Steven Page 3

  Interesting.

  He led his little gang back to the lounge where Peter had just settled his group in with drinks. An unattached sub greeted them with a tray filled with glasses of white wine and fruit juices. Ms. Thomson chose the juice, turned away, and he grinned to himself as she took a large gulp, then wiped the frosty glass across her forehead before turning back to the others after draining her glass. Another sub circulated with a tray of canapés, but he noticed Ms. Thomson declined them in favor of another juice.

  What would she look like after she'd been ridden hard? Would she be excited after he'd caned her savagely? Would that polished exterior crack under his blows?

  Peter invited everyone to sit around his chair, well within listening distance.

  "So, you've had a very small taste of what may interest you. Any questions?"

  Mr. Ryan cleared his throat. "I don't think either of us could cope with the level of pain from those hits we saw."

  "That's fine. Many people enjoy only a light spanking." He turned his head to Steven. "I imagine this was heavier?"

  Steven nodded. "Not the first two but we did finish with Denise, Evan, and Simon."

  "Ah, yes. She enjoys a certain level of pain. Mind you, she isn't a sexual masochist, far from it. A sexual masochist would require more pain, but Denise does have a high desire for some hurt to climax."

  One of the other couples from Peter's group spoke up. "That rope thing we saw, is it hard to learn?"

  "The Kinbaku? It does take a while. In fact, the Master you saw believes he is still learning despite studying it for over twenty years."

  "Oh, that's disappointing."

  "In saying that, you can learn basic knots fairly easily, and then if you find you enjoy it, Master Kaden does take on students."

  "Really? Oh great."

  "Ms. Thomson, did you enjoy what you saw, or do you think you'd prefer a much lower level of pain?"

  Steven rubbed a hand across his mouth. He could almost read her thoughts. Something along the lines of “did he have to ask me that?” She gave that deer in the headlights stare, but it surprised him when she straightened up and faced Peter.

  "Yes, I liked it. I, no, I wouldn't like it any lower, I don't think."

  Steven would have groaned in delight if it wouldn't spoil his image, but he did catch the raised eyebrow at him from Peter. He gave him an imperceptible nod. Peter would know he was claiming her if she decided to come back.

  "Do you think you'd like it higher?"

  She blushed a bright red, but she did nod, then stammered, "I don't know, maybe. I'd like at least what we saw last. Yes, yes, I'm pretty sure I would, but I guess I'd have to try."

  "Don't be embarrassed. I know the questions we ask are deeply personal, but if you decide to explore the lifestyle…” He looked at everyone before continuing. “And this applies to all of you—then you need to be completely honest. We wouldn't like to match you with someone like Master Steven if even a light smack made you grimace."

  Mrs. Ryan’s face held a puzzled stare. "Why? I mean what would happen if Master Steven took someone under his wing?"

  "Master Steven is a sadist, like myself, Mrs. Ryan."

  Steven caught the sudden wide-eyed look from Ms. Thomson. If he wasn’t mistaken it seemed like desire mixed in with fear. "We both enjoy inflicting a very high level of pain on our submissives or partners. My wife is both my sub and a true sexual masochist."

  "Oh."

  Mrs. Ryan squirmed uncomfortably in her seat at the thought. Steven glanced at Ms. Thomson, but she'd dropped her head down and he couldn't see her reaction.

  "Don't worry, the rest of the Doms and Masters here prefer giving a much lower level than we do and some give none at all."

  "So, what happens next?" one of the other men asked.

  "That, of course, is entirely up to you. Your fee gave you tonight's discussion and tour, and it also gives you two consecutive evenings of, shall we say, enjoyment. You have two weeks in which to come back and try. If you don't take advantage of the offer in that time, I'm afraid the option is then lost."

  "What happens if we do?" one of the younger men asked.

  "You'll be assigned a Master, Mistress, or senior person who will take you under their wing for the two evenings."

  "Does that mean we have to have sex in front of everybody?" the unmarried couple's female asked in a terrified voice.

  Peter laughed.

