Masters of the Club

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “Have you been here all along? I haven’t seen you since we left the restaurant.”

  “I wasn’t here, but I was close,” he motioned to the adjoining theatre box.

  “And you enjoyed Puccini?”

  “Yes, it was very good, even with the agonized sounds of some distressed woman ruining a good bit of the second act.” He chuckled.

  It was dark as they moved out on the street toward Thad’s Jag—it felt good to be back in familiar surroundings again. And they thundered into the night high speed through the vacant city until they reached her apartment.

  ***

  Reunited, Kate groped with her favorite master in the darkness of her own plush bed, thinking she was in heaven smelling the scent of him everywhere she turned—in the hallway when she first entered, in the bath and in the kitchen where he’d left a mess for her to clean. Most of all she smelled the scent of him clinging to the rumpled sheets surrounding her now. She was exhausted, having managed to exhaust Thad too before she was ready to sleep. But with her mind unsettled, that sleep could not occur until she’d asked the questions burning at her lips. “What have you been doing since I left with Vitorio?”

  “Oh, I’ve been seeing to Gillian Brahms, among other things,” he replied.

  “So she is …” she hesitated broaching the subject.

  “Yes, she’s being trained for membership—though you don’t have a right to ask, even if I am being nice to you.”

  “And you completed her initiation?” she totally ignored his message not to pry.

  “Are you jealous?”

  “No. At least, I don’t have a right to be.”

  Thad smirked knowingly. “If it makes you feel any better, I simply gave the woman a necessary dressing down at the hideaway.”

  “Oh, my, the hideaway!” She knew what that meant. “I guess it didn’t go well?”

  “Actually it went very well. All part of Mike’s plan.”

  “Mike? Mike Bellamy?”

  “Yes.” He chuckled. “I think he’s fallen in love.”

  “Mike Bellamy, fallen in love!” She was shocked.

  He smiled at her while she tickled his chest, and smiled back.

  “It’s certainly not you and me, and it won’t be like you and Vitorio, but I think they’ll manage.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gillian opened the door to her office at eight that morning, seeing a blur before her, familiar things looking oddly strange, the smell of it unusual, the thought of work itself jarring after an amazing weekend. She felt much the same returning to her apartment at ten o’clock the evening before, exhausted in every way she could think of—physically, emotionally and mentally.

  She was being ‘trained’.

  Thankfully, the young attorney had nearly two hours before she was due in court. She’d need that time to gather her thoughts and return them to her busy law practice. And yet, her mind couldn’t help but float back to the scenes from the weekend that would resonate throughout her for some time. Her mind melted into memory and her body jumped alive on the thread of connected scenes that like a child’s game of connect-the-dots created a picture of her sexual lust like none she’d experienced before …

  She woke the morning after her punishment in the shed, finding herself being bound to the four corners of the bed where she’d spent her night. A ball was pressed inside her mouth so she was gagged as well as immobilized. Immediately, her heart beat far too fast in her chest, the fear of her confinement making her hysterically frantic. She struggled with the bondage until she was exhausted. Trying to catch her breath, she let the fear subside. They wanted her surrender and were demanding it now. This she rationalized, and though it did little to assuage her fear, she relaxed back into the sheets and began to drift.

  The room was dark. The master that bound her had closed the drape at the window when he left. And for what seemed like an eternity, she dwelled in the sensory deprivation—one moment thinking she would go mad, the next being lulled by the beautiful senselessness of the unending solitude. This might actually be a cure for her overly stressed life, except for the powerful need that began to rise between her thighs. The constant throbbing made it impossible for her not to think of the next sexual act required of her.

  At various intervals during the day different masters would enter the room, using her steaming cunt for their own pleasure. They fucked her all too quickly, leaving her with more physical arousal, but no orgasmic satisfaction …

  As Gillian sat in her law office thinking back to those senseless hours, her pussy began to quake so much she couldn’t keep from raising her skirt and touching her pubis. She could orgasm so easily if she tried, but there was a new edict to live by…

  Once her solitary confinement was over—sometime late the first day—she was taken into the main room where she’d been strung up in front of the fire the evening before. The masters that punished her were dressed in casual street clothes drinking beer and eating sandwiches. Her stomach growled meanly. She hadn’t eaten in hours.

  “Front and center,” Bellamy’s voice shot out. He was behind her, and she immediately dropped to the position Thaddeus Chamberlain introduced her to in the woodshed. “This weekend is meant to startle you, Brahms,” Mike continued to speak. “It’s meant to communicate one thing and that is all—we now own your life.” Gillian was about to cry, the words so caressed a piece of her spirit in need of enslavement, she was in awe of both the gratitude she felt and the utter horror of it.

  “While you’re here, you will have no say in what you eat and drink, and wear and when you use the bathroom.” His voice ran chills through her quaking body. “You will say nothing because you’ll be gagged except when you’re allowed to eat. Even your orgasm will be ours to control. We own every second of your life, and if we could climb inside your thoughts, we’d own them too.” He walked behind her, his stride that same purposeful one as when she was bound to the rack and she knew Mike only as the mysterious M. Even though she didn’t see his face, she knew him by his voice this time. Now, it was so unmistakable to her ears she couldn’t understand how she’d been so unaware before.

