“Okay,” Jaime acquiesced, chagrined to hear herself described in this way, but equally aware Ashley was pretty much on the mark. “I get that, but can’t I achieve true submission, as you call it, without having my hard limits violated?”
“Don’t think of them as limits. There are no limits, except the ones you erect in your head. Achieving submission is like any other worthy but difficult goal. The people who succeed are the ones who think through what they really want from the experience and then work incredibly hard, day after day, to attain their goals. They don’t just flop around like fish out of water. They have a vision, and they work their asses off to make it a reality. Whether it’s becoming a top-notch chef or becoming the best sub you can be, one worthy of becoming an Enclave staff slave, it’s all the same thing.”
“But what if I fail?” Jaime asked in a small voice.
Ashley shrugged. “Then you fail. And you try again. You keep at it, despite failing, or because of failing, if that makes sense. It’s like creating that perfect recipe. You rework and rework and rework it until you get it right. The bar is definitely high here at The Enclave, but that’s what makes it so exhilarating, don’t you see? Yeah, you have to struggle, and yeah, sometimes you fail, but how you react to that failure is where the choice comes in. You can either get pissed and give up, or you can ask yourself, ‘How can I make it better? What can I do to be a better sub, not for Master X, but for myself?’”
Ashley turned toward the entrance of the dungeon at the sound of approaching footsteps. Her countenance smoothed into serenity, her body arched into statuesque perfection. “You can do it, Jaime,” she whispered as Jaime, too, struggled to assume the at-ease, kneeling-up position. “Have faith in yourself.”
Two sets of boots appeared in front of their lowered eyes. At a tap to her shoulder, Jaime looked up, not into the face of Master Mason, as she’d expected, but into Master Mark’s lively eyes. “Oh,” she blurted in happy surprise before realizing she’d made a sound. She pressed her lips together and looked down, wondering if he’d seen the blush rising on her cheeks.
“Good afternoon, girls,” Master Mason growled in his deep bass. “Today’s session will involve needle and knife play.” He turned to Master Mark. “I understand Jaime has issues, difficulties, with this kind of edge play. What do you think about securing her in one of the St. Andrew’s crosses to keep her from fidgeting or turning away while she watches the demonstration?”
“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Master Mark said. He tapped her shoulder again. “Get up, slave girl. I’ll strap you in while Master Mason and slave Ashley prepare for the demonstration.”
Relief flooded through Jaime as she followed Master Mark through the dungeon toward one of the X crosses that stood near the back of the large space. She was going to be an observer; that was all!
Yet, at the same time, she found herself oddly disappointed. Ashley’s words had made a strong impression on her, giving her resolve she hadn’t had previously. She had almost looked forward to the chance to prove, both to herself and to her Masters, she had the courage and determination to handle whatever they deemed was right for her. Still, the relief was greater than the need to prove herself. There would be other times for that during her training, she was pretty sure.
She resisted the strong urge to lean into Master Mark’s touch as he cuffed her into the cross. He added a leather restraint across her forehead that made it impossible for her to turn away. When he was done, he ran his fingers lightly over her nipples, trailing his hand down her abdomen to between her spread legs.
She nearly moaned aloud, only barely catching herself in time. As it was, her perking nipples and instantly sopping pussy had to be obvious testament to her desire for the man. She had to bite her lips to keep from groaning with frustration when he dropped his hand from her body and stepped away. Her clit throbbed in protest and her nipples ached.
Still, she had to admit, having him around made the prospect of what she knew was going to be a boundary-pushing scene a lot easier to bear. She watched as the two men dragged a second cross into position so it was directly in her line of vision. The diminutive Ashley stepped up onto a platform, her back to Jaime. She spread herself into an X on the cross and the Masters cuffed her wrists and ankles into place.
“Slave Ashley is fully trained in edge play,” Master Mason said as he worked. “But we always use restraints during knife and needle play, just as a precaution. A securely bound sub can’t move unexpectedly if they, for example, sneeze or something. Any cutting or piercing I do will be on purpose, not because of a slip of the knife or unexpected jab of the needle.”
Master Mason brought over a tray laden with supplies and set it on the bondage table near Ashley’s cross. On it, Jaime could see dozens of single-use hypodermic needles tipped with black plastic hubs, each individually wrapped in clear plastic. Beside the heap of needles, there was a small red plastic container with a white lid, the words Danger – Destroy by Incineration printed on its label. There was a small cardboard box stuffed with medical procedural gloves, one of them protruding from the opening, along with a box of skin cleansing wipes. Finally, and rather mysteriously, there was a spool of red satin ribbon and a pair of scissors.
Master Mason pulled two gloves from the box and slipped them over his large hands. He picked up one of the needles and tore off its plastic wrapping. “We’re going to enjoy a little piercing play today, nothing permanent. When we’re done, the needles will be removed, and the tiny puncture wounds caused by the superficial piercing will be healed within a few days.”
He asked Master Mark to come closer for observation and began to talk about things like nerve endings, and the dermal layer of skin through which he would be drawing the needle, and how to do it so there was both an entry and exit point. “Like this, see?”
