One True Master (Desire Island 1)

The locker room itself had been converted into a water play area. There were manacles set into the back wall with adjustable chains and cuffs, along with coiled hoses for spraying naked, spread-eagled bodies. A hot tub had been installed in a corner, steam gently rising from the water. There were two submersion tanks, plus a special restraint platform set only a foot or so above the tiled floor, about the size of a twin bed. A diabolical machine was positioned nearby, ideal for any number of erotic torture scenarios.

Not surprisingly, Skylar was drawn to the imposing contraption. “Wow,” she breathed as he led her toward it. “What is that thing?”

“We call it Maestro,” Caelan said, smiling at her wide-eyed, open-mouthed wonderment. “It’s a fucking machine,” he explained. “Both the anal and vaginal dildo probes have adjustable stroke speed and depth penetration. Add water torture to the mix and you’re looking at a very powerful experience.”

“Whoa,” Skylar breathed, wrapping her arms protectively around her torso.

He instantly imagined her lying spread eagle on the platform, arms and legs extended in an X, her wrists and ankles cuffed into position. The sexy, vulnerable image nearly made him groan aloud. He angled slightly away from her as he slipped his hand in the waist of his jeans, surreptitiously adjusting his aching cock and balls. He needed to get a better grip on his emotions if he was going to be an effective trainer.

“Come along,” he said, giving a sharp tug to her leash. “There’s more to see.”

He led her from the dungeon and toward the lobby. Maya was back at her station, checking in a new group of arrivals. They all turned to stare at Skylar as Caelan led her to the bank of elevators. She was blushing again, a lovely shade of rosy pink that covered her cheeks, throat and chest as the new guests openly goggled her.

“Stand proud,” he murmured into her ear. “You’re an object to be admired. Modesty has no place in a slave’s repertoire.”

She pulled back her shoulders, giving the gawkers a lovely view of her luscious breasts. But when the elevator door slid open, she practically jumped inside, her cheeks still flushed. She was adorable.

As they rose to the second floor, he explained, “Floors three and four contain the guest rooms. Staff Dominants have suites on the fifth floor. You’ll be spending most of your time in the training rooms on the second floor, and in the main dungeon and water room on the first.”

The elevator door slid open, and they stepped out into the carpeted hallway. He led her past the small windowless space that had once been a supply closet. It was outfitted with a narrow, upright cage and a restraining rack. “This is the punishment room,” he said, stopping to let her see inside. “Hopefully, you won’t be spending any time there.”

“No, Sir,” she agreed emphatically.

They continued on past a series of private dungeons to his personal favorite at the end of the hall. He led her inside and closed the door. “We’ll be spending a lot of time here,” he said as he unclipped her leash and set it aside.

The room was outfitted with the usual St. Andrew’s cross, a spanking bench, a nylon spiderweb restraint apparatus and a suspended straddle beam. The two side walls were covered in mirrors, making the room seem larger than it was. More importantly, they provided a full three-sixty view during training, so he could stand behind his charge with an impact toy, while still able to see her reactions in the mirrors. As in all the private dungeons, the back wall was hung with a selection of whips, crops, paddles, chains and rope. A wardrobe in the corner contained additional toys and equipment, a recovery sofa set nearby.

“What’s this thing, Sir?” she asked, moving toward the beam. The device consisted of a polished wooden board that was four feet long, one foot wide and one inch thick. It was suspended on its side from the ceiling by rope at either end.

“It’s called a straddle beam. It’s a very effective training tool,” Caelan replied, instantly visualizing Skylar astride the board, standing on tiptoe to keep from letting the narrow edge of wood press hard between her legs.

He imagined her long, slender legs starting to fatigue. Eventually she would tire, unable to hold herself up. She would lower her feet, forcing the beam to wedge hard between the petals of her cunt lips. Sweat would bead her brow, her body trembling with the effort of handling the erotic pain. He saw himself in the fantasy, seated in a chair in front of her, his cock fisted in his hand as he watched the erotic display of submissive suffering. He visualized the aftercare, when he licked away the lingering pain from her delicate, bruised flesh…