  “When you have your liberty again, Brahms,” he continued, “there will be more limits in your life. We will continue to own every piece of your sexual being. You will not masturbate or not touch yourself sexually without our permission. You will be on your honor to obey, and will be questioned. Any aberrations will be swiftly punished. If you learn nothing else, you’ll learn not to treat our rules lightly.” He paused, Gillian hearing him sigh. “Your initiation is over, the time for wooing is past. Make the best of it and you might enjoy your new life.”

  At the time his lecture scared her, but the fright turned into pleasure in the hours that followed as it worked her brain, and that submissive piece of her spirit. She felt them nurture her in a place that had never been loved as it was being loved now. In the surrendering soul of hers, she rejoiced, even as her saner mind wondered how she could continue to be the fierce attorney that despised such displays of humility. She’d once looked on with ridicule at those women who yielded to men and slavishly served their desires. Now she was one of them.

  For the remainder of her stay at the hideaway, she relinquished everything to the attentive hands of her masters. For hours she found herself toyed with mercilessly. What one master demanded, the next wanted as avidly. She was passed around from hands to hands in an effort to please them all, not pleasing any, and realizing the longer the bewildering game went on, that these men had no intention of letting her win. At a moment’s displeasure, they were provoked, and paddled her ass, or pinched her nipples, or spanked a tit, or clamped a slip of flesh so tightly she would scream into the gag. They made her look in their eyes as they annoyed every inch of her body. She took one anal dildo after another inside her ass, larger and larger ones breaching the tormented channel until she thought she would explode.

  Her mind broke free of control some hours into their game. Som
ething about that pleased them and slowly the degradation ceased and she was abandoned on the carpet of the living room—bound, gagged, anally plugged and forgotten.

  When her gag was removed, she was pulled to her knees on the floor, and fed a sandwich bite by bite. The beer they offered her dribbled down her chin when she tried to drink. No one bothered to wipe away the mess. When they wanted her to use the toilet, she took care of herself in a bucket outside the back door of the cabin under the watchful eye of the master that offered her this moment of relief.

  There was not a minute in the remainder of her stay where she was not in the presence of at least one of the masters—sometimes scrutinized, sometimes ignored, but she wasn’t left alone again. She dozed in the living room on the floor when she was allowed to sleep—a blanket kindly thrown over her in the dead of night when the room grew chilly. And when she woke in the morning, there was another master in her presence, watchful and grim, there to make her realize how pervasive their rule was over every second of her life.

  When it was time to leave on Sunday night, she was shoved into a shower with her hands still bound behind her, and washed down by one of the masters. He dried her, then finally released the restraints on her wrists in order for her to put on the dress she’d come in. Once she was clothed, she was bound again, then blindfolded and put into the backseat of the same Mercedes for the ride home. She was left at the curb in front of her apartment building at ten o’clock, the gag, the blindfold and the cuffs finally removed for good…

  Gillian could feel those stiff cuffs even now. Running her fingers over her thin wrists, a shiver of excitement darted through her body. She wanted to touch herself. She wanted to cum. It seemed like days since her last climax—the masters had skillfully managed to keep her orgasm away, withdrawing from her precisely when she was almost, but not quite over the edge.

  But apparently the training at the hideaway had had its effect. As soon as she remembered the rule against masturbation, she withdrew her hand and sighed deeply. They owned her now, and she wouldn’t defy them again.

  “But my lord, how am I going to get through this day?” she wondered aloud.

  Gillian had slept soundly once her head hit the pillow, and she rose in a daze that morning. Finding herself in her office, she had gotten there on automatic pilot. When her secretary buzzed her, she woke from the incessant whirring reverie, only to hear another stunning revelation.

  “You have an appointment with the Bellamy board at nine,” Lina told her. It was quarter to nine.

  “What?” She was confused. “When did that happen? I thought I was clear until ten.”

  “It was scheduled late Friday, and they were so insistent about it that I had to put them on the schedule.”

  “No one tells me?”

  “You were out of town. Hey, it’s nothing you can’t handle. I have all the documents you need on my desk.”

  The Bellamy board. Nine o’clock. Mike Bellamy’s face in the middle of a board room. The traitor, the charlatan, the accuser, her master. She thought she was falling in love with him before he unraveled his scheme. Was that love still there? Shell-shocked, she couldn’t be sure.

  ***

  Gillian recovered half her wits—the lawyer half—in time to please the board of Bellamy Ltd. Its CEO was particularly dashing, presiding over the meeting with prudence, sagacious wit and signs of the heart-throbbing charm that had wooed her before. She noted immediately the pussy-engaging aroma of his cologne and the red-stoned pinky ring he’d never worn with her outside the hideaway. The deceit behind their previous personal and professional relationship never seemed quite so apparent, and the old Gillian felt a surge of anger, which the new Gillian attempted to squash.

  Mike was deferential and strictly professional with her, no clue to anyone in the room that they were somehow entangled as lovers, or master and submissive. Perhaps this was the new standard operating procedure for their relationship.

