Steven

by Suzy Shearer

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2018 Suzy Shearer

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-707-8

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my wonderful family.

  Thank you all for your wonderful support—Ben and Elise, Will and Marrianne. You make me very proud to be your mother (and mum-in-law).

  Dad, you always taught me to strive for the stars, insisted there was nothing I couldn’t do—and you were right. I know you and Mum are watching over me as I carry you both in my heart forever. I miss you.

  STEVEN

  The Silk Rope Masters, 1

  Suzy Shearer

  Copyright © 2018

  I'll give you what you're afraid to ask for…

  —Unknown

  Chapter One

  Avril tried not to listen to the two women sitting behind her on the bus, but it was almost impossible. There were only a few people on board, and, although they spoke relatively quietly between themselves, it was hard to ignore the subject they were chatting about.

  "So, are you going to the anniversary party?"

  "You mean the one at Miranda's house?"

  "Yes. I'm really excited about it."

  "Unfortunately, both Master and I are on duty that weekend, which means we can't go."

  "Oh, that's a shame. I always enjoy the parties that members hold outside of the actual club."

  "Yes, me too. Master Ash told my Master he wants to make the outside parties a regular thing if everyone enjoys this one and if enough people step up to host them. He said they'll rotate between home and venues."

  "Oh wow, let's hope it happens. It's always much nicer mixing with other people in the BDSM scene outside of the actual club. I always love going to munches. You don't have to worry about saying something wrong. Let's face it, it isn't something you talk about in regular conversation."

  "Hell yes. I've had to bite my tongue several times, worried I'd say something. If you slip then people give you this weird stare, and they act as if you're insane or some kind of pervert."

  "Ha. Imagine people's faces if you said you're a submissive and your partner is a Dom who ties you up and flogs you all the time."

  "Probably get reported to the nearest police officer."

  "You're not joking. Imagine saying you belong to a club called Silk Rope and everyone there is into BDSM, probably get the place raided."

  "So funny. People really don't get the unbelievable pleasure from being with a Dom."

  "Hey, did you hear Master Steven ended up refusing to take on that new sub?"

  "He did? You mean that girl Sandra? Why?"

  "Yes, Sandra. She kept telling everyone how much she loved pain and how no Dom had ever been able to satisfy her. Said she was an absolute pain slut and asked if there was anyone at Silk Rope who would be able to make her happy. Apparently Master Ash was suspicious, but he told her he would let a Master who loved giving pain help her. Master Steven was away for a couple of weeks, but when he came back she jumped at the chance to be with him.

  "Anyway, after one session with Master Steven she ended up screaming blue murder, called red after less than half a dozen hits. Said she would have been hurt badly if she hadn't called red."

  "What? You're joking, what an idiot. I'd heard there’d been some want-to-be who got caught out."

  "Yep, that was Sandra. She left. She hasn't been back since."

  "So that's why I haven't seen her."

  Both women laughed.

  "That's funny! Mind you, Master Steven is a real sadist even if he is gorgeous. If she thought she could fake it with him she was at the wrong club."

  "True. My Master gave me to him once to punish me, only five hits with his hand, but, my gosh, he really hurt!"

  "Mine's threatened me with him a few times as punishment. Now I'm really careful. I think I'd pass out if he whipped me even once."

  "Isn't it funny? I can't even stand a paper cut, but when my Master flogs me I get that excited. But I have to admit if it was a sadist like Master Steven or Master Peter who hit me I think I'd curl up and die. I know I really couldn't handle even the tiniest level of pain either Master would want to give."

  "Me too, I know I definitely couldn't handle it. Only a true masochist could. But still that whole pain-pleasure thing is such a turn-on. I love it."

  Avril wondered why she kept getting these little shivers of excitement at their conversation. She couldn't stop listening even if she wanted to. She was hooked.

  "Oh yes, when my Master tells me to strip off and he picks up a flogger I can't wait for him to hit me. But if it was Master Steven or Master Peter I know I'd be crying red even before the first strike."

  "True, when I was waiting for my Master last week I was watching Master Peter with Renata. I'd be screaming red after one hard stroke of a cane, but Renata was screaming for more and then she had this massive orgasm and he hadn't even touched her clit!"

  Unfortunately, at that point Avril's work stop came up, but as she stood, she glanced at the speakers as she passed them to alight from the bus. Both appeared to be in their mid- to late thirties. In fact, they seemed perfectly normal. Nothing would ever indicate these two were into some kind of kinky sex thing.

  Avril worked for a large company that manufactured drinks—soft, energy, milk. Over the years, she'd fought her way up and over the man-based field to become the head promotional officer and loved her job, but today her mind simply wasn't on it.

