You don’t have a master that will take less than complete obedience. You adhere to the rules or you’ll get another smarting bottom.

  “The only reason that you have a second chance with us is because my friends respect the fact that it was Mike Bellamy that wanted the challenge of the brash attorney, Gillian Brahms, and they allowed me the latitude to bring you in. You’re here because of me, and not what you’ll ever do. Get that straight from the start. You may be pissed at me for seducing you, but you know the truth. You were so easy, I thought I was dealing with a free woman, not one that had rashly given her life over to my sex club.

  “I set you up, I encouraged you, cajoled you, wooed you, and enjoyed your pretty cunt. I played you like a finely preserved Stradivarius, and you fell into my hands.”

  He paused, moving toward her, squatting down, his hand reaching to touch her upside down face.

  “The fact is, you didn’t have a prayer. I knew I had you won. Between my cunning and your flagrant need, there was no way I’d lose the bet I made with my friends. I told you before that I would win, and so I have. Oh, some still aren’t convinced. But Thad is. He’s the only one that really matters, since he had such faith in me.”

  Mike’s touch bordered on affectionate, but it was short-lived.

  “Your life isn’t going to be easy for the next few months. In fact, I’d say you’re going to fail with me more than you’ll succeed, but you will have lots of sex and a raging cunt and a master that you’ll obey. He’ll make sure you feel everything as sweetly as you’re feeling in your poor liquefied cunt right now.” He paused, and his lips turned into a gentle sneer. “I know what you’re thinking. You wish I’d touch it.”

  He was right. She felt a spasm but there was no pleasurable end, just raw agitation.

  “You’re likely to get sick of me before our mutual business and pleasure are over, but trust me, Brahms, this will be six months you’ll never forget.”

  Every word and phrase echoed in her ear—both the melody and the discordant, grating noise.

  He rose from his squat, and then like his gray-haired friend before him, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to above the elbows, all within sight of her mesmerized eyes. She had almost become immune to the pain of this punishment. But now she winced with fear, believing that this master would bring the chastisement to a new level she couldn’t bear. The thrill of arousal was astounding. And all this, Mike Bellamy knew just by watching the subtle shifts in her expression. Being so utterly embarrassed by his knowledge of her, she closed her eyes.

  “You can close out the sight of me, Brahms, but not the spanking you’ll receive. And you’re not going to be able to deny what happens afterwards.”

  Turning, Mike picked up the paddle he retrieved from the cabin and slapped it against his hand with a resounding smack. Gillian heard it, actually wondering if the smack had been against her ass. But there was no stinging pain.

  Taking his position behind her, they both enjoyed the still of the air, the breathless excitement of raw anticipation and then, that first exhilarating whack of the wood against her skin.

  “Aaaaah!�
� she moaned.

  Mike danced the paddle off her naked ass, bringing back the raw rich glow of agony to a bottom that had, for a brief time, paled in the waiting. He now covered spots where the other punishments had marred the surface, and made his own mark on the two sore cheeks, while listening to her terrible cries of woe.

  Gillian was in agony start to finish—but even so, there seemed to be some curious erotic bliss to this finale. Despite the pain of it, she had a master delivering the blows who was supremely interested in her, in her. If he didn’t care in some small corner of his masterful, wily, crafty, despicable soul, then why would he put so much effort and enthusiasm into his task? He may have the truth about her in his back pocket, but she had a few about him to nurture in the dreadful moment. The punishment proceeded without much further fanfare. It was strictly a paddle to ass spanking of unrelenting quality. It was a burning, tear-provoking, wailing, struggling, wriggling battle to bear what was truly unbearable.

  And when he finally stopped, her tears began to flow.

  It was quiet again. He still held the paddle when he squatted again beside her, lifting a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. The gesture was kind enough, but not his words.

  “Don’t disappoint me, Brahms,” he said. “Don’t ever disappoint me. I win. I always win. You may be a mean bitch in court—and I hope you are for the sake of Bellamy Ltd.—but you shall be a submissive lamb to me. You’ll obey me like an old-world wife obeys her husband. You’ll squelch your turmoil and serve my needs. This is my club, and we play by my rules.”

  Moving to each ankle, he released the ropes, then backed off. “Leanne will be here to show you where you’ll sleep.”

  As Gillian struggled to rise, struggled to work the kinks out of her aching body, and soothe her ass with the palm of her hand, Mike Bellamy slipped into the night.

  If nothing else, this startling episode refreshed her memory of Kate McPherson’s diary, and the feelings of fear and terror that her friend had felt. It also reminded her of the excellent fire between her thighs on reading her friend’s outrageous exploits, and the fire she was feeling now as the sensation of punishment made its way from her bottom to every raw nerve ending in her exhausted body. She would sleep well.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After the unexpected night on Vitorio’s lap and in Vitorio’s bed, Kate found her master was even more exacting with his rules the following day. Perhaps he thought the unusual lovemaking needed to be balanced with a dose of reality. Vitorio prided himself on being the ruthless disciplinarian.

  And yet, something changed because of that night. She never found him quite as ruthless, his rules seemed less arbitrary, his demands less obscure. Finally having his expectations plainly understood, she was punished less. For their next week, they settled into a civil and even respectful coexistence at his estate. She was still his pet, he still her master, but their moments together were less filled with the vital tension of their first weeks. They spent the night more frequently in his bed, making love silently before they slept. They rarely talked, but that didn’t seem to matter—perhaps they reached that perfect state of dominant/submissive bliss where they simply understood each other without speaking. All this peace made Kate begin to dream again, to look beyond her time with Vitorio, to when she’d rejoin the life she left. Perhaps these were dangerous musings, since she had no clue if she’d remain with the master for one day, or a thousand days. That was not for her to decide.

