Michaels, Skye - Paula's Commitment [Le Club 4] (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  “Wow! What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in the Playroom for the next little while,” Robbie said in awe. “Can you imagine having that guy standing behind you with a whip?” Robbie and Mike Hamilton were a married couple who, together with Mike’s younger brother Ross, owned a huge thoroughbred breeding farm and training facility located in the northwest corner of the county near Jason and Calleigh’s new farm. They were also charter members of Le Club. Robbie had mentored Paula and Calleigh when they had been newbie subs. She was tall and stately with green eyes, red hair, and a fabulous, lush body.

  “Oh, boy! I’d really rather not,” Calleigh said with a primal shiver. “He is definitely something—I don’t know what—but something!” Calleigh was tall with wavy, blonde-streaked, dark honey hair and a curvy figure. She had met Jason Steele, a well-known local attorney, while working on the plans for the renovation of the club.

  Greg opened the door to the Playroom and politely ushered Natasha inside with his hand possessively on the small of her back. The girls looked at each other with raised eyebrows. He didn’t seem rough or particularly harsh, but boy was he scary! If he had been dressed in street clothes, he would have been striking and extremely handsome. As it was, he just looked extremely dangerous.

  None of the ladies or their mates were into extreme BDSM and didn’t practice extreme bondage or whipping. The thought sent ripples of fear down Paula’s spine. Although the Playroom was a public space open to all members, Paula knew none of them would actually have the nerve to go in and observe Greg and Natasha’s session.

  They had all seen some over-the-top activities at the club from time to time, but that was not the norm as most of the members were quite moderate in their tastes.

  Chapter Two

  While the Playroom, a free-standing building located at the back of the estate, looked like a four-car garage from the outside, it was actually a BDSM playground. Inside the two-story industrial space, the sky-lit ceilings were unfinished. Blown insulation, exposed wiring, and plumbing lines enhanced the forbidding atmosphere of the dungeon. There was one long mirrored wall and all manner of strange equipment, including padded tables and benches, chains hanging from the ceiling, a St. Andrew’s Cross, and a wall of whips, paddles, crops, straps, belts, cuffs, restraints, and other ominous instruments placed for convenience and as a visual reminder of what went on in this room.

  Once they were inside, Greg pulled Natasha into his arms roughly and kissed her with the intensity that had existed between the two of them from the beginning. She melted against him helplessly as he plundered her warm, wet mouth. Her tough background as a state-raised orphan in Russia had made her a somewhat extreme disciplinarian and a tough nut to crack. He had met her as a Domme at Le Club Beaudelaire in New Orleans where he was the manager. She had been with a member who was a submissive, and Greg had to admit that she was truly impressive as a Domme. He had determined right then and there that she was going to “bottom” for him.

  It took a massive amount of strength of character and determination to turn a Domme into a sub. Greg was just the man for the job. An ex-Navy SEAL who had left the service and gone back to school to obtain a master’s degree in Hotel Management and a second master’s degree in Business Administration from Tulane, Greg could have worked in upper management for any major hotel chain. He found, however, that Le Club Beaudelaire met both his personal and professional needs to a tee. The salary was outrageously high, and the latitude for personal pleasure was off the charts for a man who enjoyed the Lifestyle.

  “Okay, baby, we talked about this before we came down here. This is a temporary situation, and the club culture is not what we’re used to in New Orleans. Most of the members are not into hard-core BDSM and have tamer tastes. You are going to have to temper your activities while we are here. I don’t think Anne Sutton will appreciate hearing that you whipped the butt of one of her submissive pool boys for dereliction of duty,” he said with a frown.

  “But, Greg, he was hiding behind the cabana sleeping instead of picking up towels and glasses and seeing that the pool area was shipshape,” she answered. “I only gave him light touch-up, and he loved every minute of it. I am sure he would not rather have been fired on the spot. And then we would have been short-staffed instead of having very diligent employee. Is better just give him a good beating, no?” she asked reasonably in her soft Russian accent.

  “Nevertheless, we discussed this, and you disobeyed me,” he said sternly. He had to keep a firm hand on Natasha, or her Domme qualities would override her common sense and his orders. “And now I’m going to have to punish you. Strip and put on the cuffs,” his deep Dom voice rumbled. God it’s exhausting to “top” this woman. A lesser woman would crumble under his domination. Greg’s dominant personality had to be overwhelmingly seductive to Natasha, given her own Domme tendencies. He could see that her pussy was already wet and shivers were running down her spine in anticipation of what was to come. She slowly did as he ordered, but her hesitancy was not because she was afraid of the whipping she was about to receive, he knew, but because she craved it and wanted to make the session last as long as possible. She was a discipline freak—both in doling it out and in receiving it.