  On and off throughout the day Avril kept going through the conversation she'd heard. It had actually intrigued her, and she spent the day trying to ignore the way her mind kept drifting to the ache between her legs. Just the fact that she could feel some tiny tingles had her amazed, and she wondered exactly what, and where, this club they'd mentioned was. She knew her mind just wasn't on her tasks as she kind of coasted through the day. That night when she arrived home, she fed her large, lazy mastiff George then made a quick stir-fry before settling on the couch with her laptop. Opening it up, Avril wondered where to start.

  Of course, she knew the term BDSM. She thought most people would. She had a vague idea about Doms and submissives, knew about people getting tied up and hit, but that tiny bit was the extent of her knowledge. Perhaps she should start there, start with the basics. Typing in the term threw up millions of sites. Okay, maybe she should read the first one—Wikipedia, then go from there.

  Talk about an eye-opener! Avril discovered a whole new world. A world devoted to many alternative sex practices she could never have imagined. Some of it horrified her, but some made her wriggle on her seat, her focus once more between her legs. Maybe, just maybe, this was what she'd been searching for all her life and never really knew.

  She'd had lovers in her youth. Several in fact, but none could satisfy her and none stayed long. The truth was, most considered her emotionally cold and sexually frigid. Ruefully, Avril thought she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she'd actually been excited. That was why she'd only had many one-night lovers—none stayed when they couldn't stimulate her. Certainly, she had been told she was frigid so often, she was now sure it was true. One lover even went as far as to say “sex with a lump of wood would have been more exciting”. It
turned her off dating, off sex, and she’d thrown herself into her career instead.

  So here she was, a woman of fifty-two who had rarely gotten aroused, even more rarely climaxed, and yet who yearned for love.

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  The last person she'd slept with was way too many years ago, and yet he'd actually managed to excite her. She had an orgasm with him, but she'd had to throw him out of her house. Only thinking about him had her cringing.

  They had dinner once, and then on their second date they'd had sex. He'd actually hit her hard during sex. The touch of his hand smacking her bottom, then her breasts had been such a turn-on, and she'd responded, amazing herself. Unfortunately, he wanted to keep hitting her outside of the bedroom.

  The sex was great, and on their third date he'd hit her even harder and she loved it. Afterwards they'd gone into the kitchen, and Avril went to pour them both a glass of wine. Unfortunately, that was when he decided she needed to be hit all the time. There was no way she would allow herself to be abused. Pain during sex was one thing, but the minute he touched her outside the bedroom it was over before it had a chance to begin.

  She’d threatened to call the police, and luckily for Avril, he took her at her word. He’d left her house, and she'd not seen or heard from him since. Since then she'd been even more wary about getting involved with anyone. That one brush with physical and verbal abuse was enough for her. Add to it those who'd told her she was frigid and Avril figured it wasn't worth the risk, so instead she'd spent the last eight years celibate.

  But in the back of her mind was the undeniable fact—she'd gotten aroused from being struck hard during sex.

  More important was the fact the more the blows hurt, the more excited she'd gotten. She'd even begged him to hit her harder the second time they'd had sex. That was probably why he’d decided to use her as a punching bag. Liking the pain made her think she must be some sort of deviant, and somehow Avril had tried to pretend it never happened. Instead she'd pushed it deep down in her mind, never to face it again.

  Yet now she'd heard about an alternate lifestyle that didn't frown on any sexual deviations. She'd listened to those women describing being hit. All those old feelings had surfaced, and Avril knew it had “tickled her taste buds”, so to speak. She wanted to know more. The things she read excited her. Reading about being hit with floggers, whips, crops, canes, and realizing exactly how many people enjoyed the pain, only reinforced her desire to know more. Perhaps that was what she'd needed all her life.

  But would it be safe? Would the people there be genuine and not into abuse?

  She'd already been shown how easy it was to be deceived by a partner. What if this club was just a front for people who enjoyed physically abusing others? If she investigated this interest, went further than merely reading about it, then it would have to be somewhere that took her safety very seriously. But how would she locate this club? Would they help her? Maybe she was too old. Possibly they only took younger people. Still, she was determined to see what she could find out. Maybe this was the one chance left to her to find out the truth about herself.

  Racking her brains trying to recall the name of the place the women had mentioned, she typed in the word “clubs” into the search engine. Lots of information came up about clubs—football, baseball, chess, dancing. Thousands and thousands.

  “Duh! How stupid am I?”

  She added the term “BDSM” and put the word “club” in inverted commas. This worked. Now it showed lots of clubs all over the world. Adding in her location, she searched again. This time the top link was for a place with the name Silk Rope. There were no others within a hundred-mile radius. The name stirred a memory as she recalled the women mentioned their club as something about silk and ropes. This had to be it, and she clicked the link.

  The website of Silk Rope was elegant and tasteful. It didn't actually give much away, merely that it was a venue for an alternative sexual lifestyle and it emphasized safety for all. It mentioned BDSM, gave a few tantalizing details, but she discovered you had to be a member to login and get more in-depth information. Although it did say it was open from Thursday evenings right through to Sunday nights.

