At His Mercy (Masters Club 1)

“That’s right,” Master Hayden agreed, picking up the thread. “Your formal audition on Friday, and what you’re experiencing right now with us isn’t just about us testing you or getting our rocks off. The process is designed to give you more direct understanding of what you might expect as a Masters Club submissive. Even at the pleasure level, a Masters Club sub is expected to submit with grace and courage to whatever is asked of them.

“Though we do play hard, we’re not just a bunch of weekend cruisers. Every member of this club is a dedicated lover of the BDSM lifestyle. All Doms and subs here are committed to responsible, risk-aware consensual kink. But we’re not for everybody. This is your chance to assess if the fit is right for you. And if you decide it’s not, then that’s good to know up front, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, much calmer now.

“So, what’s it to be?” Mistress Olivia interjected. “You want to continue? There’s no shame in stopping now. There’s no right or wrong here. Just what works.”

Mistress Olivia was right, of course. Jess didn’t have to continue. She didn’t have to stay. This was her choice to make, as much as theirs.

Yet, there was no denying—as scary and difficult as some aspects of both auditions had been so far, Jess had never felt so vital—so alive. She understood she could no longer casually leap into the safety net of her public club scene days, when she’d used her safeword at the slightest provocation, with little thought or hesitation. She was definitely outside her comfort zone now, but that was a good thing—a necessary thing—if she wanted to move toward a more genuine experience.

“I want to continue,” she said, pleased her voice came out reasonably steady.

“Good. Then we continue,” Master Hayden replied. He lowered the sleep mask once more over her eyes. A moment later, the toys whirred to life again inside her.

She drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she tried to prepare herself for the next painful blow to the sole of her foot.

But, instead, she felt the flicking tap of the cane along her inner thigh. While it stung, it was much easier to take than her feet. She refocused on the pleasure at her groin, and on the mouth, which had returned to kiss and tease her nipples.

The cane whistled and snapped, catching the part of her ass that was exposed at the edge of the table. The sting sank deep into her psyche, layering the rising pleasure inside her with erotic pain that compounded its impact.

Yes, yes, yes, something deep inside her chanted. She didn’t just want what was happening to her. She needed it.

She was momentarily distracted by the sound of a door opening and then closing again, but her focus soon returned to the steady caning, juxtaposed with the climax rising inexorably inside her.

“Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god,” she heard herself moaning, though she hadn’t meant to speak. Her ass and thighs were on fire, the fire in her belly even hotter. The pleasure and pain were no longer distinguishable as separate sensations.

“Please,” she shouted, the words bursting from her lips in her urgency. “Please, Sir, may I come?”

“Yes, Jess. You may.”

Jess’s brain sputtered a moment, catching on that voice.

Though it was definitely male and certainly familiar, that hadn’t been Master Hayden speaking. So who—

Her thought was cut short as her body took over, hurling her over the edge of a cliff. Instead of falling, she sailed high into the heavens, the orgasm going on and on until she thought she might die from the dark, perfect pleasure of it all…

She came back to herself as the toys were pulled carefully from her body. She was still strapped down, the sleep mask still in place, but the stirrup legs had been returned to their normal position.

A warm, damp cloth was run gently over her skin, wiping away the excess lube. Soothing balm was smeared over her inner thighs and then on the soles of her feet. She was glad for the salve, and made a mental note to ask Cleo for a tube to keep at home. It had worked so well on the welts from Friday’s caning that they had already healed without a trace.

Finally, the straps were removed from her body, her wrists freed from their cuffs. She lay on the padded table, limp as a ragdoll, too pleasantly spent to move. After a moment, hands on either side of her helped her to sit up, though the blindfold remained in place.

She was assisted from the table to the floor, firm hands supporting her all the while. As she’d surmised, the salve was already working its miracle, and she was able to stand flat on her feet without too much discomfort.