  "Heavens no. You will be expected to experience a little of whatever you're interested in. It wouldn't make sense to come to learn if it interests you and then sit on the sidelines. For example, you and your boyfriend are interested in bondage. The person you would be placed with will demonstrate various techniques and you would be tied. You would both learn the safety aspects and your partner would be taught a few basic knots."

  "I don't have to be naked, do I?"

  "No, but I would suggest you wear something close fitting, like a yoga outfit. You can, of course, choose to be naked or perhaps semi-naked. It's entirely up to you."

  Mr. Ryan cleared his throat. "What about my wife? I mean we'd like to investigate some light hitting. What should she wear?"

  "I'd suggest it's better to be done on bare skin." His wife looked as if she'd faint as Peter continued. "Perhaps a skirt that could be lifted and some brief panties or a thong."

  "Thank goodness, I don't think I could show my hoo-ha."

  There were a few titters from the group, and Mrs. Ryan blushed.

  "You have to understand, Mrs. Ryan, you actually feel the strikes better on bare skin. So, it's up to you how much or how little you want to expose. The same goes for you, Ms. Thomson."

  She nodded, brief, quick one, and finally gave Steven a long, level glance before dropping her green eyes to her hands. Steven wondered what was under those clothes. He thought she was large busted, although with that jacket on it was hard to tell exactly. He only knew she appeared full figured. He’d love to have her naked and strapped to a cross.

  Damn! I hope she comes back. I want to see more of the delectable Miss Thomson.

  The group spoke a little longer on what was involved, and one of the couples asked what the difference between a Dom and a Master was.

  "Good question. In this community, Silk Rope, a Master is someone who has been in the lifestyle all their adult lives and has earned the respect of their peers. They are considered the level all Doms within Silk Rope hope to achieve. In their fields they are the top, the most experienced. I must add not all Masters here at the club are Doms. For example, our rope Master isn’t a Dom, and Master Steven here doesn’t consider himself a Dom although he likes to have a submissive. Whereas I most certainly am a Dom. Outside of Silk Rope, in some communities, a Master is someone who lives the lifestyle 24/7. They do not have a submissive. They have what we class as a slave. All decisions are made by the Master or Mistress both inside and outside the bedroom."

  "A slave? That's horrible!"

  "No, Mr. Ryan. It is by choice, as are all dynamics in the lifestyle. Remember SSC. The Master-slave relationship is negotiated between the Master and the slave the same way as the relationship between a dominant and his or her submissive. The person who is the slave has decided that is the lifestyle they want, they desire. We have one couple who live that type of relationship and have done for over fourteen years. For them it is the ultimate power exchange. Remember everything in our lifestyle falls under the safe, sane, and consensual banner."

  Mr. Ryan gave a shiver. "I guess I understand, but I don't get it."

  "It's merely one aspect of the lifestyle, Mr. Ryan. It all boils down to choices and desires. And, most importantly, to consent."

  "I suppose so."

  "There are people in the vanilla world who would see your desire to hit your wife during sex as abuse. They would want to see you locked up, yet for you two it is you and your wife's choice and desire."

  Mr. Ryan nodded his head, seeming to understand Peter. "True."

&nbs
p; Peter added, "Personally I don't get breath play or scat play, but if someone desires it then that's their choice. I certainly don't think any less of them."

  "I get you, thanks for explaining it so well."

  Peter glanced at his watch. "If there are no further questions then we'll call it a night. It's almost eleven. Remember you have two weeks to decide if you'd like to come back for your two sessions’ trial. As you leave tonight, Stan will give you a list of fees and membership rules. It will give you time to decide what you want to do. If you do want to take advantage of the trials then please ring the club and let us know. I'll leave a list at the front desk of which person would be most suited to guide each of you."

  The evening broke up with hand shaking and thanks as they escorted the group into the front foyer. Ms. Thomson seemed thoughtful but did thank Peter and Steven. Her voice had a husky quality to it that was a turn-on. Steven really wanted to hear her scream, to hear her beg for mercy as he thrashed her.

