At His Mercy (Masters Club 1)

Just as she was about to give in, Master Cameron had appeared, like a shining light, like a savior, on the other side of glass made suddenly transparent. His clear gray eyes had locked with hers. His expression was at once fierce and kind, as if silently both encouraging and commanding her to go on—to rise above the pain. And, though she couldn’t really explain what had happened and didn’t entirely understand it, the panic had somehow slipped away, replaced by a calm acceptance of what was being given to her.

Then he’d vanished again, making her almost question if she’d only imagined his presence. She needed to see him. She needed to talk to Master Cameron, to understand what had happened.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, there was a knock on the door.

“Enter,” Mistress Dominique called out.

But instead of Master Cameron, a woman in her early thirties stood there. She was tiny, maybe only five feet, her frame small though her breasts were large. She had long, straight dark brown hair that framed a pretty face with large blue eyes. Her complexion was milky pale, her cheekbones pronounced. She was naked, except for a leather collar around her neck, and cuffs at her wrists and ankles. She wore a ring on her right hand made of hammered silver with a tiny gold O-ring dangling from it. Her breasts were marked with the evidence of a recent whipping, probably a single tail.

“Cleo will take you to an aftercare room to see to those welts,” Mistress Dominique informed Jess.

To Cleo, she said, “This is Jess. See to her welts and bring her back here in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Cleo said in what Jess thought was a British accent. She approached Jess and held out her hand.

Not knowing what else to do, Jess took it. Cleo, holding her hand as if they were children, led Jess from the room and down a hallway. They entered what looked like a small, cozy den, complete with two sofas and several wingback chairs. There was a counter against one wall, cabinets above and below it. Cleo dropped Jess’s hand and closed the door behind them.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jess. I’m Cleo.” Yes. Definitely British. “I’m one of two resident staff slaves here at the Masters Club.” She beamed, the pride evident in her tone.

“Wow,” Jess replied, impressed. “Resident staff slave. That sounds intense.”

She briefly tried to imagine what it would be like to be a slave. Not just a sub, but an actual slave. Of course, Cleo wasn’t really a slave. It was surely a consensual relationship, presumably one she could exit when she wanted to.

Cleo had moved behind her, and she now gently pulled the robe from Jess’s shoulders. “Ooh,” she breathed. “They’re so pretty. Do you want to see the marks? Master Stephen is so skilled with the cane.”

Jess didn’t entirely agree, but she only replied, “Yeah. Yes, please.”

Cleo led her into a small bathroom just off the den. It contained a tub with a built-in shower, a toilet in an enclosed stall, and a countertop with two sinks. There was a large, full-length mirror secured to one wall. Jess faced away from the mirror and twisted back her head to see. That peculiar submissive mixture of horror, pride and delight flooded through her as she regarded the angry red lines that crisscrossed her ass and the backs of her thighs. She lightly touched the worst of the welts, or the best, depending on your perspective. It was throbbing and hot to the touch. Good thing she had the weekend to recover before having to sit at her desk for ten hours.

“Come lie down,” Cleo instructed as she pulled a tube of something from a drawer under one of the sinks, along with a folded sheet. “I’ll treat those sexy welts for you.” She held up the tube, adding, “This is some truly amazing stuff—better than anything you can get over the counter. You won’t even be able to see the marks by tomorrow.”

Once they returned to the aftercare room, Cleo spread the sheet over the larger of the two sofas and gestured for Jess to lie down. As she settled herself on her stomach, Cleo went to a small refrigerator in the corner of the room and removed a bowl of ice chips. Taking a handful, she gently ran the frozen bits over Jess’s overheated bottom and thighs. While the ice made her shiver, at the same time, it was wonderfully soothing.

After gently patting her dry, Cleo squeezed a healthy dollop of ointment onto her fingers. With a gentle touch, she rubbed the salve into Jess’s tortured flesh. There must have been some kind of anesthetic because the pain instantly receded, leaving only warmth in its wake.

“Can I ask you something?” Jess said, lifting her head to regard the woman ministering to her.