  Avril found contact information, a mention of the date of the next munch, whatever that was, and alongside it was a link for new members. Opening the link, she discovered that once a month the club held an information evening for people of all ages, provided they were over twenty-five, who were interested in learning more or in joining. On that night full details of the club were released and the specifics of what it catered to. She looked at the date for the next meeting—this Friday.

  Surprised to see there was a one-hundred-and-fifty-dollar fee merely to attend, Avril guessed it was probably there to weed out those who thought it would be a great way to ogle at naked people. It also stated the fee included a two-night one-on-one hands-on instruction deal. As well she needed to bring a current doctor's certificate clearing her of any STDs and that she had no underlying heart or health problems that would be averse to physical exercise. Before she had a chance to change her mind, Avril booked a place, paid her fee, and then sat back, wondering if she'd done the right thing.

  She called into a local doctor's surgery and got tested. Somehow, she made it through the rest of the week, and if she seemed distracted at work nobody mentioned it. She knew most of the staff referred to her behind her back as the Ice Queen. She had a reputation of not having any humor and being a stickler for work and nothing else. Avril knew she gave the appearance as being a hard-ass bitch, but to survive in this cutthroat world of men she had to stand her ground, not let any of them walk over her. Her being distracted seemed barely noticeable by the staff as she tried to go about her work.

  When she arrived home Friday evening, after her shower, she opened her wardrobe and wondered what she should wear. Dressed in white panties and matching lacy bra, Avril stared at her clothes. Most were power suits—pantsuits or skirts and blazers. She mainly wore jeans on the weekends or sweats but didn't really have any good casual clothes. She actually used the suits to hide behind, preferring to portray a successful but definitely unapproachable woman.

  What would someone see if they really studied her? If they tried to see past the mask she showed to the world? Avril considered herself pretty. Would they think she was a woman in her fifties? Would they like her? She was a healthy and fit woman, just with ample flesh. Avril doubted she'd ever be a slim model type—she loved food too much.

  She twisted her hair into the chignon she always wore in keeping with the Ice Queen persona. Then, sighing loudly, she shook her head, and in the end, she pulled out a suit—a dark green skirt ending below her knees, which she teamed with a crisp white blouse and black shoes. Pulling on the matching jacket, Avril picked up her bag and keys, gave George a pat on the head, and left.

  Punching in the address in her car's navigation system, Avril took off. All the way to the location she felt sick. Her insides were tied up in knots, and she kept contemplating turning the car around and going home. It was only the fact she'd never run from anything in her life that forced her to drive on.

  Entering the complex through a set of massive gates within a high brick wall, Avril thought she'd actually vomit. It was as if her stomach was boiling as it churned and roiled. She burped, and all she could taste was bile. Reaching the car park alongside a massive building that she thought was like an old Georgian mansion, she pulled into a space then sat in the car, her hands visibly shaking. She rummaged in her handbag and found a peppermint to suck on to take away the horrid taste in her mouth.

  Could she do this?

  The car park was three-quarters filled, and she could see people walking to the stairs and entering the building. The information evening was to start at seven, and it was now ten to. Time to man up.

  Fuck!

  Chapter Two

  "Dammit, it's only a meeting!"

  Trying to convince herself to move, Avril remi
nded herself she wouldn't be stripped off to let some stranger hit her as soon as she walked in the door. This was only to learn a few things. She could walk away after tonight and never come back. She gave herself a pep talk, and then, steeling herself, Avril got out of the car. She pushed down her nausea and headed across the car park then up the stairs. Opening the door, she entered a large, welcoming lobby, tastefully decorated, and with several couches and a desk, behind which was a formidable looking man. He appeared as if he could snap her in two without breaking up a sweat. Nervously, she approached him, and he gave her a friendly smile.

  It was as if the sun broke through the clouds as he grinned down at her and said in a warm, amiable voice, "Here for the information evening? My name's Stan. "

  Her voice cracked as she stammered, "Ye-yes."

  "Do you have your receipt and certificate?"

  She handed them over.

  "And I'll need your driver's license."

  Fumbling in her wallet, she gave it to the man, who photocopied it, then gave her a form.

  "Can you fill this out please? It only has your name, address, and contact numbers. You also need to sign the bottom to say you won't discuss the things you hear or see tonight outside the club except with members. If you recognize anyone you will not speak to them here or discuss things you see with them outside the club unless they approach you."

  "Oh, okay, I understand."

  Quickly, Avril filled in the paper and signed it. She handed it back, and Stan gave it a quick read, then witnessed her signature.

  "Great, thanks, Ms. Thomson. Now if you'd like to go through that door there. You will need to leave your bag in one of the lockers, then come back here."

  He pulled out a card from many inside a small, round glass fishbowl and handed it to her. On the outside was a locker number.