  Ah, a man can but dream.

  Chapter Four

  Avril wondered how she managed to stand. Her legs were weak and wobbly, but she was determined not to show how she really felt. She couldn't stop shaking as she followed the two Masters from the lounge and into the foyer. Her mouth was dry, her blood rushing through her veins, and in her mind, she could still hear the moans of the women she'd seen. She'd been glad of the chance to get herself under control in the lounge but wasn't sure she did a very good job. Still, she resolved not to let the man, Steven, see how much she was affected both by the things she'd seen—and by him. But, judging by the intense looks he'd given her a couple of times, she had the distinct impression he could see right through her pretense.

  On top of it all, part of her was in total shock—she'd been excited and still felt it!

  After collecting her handbag, somehow, she made it home in one piece, and then she almost threw herself into a cold shower. She needed to calm down, the things she'd seen, the way those men control the situations, the hits—the obvious pain.

  Even after her shower she was still turned on. Who would have believed it? Who on earth could get excited by watching someone getting whipped? Feeling pain?

  Only her.

  She was a woman who'd never gotten excited until now, but more importantly, she was damn aroused! Lying in bed, she remembered every detail, the way those women had screamed, the way each hit had made her wish it was her body stretched out. The way that last woman had been taken. She'd been fucked—no other way to describe it. And she'd climaxed, screaming in pleasure when she came! Avril wished it was her. She wished she were the one stretched out, tied down, and whipped by—by Master Steven.

  Fuck, this is crazy! I don't even like the man! He scared me.

  Still, she fell asleep to dream of those all-seeing gray eyes staring at her, of the way his eyebrow lifted, the tiny quirk of his lips.

  Over the weekend she kept going over what she'd seen and what she'd felt. She'd always had a fairly high tolerance for pain but had never associated it with sexual excitement until those couple of dates with the dickhead.

  But after Friday night? Oh wow, she'd actually craved it. Her dreams had been filled with being struck hard—very hard by Steven. And she'd woken after each dream aroused.

  That had never happened in her life. Never!

  Would she go back, or wouldn't she? And if she did, what on earth could she wear? A thong? She'd only wore one once and discovered exactly how uncomfortable it was. The piece of string rubbing between her ass cheeks had her spending most of the time trying to lift it out. Bikini panties? Well yes, she could wear them, but regardless it would mean her ample curves would be on display.

  And what about higher?

  Those women had been hit on their backs, their breasts as well as their thighs and bums. She could wear some nice underwear, but the trouble was she'd be showing practically everything to whoever happened to walk past. Could she show off her body to strangers like that?

  Yes, she accepted she was large and curvy with wobbly bits and loved her shape, but it was a different matter altogether to let strangers see her. Then, of course, she'd be mortified if anyone commented on her size.

  All the next week she vacillated between “yes” she'd go and “no” she wouldn't. She came up with all the reasons she could think of not to go, then all the reasons she should, even going as far as to write out a pros and cons list. The truth was, she wanted to experience it just once. She needed to know if she really did need pain to get excited. It seemed obvious, but there was the very real possibility it was only because of watching. She'd never watched anyone have sex before, never watched a porn movie. Maybe it was all some kind of voyeuristic pleasure and excitement. Maybe the pain thing wasn't real.

  Being honest at last, she understood she'd have to try it firsthand. She'd have to bite the bullet and go. She wasn't getting any younger, so maybe it was time to face the truth for once—maybe she was made to get excited from pain. Or maybe the ugly fact was she really was frigid—a true Ice Queen in name and nature and her excitement was merely from seeing something very new and extremely sexual.

  The weekend came and went, and she still hadn't decided. Avril only had four more days, and then she'd have lost her chance. Thursday at lunchtime she went out to a local mall to the bank and to buy herself some lunch, and she passed a lingerie shop having a sale. She glanced in the window and thought there'd be nothing to fit her. She was about to walk by when a sign caught her eye: “we cater for plus-size”. Maybe that was fate. She went inside. No harm in looking.