  ***

  “Lovely, lovely,” Vitorio exuded such delight giving her his highest praise as he observed how she was dressed in the gleaming red leather he’d had made for her.

  “You’re going to outshine the divas on stage, my pet,” he said. “Come here.”

  Kate teetered toward his side. Vitorio was in his chair on the patio, reading. Kate was struggling with the red high heels he’d purchased for her to wear with the dress. She had to admit it was a profound look. One that made her feel particularly submissive, owned and nothing but this man’s sexual plaything—not a feeling she’d had in some days. She welcomed it, but was also a little afraid of this change in his attitude, when for nearly a week they almost lived like equals.

  At Vitorio’s side, he felt him adjusting the dress. It was hardly more than a glorified leather corset with zippers both back and front. The one in front closed toward the top, but was left open enough to display her breast flesh pushed high into the confining leather so the two mounds looked as though they were pillows floating on top of water. The dress fit snugly at the waist, and hugged her hips tight, reaching down as far as mid thigh. The bottom hem was slightly gathered in the center so that when she walked someone looking could almost glimpse her pussy. In back, the zipper was drawn bottom to top and left open a good six inches at the skirt, making the leather sides part far without the stress of being pushed together. There, she was in danger of having her ass cheeks come into view. But then that was the point—to be exceedingly slutty, giving anyone that bothered to look just enough to keep them looking for more. Going to the opera would be as much her show as the singers on stage—at least for Vitorio’s handpicked audience that would join them in his box.

  To complete the outfit, Kate wore a matching red leather collar at her neck—a thinly disguised allusion to her sexually submissive status. But because it matched the dress so well, only those of like mind would guess the implications. She’d wear a leash as well, but until they reached his box on the second tier, that would remain tucked inside her coat out of sight—so Vitorio explained to her. He was in many ways a very discreet man. Though when he wasn’t, he went the opposite and was a flaming exhibitionist with a slut on his arm. It was difficult to say just which he’d be on this night.

  “I have something very special for you tonight, this being a very important one for us both.” He had a pink paper sack in his lap, and from it drew an object that on first glance was unrecognizable. It seemed only a mass of leather with no form at all. Yet, when she saw a distinctive piece appear in his hand, her mind suddenly understood the purpose of the leather straps. “Turn around.”

  Kate followed the order, having Vitorio unzip the skirt to her waist so he could have an easy access to her body. Then, with his assistance, a lower-body harness with places for her legs appeared, and she stepped into the leg straps. Pulling it up over her hips, the contraption conformed smoothly to her figure. It attached at the waist, a rolled piece fitting through her ass crack, connecting to two straps that would thread through her cunt. These pieces were adjustable and most notably, the thong at the back had a thick anal plug that would slip inside her ass.

  “Part your legs so I can put this inside.” He spoke with such delight, though Kate cringed seeing the great happiness in his face. After applying a little cream to the fat thing and her opening, he pressed it to her nether door and she felt her body widening to accept it with more grace than her mind did. Once it was secured snuggly in her back channel, he turned her around and drew the thinner connecting pieces between her legs. Undoing her labia chain, he discarded it in his pocket, and threaded the two straps through the piercing rings. Drawing the entire apparatus up tight, he fixed the ends to the waistband and locked them in place. Only a tiny key would release her from this appalling confinement. The final effect had her pussy lips spread wide so her clit was prominently exposed as though before this night was over, she’d be beckoning men to have her, giving them a slut’s kind of come-on they could hardly decline. With her knowledge of the club and Vitorio, Kate knew that this would be more than just a night at the opera.

  “Now for your final adornment,” he announced, as his eyes oozed with his most devious look. “Bring me the cane baton.”

  Kate hadn’t seen the baton in days and the thought of it make her bristle anxiously. Still, without a moment’s hesitation, she padded toward the cabinet where he kept his implements, and withdrew the one that made her quake the most. As she moved, she realized it might take some practice ge
tting used to the hefty plug in her ass, but that was the least of her concerns now.

  “Kneel for me,” he said, when she returned.

  She obeyed, thrusting her breasts forward toward his lusty eyes, just the way he taught her.

  “Now, unzip the dress. I want your flesh exposed.”

  Again, she obeyed without hesitation even though her hands trembled noticeably as she realized what he planned to do. With the two tits bared before him, Vitorio smiled, pleased by the canvas she presented. “Raise them,” he said. She complied, taking each one in a hand and pushing it upward like an offering.

  A moment later the baton struck viciously six times—three times each to each breast. A cut on each came exceedingly close to her nipples, another one caught the outsides of her breasts. All were delivered with such resplendent force that there were thin welts instantly rising on the flawless surface of pale pink skin. These wounds wouldn’t disappear for days. Kate clenched and let out a little shriek as a vile pain ripped through her. Thankfully, it was short-lived.

  Ah, they are beautiful, my pet,” he said admiring them with a ticklish stroke of his hand. “Now your ass. Turn to the side and present it for me. I’m afraid this will hurt a good deal more. So, cry if you like. But don’t destroy that finely etched face. Then, I would have to punish you soundly.”

  Kate did as she was told, turning on her knees, so that she was at the perfect angle for her master to best mark her rear with the baton. Bending over, her ass remained high in the air, and she huddled, closed in on herself and gritted her teeth for the assault. This time, she couldn’t count the number of cuts Vitorio applied. They came with frightening speed, causing her, after at least a dozen, to rise up, ignoring his snarled commands for her to maintain the humble posture.

  “Unless you’d like for me to repeat this in front of my guests tonight, you’ll settle yourself!” he declared curtly. “I said you could cry out, but you cannot avoid this cane.”