  Greg motioned the dungeon monitors to secure Natasha’s cuffed wrists to the chains hanging from the ceiling and to secure her ankles to cuffs already bolted to the floor. He gathered her long mane of hip-length hair into a tail, secured it with a band, and draped it over her shoulder out of the way. Then he stood watching as she was prepared. His muscled arms were crossed over his broad chest with the dragon tattoo flexing as he held the whip in his hand. He knew his dominant posture would heighten Tasha’s tension and hence her ultimate pleasure. It was club policy that no activities took place in the Playroom without the presence of dungeon monitors for safety. Greg could see that he had their rapt attention. The reports of this little session would be circulating in the club within an hour, he was sure, and employee efficiency would skyrocket as a result. The club had a ten-stroke limit on punishments. He would not have exceeded that limit in any case. Before he was done here, Natasha would be screaming her orgasm. He knew her needs intimately, and he was diligent in seeing to her pleasure as well as her discipline.

  Once she was bound to his satisfaction, he strode around her, trailing the flexible tail of the whip on the floor. He inspected her naked body from all angles, taking the time to appreciate her incredible physique. He ran his big hands up and down her spine and over her muscular butt, kneading and massaging the muscles to warm them. Without warning, he cracked the whip, and she involuntarily flinched. He knew she would be angry with herself for that flinch. She would see it as weakness.

  “Are you ready for your punishment, sub?” he asked unnecessarily. “You will receive five strokes for disobedience.”

  “Yes, Master. I am sorry, Master,” she said submissively, although he knew the submission cost her. He continued to circle her naked form, letting the tension build ominously.

  When the first stroke of the dragon-tail whip kissed her right cheek, she cried out in surprise, although she clearly had been expecting it. The second stroke nipped her left cheek, and she gasped at the sharp sting of the leather clapper. The third stroke was on her right side and the fourth on the left side. The supple whip curled around her rib cage like a lover’s caress. The final stroke was across her thighs just below her butt. He took his time between strokes to obtain the maximum emotional and physical impact. Greg’s strokes were hard enough to sting but not excessive, and he was extremely accurate in his delivery. No strokes overlapped, and no strokes hit over bone. By the time the punishment had been rendered, Greg could see that she was on the verge of a massive orgasm. As endorphins pumped through her system, she gasped for air and tried to regain control of herself.

  “Sub, you may not come until I give my permission,” he warned. Forcing her to wait for her pleasure added an edge of desperation to the experience. He released her bindings and
her long hair, picked her up, and carried her to the swing also hanging from the ceiling. He settled her on the wooden seat of the swing, bound her arms, and raised it so her pussy would be level with his engorged cock, which was straining for release from the tight, black leather pants. He tied an intricate design of knots down the center of her upper torso in the thin, silky, black bondage rope and crisscrossed them over her bare skin. The act of tying the complex knots was symbolic—more for the beauty of the arrangement than for the utility of the bondage. Natasha, who looked at Greg as though her very life depended on his actions, was breathing heavily.

  She leaned back and spread her legs, opening her drenched pussy to his gaze as he slowly began the back and forth swinging motion. Greg opened the crotch of his leather pants, freeing his erection. He stepped into the arc of the swing, the wooden seat of which was notched out to accommodate the joining of their bodies. He imbedded his erect cock in her pussy up to the hilt as she screamed out her pleasure. “Fuck me, Master,” she implored.

  Greg let the swing do the work, stroking his cock in and out of her wet, silky pussy again and again, and increasing the pace and depth of penetration until he could no longer hold back. His cock throbbed with his heartbeat. “Come now, Tasha,” he ordered. He watched as she reached her final barrier and rolled into a stunning orgasm that seemed to crash through her system without mercy. He followed her over the brink with a shout of triumph as his own completion spasmed though him like the fire breath of the dragon on his chest. With his cock still hard within her, he let the motion of the swing continue the stroking as its momentum slowed and each of them came again.

  As the frantic beating of their hearts slowed, he brushed the hair back from her face and gently kissed her temple. “I really wish you didn’t like it quite so rough, baby.” He lifted her naked body into his strong arms and carried her from the Playroom, back past the pool and into the mansion where they were staying in the Medieval Bedchamber Suite on the second floor.

  * * * *

  Paula, Calleigh, and Robbie watched their progress with mouths open. The woman was naked except for the leather dog collar. The man held her and murmured in her ear as he gently kissed the top of her head.

  Paula silently vowed she would get the story of that session from one of the dungeon monitors, or she wasn’t the editor of Ocala Country Life magazine. That’s me. Paula Greenley, intrepid girl reporter.

  Chapter Three

  Paula and Trent had their usual suite. The Sea Island Suite was furnished in a cool mix of coastal-style blues and greens with touches of sunny yellow accents. The color palate complemented the unadorned teak furniture with clean, straight lines and floors of shining bamboo with occasional sisal scatter rugs. The centerpiece of the suite was a huge teak, pencil-post four-poster bed draped in miles of white mosquito netting.

  Trent Redding was tall and gorgeous—lanky and muscular with wavy, blond hair and chocolate-brown eyes. Paula always likened him in her mind to a Nordic god or Viking. As one of the preeminent thoracic surgeons in the Southeast and a faculty member at the University of Florida in Gainesville, he was always in the social pages. She had seen his picture many times before she had met him that first weekend she and Calleigh had spent at Le Club.