  Having conquered her fears and taken care of the questions on the lawsuit to the board’s satisfaction, Gillian packed her files away in her briefcase and prepared to leave. Joining her, the members of the board were exiting the conference room, all but Bellamy and two others.

  “Brahms,” she was halted by Mike’s voice.

  “Yes, sir.” She used “sir” without thinking, the appellation of respect now seemed second nature.

  “I need to speak with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” she stood for him, while he remained in his seat at the head of the table. The formal arrangement of masters to member seemed accidental, but then maybe Mike had that purposefully planned like everything else in their relationship.

  “How have you been since your return?” he asked.

  “Except for sleeping and getting to this meeting, I’ve been a little groggy, somewhat preoccupied, but I guess I’m coming back to earth.”

  “Good,” he said—still very formal, though there was a bit of his sly self creeping into the conversation. She wanted to enjoy that like she did when he was seducing her, but that wasn’t a wise thing to do. She’d fallen in love with him before, but it would be wrong for her to take her membership in that direction now. And with these other men looking on … it was foolish to think of love. “And have you followed the rules?” he went on.

  “To the letter,” she answered.

  “Good. Very good. I’m sure, you’ll get tired of being asked that question, Brahms, but you did earn the annoyance.”

  “I guess I did.”

  “And let’s see to it that another episode in the hideaway doesn’t need to happen again.”

  “I’ll do everything I can,” she answered him, feeling a wave of expectation, fear and even satisfaction sweep her body.

  He nodded.

  “We had planned to have you strip right here and masturbate for us. I’m sure you could use the relief. But it seems that my schedule has been changed and I’m going to have to leave for another appointment. Don’t worry, we won’t forget that your poor body is painfully in need.” There was a smirk behind this comment, the first she’d seen since they lunched together at the Bistro days before her weekend. It reminded her of that playful side of him and her heart seemed to beat a little more rapidly, romantic thoughts of him coming to mind even while she tried to push them away.

  Gillian would have given anything to have obeyed the order to masturbate, and her heart sank as she realized she’d have to wait again to release some of the pressing need within her. She could defy them and pay the consequences, but she wasn’t ready for another punishment. No. She’d wait and trust. Odd thing for a suspicious and impatient lawyer to do, but then, she was learning to be the person she really wanted to be, not the bitch that had taken over her life.

  “Is there anything else you need?” she asked, knowing she was due in court shortly.

  “Not now, I’ll let you know.”

  He and the other masters started to gather their papers and Gillian turned to leave.

  “By the way, Brahms,” Mike interrupted her one last time, “you look much softer. I think your choice becomes you.”

  She was almost at the door, and the comment startled her. Turning back she wondered what he meant, though all she could say was “thank-you”. She believed her master had just given her a compliment.

  The red stone ring with the filigree suddenly caught a ray from the sun, and a gleam of red was, for a second, splashed across one wall. She nodded pleasantly and left the board room just as confused, aroused and anxious as when she went in.

  ***

  By the time Gillian arrived home that evening, it was nearly eight o’clock. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep peacefully until dawn. Forget her work, and the club, Mike Bellamy, rules and hopefully the ever-present throbbing between her thighs. It had been there all day, something to work hard to ignore because she couldn’t do anything about it.

  Putting her key in the lock, Gillian jumped, startled to find her door already
unlocked. Creeping slowly inside, at the end of the front hall she saw her floorlamp burning warmly in the living room. Her heart raced, and she had half a mind to knock on her neighbor’s door and have someone inspect the apartment with her. Yet, taking a deep breath, her anxiety calmed. Her sixth sense told her she had nothing to fear.

  Turning the corner at the dining room, her eyes popped open wider than they had been all day. There was Mike Bellamy sitting on her sofa with a half dozen cartons of food in front of him on the coffee table. There were chopsticks in his hand.

  “I hope you like Chinese, pork fried rice, ginger beef and egg roll?” He peered nonchalantly into the food before him. “Cashew chicken? I had a craving.” He looked up at her with a grin that should have soothed her fast-beating heart.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Ah. You haven’t had an unexpected visit yet, have you?” The old Mike Bellamy had returned in spades, the charm, the wit, the twinkling eyes, the casual disregard for form. Even his hair, that had been curiously well-groomed since Friday night, was distinctly mussed, as though he’d just come out of the wind. Everything inside her started to flutter.

  “No. No, sir, I haven’t.”

  He nodded. “Sit down.”

  Gillian followed his instruction, gingerly taking a seat in her favorite chair, hoping that might soothe her nerves. Still, she was afraid to move too much, or kick off her shoes, or shed her suit jacket like she planned. She remained with her bottom on the front of the seat waiting nervously for another order.

  “Hey, get comfortable,” he said. “And put a little food in your stomach, you look ghostly. Here.” He handed her a carton and the delicate aroma of fresh ginger wafted toward her nostrils. “Can you eat with chopsticks?”

  “I can try,” she said. Leaning over she managed to get one bite in her mouth, then put the carton back on the table. She was too nervous for more.