No Safeword

No Safeword – Excerpt 

Have you ever been in a Master/slave relationship with a real Master, someone who understood your deep-seated need for submission, for erotic pain, for total sensual subjugation at the hands of another?”

“Ooh,” Jaime breathed, the words moving over and through her like a hard but perfect caress.

“Answer the question.”

“No, Sir,” she whispered.

“But you long for it.”

“Yes, Sir,” she admitted.

“Have you ever undergone any sort of formal training—positions training, endurance, pain tolerance, sexual service?”

“Formal? Like with a trainer?”

“Yes. With a trainer.”

“No, Sir.”

“Can you imagine yourself in such a scenario? Living the lifestyle 24/7? Sleeping bound in chains, your every move dictated by another? Your body, heart and soul the possession of a Master who wouldn’t hesitate to take what he wanted, but also to give you what you need, what you crave, what you were born for?”

“Oh my god,” Jaime whispered, at once shocked and thrilled to her bones by his words. Again she met his gaze. He was staring at her, his expression almost ferocious in its intensity. She found herself falling into those dark, liquid eyes.

“Answer me. I need to hear you say it—to admit who and what you are, slave girl.”

Jaime swallowed hard. “Yes,” she finally said, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. “Yes, Sir. I can imagine it. I have imagined it.”

“When you’re alone, naked on the bed, your hand between your legs.”

“Yes.” Her blush confirmed her admission. “Like O,” she added, certain he would get the reference.

“Like O,” Anthony repeated. “While other girls were reading teen magazines and romances, you found The Story of O, and it was like a homecoming.”

“Yes,” she breathed. Oh god, yes.

“You devoured the descriptions of O’s complete sexual subjugation, her erotic humiliation, the willful debasement and her joyous acceptance of her servitude. You dreamed of being completely owned by another.”

“‘Your hands are not your own,’” Jaime quoted. “‘Neither your breasts, nor, above all, is any orifice of your body, which we are at liberty to explore and into which we may, whenever we so please, introduce ourselves.’”

“Precisely!” Anthony said, the word exploding into the room and startling Jaime, who had fallen headlong into the pages of O, many tracts of which she could quote verbatim from having read them so many times over the years. “I knew it,” he continued, excitement in his tone as he rose to his feet. “You were born for this. Please stand up and remove all your clothes.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You didn’t hear me?”

“I heard you. I was just—”

“Then obey.”

Jaime hesitated, aware this was a pivotal moment, aware she was making a decision before even being entirely certain of what was being decided. Rising to her feet, Jaime reached for the leather ties that held the front of her vest closed. She was braless beneath it, and the cool air moved over her bare breasts and erect nipples as she let the vest fall. Her eyes on his, she pulled her panties down her thighs and kicked them aside. She was proud of her body, and yet oddly shy in front of this enigmatic stranger—this stranger who seemed already to know her from the inside out.

“Feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind your head,” Anthony instructed, moving closer.

Jaime assumed the position, an ache now throbbing between her legs. Anthony lifted his hand. Before she realized what was happening, he slapped her face twice, once on each cheek, the crack of his hard palm reverberating in the small room, followed by Jaime’s startled cry. Instinctively, she brought her hands to her face, pressing them against her hot cheeks. Every nerve of her body was screaming as her mind struggled to catch up.

“Hands behind your head,” Anthony said calmly, as if he hadn’t just struck her. “I didn’t tell you to fall out of position.”

“But—but you—”

“I struck you, yes. And while you are protesting with your words, your naked need for what I offer is betrayed in your every move, the dilation of your pupils, the parting of your lips, the way your body leans toward me.”

Jaime stared mutely at him, unable to deny his words. “Now,” the Master said, “assume the position once more, hands behind your head. This time show some control.”

Jaime, her cheeks still hot from his palm, did as he commanded. Without asking, Anthony placed his hand between her legs, a single digit pressing into the wetness.

Unable to help herself, Jaime groaned, her hips moving wantonly forward to take more of him inside her. “You are pure potential,” Anthony murmured, his warm breath on her cheek. “Not spoiled by poor training and bad habits. You are waiting to be taken, controlled, molded into submissive perfection. You are just what we need at The Enclave.” He moved his finger inside her as he spoke, making it difficult to concentrate on his words.

“We?” she managed to gasp just as he touched something inside her that made her jerk forward and then back. He inserted a second finger, the palm of his hand grinding against her throbbing clit. No one had ever touched her like this. It was perfect, almost too perfect, but only almost.

“Fuck,” she breathed, only aware she’d spoken after the fact.

He slapped her again, even harder than the first time. Again Jaime cried out, the pain radiating in perfect juxtaposition to the dark magic he continued to work at her cunt, though somehow she managed to keep her hands locked behind her head.

“Mind your language. A slave girl doesn’t need to resort to such vulgarities.” His voice remained soft but she could feel the steel beneath it. “One more outburst like that and I’ll have to gag you.”

Another O quote slipped into the jumble of her thoughts. “The gag stifles all screams and eliminates all but the most violent moans, while allowing tears to flow without constraint. There was no question of using it that night. On the contrary, they wanted to hear her scream.”

She’d had a question—something he’d said, something she needed to explore, to understand, but his touch was too perfect, too intense. “Spread your legs farther,” he ordered.

She obeyed. He moved his fingers roughly in and against her, the intensity nearly more than she could bear. She began to pant. He lifted his other hand again and she flinched, expecting him to slap her face. Instead, he reached for her left nipple and gave it a sharp twist.

She yelped in pain, the nipple throbbing and engorged. He reached for the other nipple, twisting it just as roughly, all the while stroking her cunt until she began to shake. “Oh god, oh f—” She caught herself in time.

Anthony’s free hand circled her throat, his finger and thumb pressing hard just beneath the jawline, completely cutting off her ability to breathe. “You already belong to me, don’t you?” he murmured, his face so close she could have kissed him.

If she had been able to move.