  Trying to appear casual, she went through the racks of underwear before she spied a set that would be perfect—a deep maroon color, the lacy bra plunged down while the panties were a high cut brief but mostly lace. In fact, the cheeks of her butt would be mostly bare, kind of like a thong but without the discomfort.

  It surprised Avril that she could find such a sexy set in her bra size—46E. Before she could change her mind, Avril brought them and a black set that was similar but had tiny sparkles on the lacy cups. Guess I've made my decision.

  When she got home that evening she rang the club and gave her name before she changed her mind.

  "I wanted to come in for the two introductory evenings. My name is Thomson."

  "Ah yes, Ms. Thomson. I have you on the list. How about this Saturday and Sunday night? Master Steven is free."

  "Mast—Master Steven?" she squeaked in shock.

  "Yes. Master Peter has indicated that you would be best suited with Master Steven."

  Oh shit, no time to back out now.

  "Are you absolutely sure it's with Master Steven?"

  "Most definitely."

  Shit, bum, shit. Oh fuck!

  "Are you still there?"

  "Oh sorry. Yes. I'll. I'll be there."

  "Excellent. Seven o'clock both nights."

  "Seven, thank you."

  "Goodnight. We'll see you on Saturday."

  Oh my God, oh my God!

  What the hell had she done? Master Steven was going to see all her wobbly bits and her bloody big boobs. Fuck!

  To say Friday at work was crazy would be an understatement. She had to put the final touches on a campaign due out on Monday, and her mind really wasn't on it. She kept writing herself notes to remind herself what she was doing. On Saturday she had to go into work for a few hours, but she felt sick and it must have been noticeable because her secretary asked her if she was all right.

  "You haven't been looking okay for the past few days."

  "I've got a headache, Gail. I'll take something for it."

  Headache? Hell, that would be mild compared to how her stomach felt.

  Butterflies? Heck, there was this huge flock of damn great big birds in there. In fact, Avril was convinced there were a few dozen ostriches, leaping around, trying to escape from her tummy.

  Somehow, she managed to make it through ‘til one when she left the office. Everything had been completed for Monday
morning when she'd hand everything over to the publicity team. All the same, she wasn't sure how she'd managed it with her mind only half on the job. When she got home she greeted George, then sat down on the floor to have a serious talk with him.

  "Am I stupid, George? Do you think I should ring and cancel?"

  He stared up at her with those wise puppy-dog eyes then licked her.

  "So, you're saying I should be brave?"

  He gave a little bark.

  "Thanks."

  She hugged him. He rolled onto his back, demanding a belly rub in payment for his wise words. Then she took him for a walk and afterwards cleaned the house mindlessly, anything to stop herself from worrying about what this evening would bring. All she could think of was seeing Steven, and having those gray eyes fix their gaze on her body. Just the thought of him was enough to make her heart flutter.

  Finally, it was time to get ready. After feeding George, she showered.

  A few years back she'd decided to get laser treatment on her legs, underarms, and pubic area. Now she only had a thin strip—a sort of almost full Brazilian, so at least there wouldn't be any stray hairs showing. Avril put on the maroon underwear and examined herself critically.

  Her boobs were almost spilling out, but they tended to do that no matter what bra she wore unless she put on her sensible granny full bras. The lace was more see-through than she'd anticipated—her areola and nipples were completely obvious. Too late to do anything about them. Knickers next.

  Oh my!

  Her ass cheeks were well and truly on display. The high cut brief was the same thin lace with a narrow band of fabric around the top. She was very tempted to drag them both off and pull on a sensible set of underwear. She stamped a foot.

  "Dammit! I can do this! I've beaten men at their own game. I can easily show off my curves to a stranger! I’m no wimp!"

  Not exactly certain her pep talk had worked, Avril pulled on a simple black dress and jacket. After dragging on a pair of stilettos, she grabbed her keys and wallet and left the house before she lost her nerve after saying goodnight to George. All the way to the club she kept chanting, “I can do this. I can do this.”