The point of the first needle disappeared into the skin on Ashley’s upper back, and Jaime felt a wave of nausea move through her. She closed her eyes. “You don’t want to go into the subcutaneous layer or down into the muscle,” Master Mason continued, his deep voice rumbling in Jaime’s ears. “Not for this kind of play.”
Not for any kind of play—not with me.
“Slave Jaime.” Master Mark’s voice penetrated Jaime’s thoughts and for a moment she feared she might have spoken out loud. “Open your eyes. You do not have permission to close them.”
Jaime blew out a breath and forced herself to obey. The nausea had subsided, and she reminded herself that what was going on in front of her was fully consensual and pleasurable to both the giver and the receiver.
“To make it more fun,” Master Mason was saying, “you can pierce a pattern into the skin. See if you can tell what I’m doing here.” He had already placed several needles in a vertical line down Ashley’s back. Jaime was relieved there was no blood in evidence. Ashley hadn’t moved a muscle.
He worked methodically, reaching for one needle at a time, ripping the wrapper and sliding the sharp point home. Jaime saw that the line of needles was edging closer toward the spine as it moved down Ashley’s tattooed back. Jaime forced herself to watch, telling herself the exposure would help inure her to the whole thing, and actually finding it to be true.
When he was done, Master Mason stepped back, and Jaime could see the line had flared out slightly for the last several needles at the bottom of Ashley’s back. “There,” he said, running his gloved finger lightly over the horizontal needles. He looked at Master Mark, who stood on Ashley’s other side. “Now it’s your turn. You do the other side, and follow my pattern, only in mirror image.”
Jaime sensed his hesitancy. Was this a training session for him, too? And was he, like she, struggling to find his courage? The thought both comforted and intrigued her. She watched intently as he gloved his hands and reached for the first needle. He moved with less assurance and speed than Master Mason, but the first needle slid in with apparent ease on the opposite side of Ashley’s spine.
Master Ma
rk seemed to find his stride as he moved down her back, pushing sharp needle after needle into the tattooed flesh until there were two matching lines of needles, like the rungs of curving ladders that narrowed and then widened down her back.
“Excellent job,” Master Mason boomed. “Like I said, Mark, you’re a natural.”
Master Mark looked pleased, and Jaime found herself pleased for him. She flexed her hands over her cuffs, wishing she had the right to put her arms around the man and smother him in congratulatory kisses.
Master Mason put his face close to Ashley’s and murmured something Jaime couldn’t hear. Ashley turned her head toward her Master, and Jaime could see the beatific smile on her face. Jaime imagined she could feel the other woman’s radiant serenity emanating from her like a force field and her heart ached with longing.
Master Mason stepped back. “Now for the pièce de la résistance,” he said with a grin. He reached for the ribbon and the scissors, quickly cutting two long strips of ribbon from the spool. Jaime’s view of whatever Mason was doing was blocked by the big man as he stood directly behind Ashley.
When he finally stepped aside, Jaime drew in a breath of awed admiration. By lacing the satin ribbon in a crisscross pattern around the hubs of the needles, he’d created a ribbon and needle corset on Ashley’s back.
“Beautiful,” Master Mark, apparently equally awed, breathed.
“Yes,” Master Mason said, beaming. “Normally I’d leave that in for a while just to enjoy the effect, but for now we need to finish the process.” He tugged gently at the ribbon, unwinding it carefully from the needles still piercing Ashley’s flesh. Popping the lid of the sharps bin, he dropped the ribbon inside it.
“Remember,” he continued, “the piercing stimulates the nerve endings and draws your sub toward her limit of sensation. When you run the scene yourself, especially the first time with a new sub, you have to carefully monitor her reactions and limits because you eventually have to take out the needles you put in, and that stimulates the nerve endings all over again. The goal, you see, is to take your sub to her personal limit, but not send her too far over it. As with any scene, you want to leave them wanting more.”
Jaime couldn’t imagine ever wanting more needle play, but of course she held her tongue on the matter.
Gripping the plastic hub of the top needle on his side, Master Mason drew it slowly from Ashley’s skin, leaving droplets of blood in its wake, which he quickly dabbed with a cleansing wipe. Jaime’s eyes fluttered shut, but she quickly forced them open.
The next several needles came out clean—no blood. When he was done, he pushed the open sharps bin in Mark’s direction. “Now you.”
Master Mark plucked a wipe from the container and held it with one hand as he removed the first needle on his side. There was no blood. He worked carefully and methodically, and only the second to last needle resulted in droplets of red blood beading against Ashley’s skin.
Master Mason dropped his gloves into the sharps bin and Master Mark followed suit. Master Mason carried the tray over to the sink set into a counter on the side of the dungeon and returned a moment later with a black briefcase in his hand.
Jaime was quite pleased with herself. She’d worked through the initial nausea and managed to keep her eyes open, except for that one, brief slip, through the whole process. She was a little apprehensive about the knife play to come, but reminded herself she’d gotten through it that first night when Ashley had been cut in front of her, and she could do it again.
