Dare to be Naughty (Masters Club 3.50)

“Oh my god,” she breathed, the words infused with a kind of thrilled horror.

Had this been a terrible mistake? Was he exposing Dahlia to something she wasn’t yet ready to see?

He shook his head. He was not a man to second-guess himself and had no intention of starting now. She’d cajoled and pleaded her way to an invitation and, to be fair, had earned the right. He’d prepared her as best he could for what she was about to see. She was going into it with eyes wide open. If she turned around right now and said she wanted to leave, that would be that.

But she didn’t turn. Instead, she moved her head slowly, taking it all in. Hayden swelled with proprietary pride as he viewed the place through her eyes. As BDSM dungeons went, this one was top notch. They had everything from simple spanking benches, St. Andrew’s crosses and bondage tables to a custom-made bondage wheel and a state-of-the-art water submersion tank, along with various diabolical torture racks and devices that added delightful variety and endless possibilities.

It seemed the entire New York membership had turned out for the party, along with quite a few guests. Forty or so people were already in the dungeon, with many scenes in progress at the various stations set up all around the large space. Cries of pain and moans of pleasure filled the air, which crackled with lust and power.

A row of lovely, naked pleasure subs knelt along one wall, waiting to be tapped for play. Others were bound to crosses, tethered to whipping posts or secured on benches and padded tables, their Masters before them taking their sadistic pleasure.

Dahlia was staring, her eyes wide behind the mask, a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my god,” she whispered again. “Is this for real?”

“As real as it gets,” Hayden confirmed, offering a reassuring smile. “Just remember, everyone here is exactly where they want to be.”

She fixed her gaze on a woman suspended upside down on a restraint rack, her legs spread wide. The Dom behind her was snapping his single tail over her inner thighs. When the lash flicked over her bared cunt, she cried out.

“Jesus,” Dahlia exclaimed. “She actually likes that?”

“Like isn’t the word I’d choose. Crave would be more accurate. Require.” He placed a comforting hand on Dahlia’s shoulder. “Make no mistake. Sexual masochists certainly feel pain. The difference between them and their vanilla counterparts is what happens a moment after, as that pain shifts into something deeper and more intense than you can imagine. When a sub is able to truly let go, that erotic pain lifts them to a different sphere of existence. Some say they feel like they’ve left their body behind, rising to some ephemeral, higher plane. From what I’ve personally observed, it’s more like they inhabit them more fully, feeling every breath, every touch, every stroke of the skin and brush of the lips with an intensity it’s hard to fathom.”

She turned her head from the scene to face him. Even with the mask, he could see the change in her demeanor. There was a softening in her expression, a look of genuine longing in her lovely eyes. “Wow. It sounds so intense.”

Hayden clenched his hands into fists at his sides to keep from pulling her into his arms then and there. How he wanted to rip that flimsy dress from her body and lock her into a St. Andrew’s cross so he could mark that virgin flesh with stinging leather. But first, he would bend her over his knee so he could spank that luscious ass until it was cherry red. Then he’d shift her so she was straddling his thighs. Kissing her tear-stained cheeks, he would ease his cock into that hot, wet cunt…

“Hayden?” Dahlia queried, jerking Hayden from his fantasy. She was regarding him with a quizzical look. “Are you okay?”

He blinked and managed a grin. He didn’t bother to hide the erection now bulging at his crotch. “I’m fine. How about you? Are you ready to see what all the fuss is about? As long as there’s no privacy screen in place, onlookers are welcome.”

“Lead the way,” she replied.

He brought her first to one of the tamer scenes in progress. Even behind their masks, the pair was easy to recognize. Julia, a striking, dark-skinned woman with large, round breasts, was bound to the cross, a bright-red ball gag thrust between her teeth. Her lovely nipples were trapped in the grip of a pair of clover clamps, the silver chain that linked them swaying below. Her husband, Oscar, moved slowly around the cross, expertly flicking a multi-tressed flogger over every inch of Julia’s naked body.

Dahlia stood at the edge of the scene station, still as a statue. She barely seemed to be breathing. Her nipples were visible beneath her dress, round little berries he wanted to bite. He could sense both tension and desire in her bearing. He wanted to press her—to demand she tell him exactly how she was feeling at that precise moment, holding nothing back.