Master Mason set the briefcase on the bondage table and clicked open the lid. He lifted out something wrapped in a black velvet bag. As he drew the object from the bag, Jaime saw the shiny blade of a knife. Her heart began to beat, quick and desperate, like a whispered prayer.
He turned to her with an evil smile. “Your turn.”
Chapter 11
Mason sat on one of the recovery sofas, Ashley nestled on his lap, his arms loosely around her. She had her cheek cradled against his chest.
Mark was reassured by Mason’s presence for his first knife play scene, but also a little self-conscious. Funny, he had no trouble performing in front of thousands on a music stage, but this was different. Jaime was placing her trust in his hands, in spite of her obviously very real fear. While he felt confident of his skills, he took his responsibility to her seriously. He wanted the scene to be a success for them both, whether or not they had an audience.
He released Jaime from the cross and placed his arm around her shoulders. He could feel the tension radiating from her. As he led her to the bondage table, he murmured into her hair, “Relax, slave Jaime. Show your courage. Show your grace. You can do this. I know you can.”
He helped her onto the bondage table, his cock nudging to attention from their direct physical contact. It was odd how quickly one adjusted to the staff slaves always being naked. While he admired the hard bodies of the male slaves, and enjoyed the sight of so much lovely female flesh, he’d become used to it, his cock no longer springing awake every time he saw bare breasts or a shaved pussy. But with Jaime it was different. With Jaime, his body reacted as if he were still seventeen.
He worked quickly, stretching her arms overhead and securing them in leather cuffs positioned at the top corners of the table. A plump cushion slid beneath her ass raised her hips and pelvis. “Spread your legs,” he commanded. He placed his hand briefly over her mons, savoring the moist heat against his palm. Once her ankles were cuffed to the bottom corners of the table, he stepped back to admire the deliciously erotic presentation.
“You’re going to need to stay very, very still during the knife play, slave Jaime. Any sudden movement when sharp blades are involved is never a good idea.”
“Oh,” Jaime gasped softly, her eyes flitting toward the nearby table where the knife kit waited, lid open, the long, dangerous blade Mason had removed gleaming on the velvet.
“I’ll help you with that,” Mark said. “These leather restraints will prevent you from any sudden jerking or unintended movement.” He secured wide strips of leather made just for the purpose above and beneath her breasts, across her waist and over each thigh and calf.
“Try to move,” he ordered when he was done.
Jaime managed to twitch a little, but otherwise was still. She was able to lift her head, but he could always add a forehead strap later if he felt it was necessary. Satisfied, he nodded. “Good.”
Mark had entered that dominant headspace where power thrummed through his veins like jet fuel, his engines revved and ready to take off. He recalled a girlfriend from his college days. “What do you get out of this? It seems so unfair,” she had said, after he’d spent a long time figuring out how to tie her down to the bed, and then had given her a butt blistering spanking, followed by several orgasms using his hand while she remained tethered, facedown on the bed. “You do all the work, and I get all the fun!”
He had just laughed and shrugged. Back then he didn’t have the words to express the unparalleled thrill of pure erotic power and control he experienced when in the throes of a good scene. He would have described the deep intangible bond between Dom and sub when the connection was there—the way he experienced each stroke of the whip, each stinging kiss of the cane, each shudder of erotic pleasure, with as much intensity and passion as his sub. There was nothing like it—not even when he was making his music—nothing to compare in terms of pure, actualized and deep satisfaction.
With this trainee, with this girl he wanted to know better, the connection had been immediate and sure. Something in her drove him to be his very best self, both as a Dom and as a man. Though he had to keep his feelings in check for the duration of her training, he wasn’t going to deny them, at least not to himself.
He moved around the table and stood beside her, looking down into her eyes. “Are you ready, slave Jaime? We’re going to explore edge play now. There is no safeword, but I’ll be here with you every step of the way.” He placed his hand flat on her breastbone. He
could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his palm. “Slow your breathing,” he reminded her. “Deep, calming breaths.”
He waited a moment as she drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Again,” he urged, his hand still over her heart. “Again.”
When he was satisfied she had calmed enough to continue, he turned back toward the table and picked up the long, shiny blade Mason had selected. He held it so Jaime could see.
She drew in a sharp breath, and he was aware the heart he’d just helped to slow had kick-started back into a pounding tempo. How he loved this process of guiding a slave through a scene, of taking her to the edge of submission and then bringing her back into the safety of his dominant but loving control. He was the one who was making her heart pound with fear and desire. He was the one who would then calm her fears, only to kindle them again with a whisper, a touch, the stroke of a whip, the blade of a knife.
He set the knife down once more and returned to the bound, naked girl. He placed his hand on her throat and gripped in a light but unmistakable gesture of control just beneath her jawline. She began to tremble, and he could feel both her fear and her desire as if they were his own. He leaned close to her ear and murmured, “Remember, I am your Master during this session, and as your Master, I will always keep you safe. The journey of a submissive is not an easy one, but you are strong and courageous, and I know you can do this. I want you to do this, for me, and for yourself. Are you ready, slave Jaime? Are you ready and willing to submit to me, to place your trust in me as I guide you through this scene?”
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