  When Trent got back from Gainesville late Saturday afternoon after the two emergency surgeries, he pulled Paula into his arms for a sizzling kiss. “Come here, subbie.” She knew he was surprised at her resistance. She was definitely stiff in his arms. “I’ve had a hell of day. Besides the two emergency surgeries, I’ve started getting ready to leave for Central America later this week. I’ve had a request to perform several open-heart surgeries in Ecuador and Honduras for the Organization of Doctors for the Poor. I’m really going to miss you.”

  “What emergency surgeries? What happened to you this morning? I rolled over, and you were gone. Why did some woman answer your phone at five o’clock in the morning?”

  He frowned and looked puzzled. “I left you a note on my pillow. I got called in to assist with a couple of emergencies. Some kids on the way to Disney World had a pile up on the turnpike, and then I got the call from Ecuador.”

  “I didn’t see any note. I was worried.” She thought maybe she had better backpedal a bit until she knew what was going on.

  “It doesn’t sound like you were worried. It sounds like you thought I was bed-hopping. What’s going on with you?”

  “When did this come up? How long will you be gone?” she asked with concern. She tried to change the subject back to his trip, but could see by the frown on his face that wasn’t going to work.

  “I’m waiting for an answer, subbie. I’m tired and I’m losing patience.”

  Paula knew Trent’s loss of patience did not bode well for her backside. “I was disoriented when I woke up, and I couldn’t find you in the suite, and when I called your cell there was no answer, and then a woman answered.” She was starting to babble, and she tried to get a handle on her emotions. She hadn’t meant to sound jealous, but shit, she was jealous. She knew that women fawned over him shamelessly, and she really just did not feel secure in the relationship.

  “The ‘woman’ was Janet, my scrub nurse. I had just scrubbed and couldn’t get to my phone, so she answered it. When the person on the line hung up, she put the phone in my locker for me. Satisfied?” She could see he was annoyed.

  “I’m sorry, babe. It just took me by surprise. That’s all.”

  He gave her his famous Dom stare and then, apparently deciding to let it go, said, “To answer your question, I just heard from the organization today. I usually volunteer for about a month every year. Not always all at one time. It depends on the need for my specialty. They have a couple of complicated emergency surgeries scheduled,” he said as he nuzzled her neck. “I shouldn’t be gone for more than a month, maybe not that long. One surgery is to participate on the team separating a pair of conjoined twins, another is an open-heart procedure, and anything else that comes up in my specialty while I’m there.”

  “Will you be in any danger?” Her heart started to beat rapidly at the thought of him in a perilous situation.

  “I shouldn’t be. We usually get treated very well by the host countries, but you never know when there might be unrest in the area. Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. Hey! Want to fool around?” He grinned at her with his usual irreverent grin and ruffled her hair. Trent usually did not hold a grudge, unlike herself. Paula knew he made the blunt request to get her revved up and get her mind off his imminent departure. There was nothing he liked better than yanking her chain.

  “You are too much! Yes, please, Master.” She was glad he was letting her little faux pas go, at least she hoped he was. But, nevertheless, she wasn’t going to fall for his tactics this time and let him get her goat. Although their relationship had been problematic at the beginning, they had come to an understanding, and things had been going really well between them recently. Trent’s willingness to please her by granting her wish to be the Domme, the one on top, had stunned her. He had ceded her the Domme position for one day every year on her birthday, and she had already been planning her next opportunity. She had a big red heart drawn on her calendar around her next birthday. Paula recognized that it was the ultimate sacrifice for a man with Trent’s dominant personality traits to grant her the top position, even for one day. Giving up control did not come easily to him.

  “Strip, sub, and assume the position,” he said. His deeply sexy Dom voice rippled through her system. She hurried to slip out of her clothes and assume the slave position on the floor at the foot of the big four-poster bed. He stripped out of his clothes. “On the bed, spread-eagle, facedown.” She scrambled to obey, and he quickly bound her wrists and ankles to the bed posts loosely with silk scarves.

  “Am I going to like this, Master?” she asked with a grin, and she wiggled her bottom at him.

  “Trying to ‘top from the bottom’ again, subbie?” he asked sternly. She had the bad habit of trying to di
rect the proceedings from the sub’s position, and he frequently had to remind her that he was in charge. She thought his fingers were probably tingling with the desire to deliver a smart slap to her upraised butt when she said in the nick of time, “Oh, no, Master! I would never do anything like that!” Trent laughed. She knew him too well, and her timing was impeccable.

  Just then Paula saw him look down at the floor with a puzzled expression on his face. He bent down and picked his note up off the floor. It had been halfway under the bed. He waved it under her nose. “The note was on the floor, subbie. What do you have to say?”

  “I’m sorry, Master. It won’t happen again, Master.” At least I hope not. Feeling so vulnerable and off her game all day had not been a pleasant sensation.

  “That was a close call, subbie,” he said as he lay down on the bed beside her. “I want to give you something to remember me by while I’m away.” He ran his talented fingers down her spine, rubbing in circles as he massaged her tight muscles. He slipped his hands down between her cheeks until he found the slick, wet center of her desire. He circled her clit with his thumb and slid his middle finger into her tight channel as she sighed in appreciation and raised her bottom to gain more contact with his probing fingers. She just couldn’t help herself.

  This man has only to give me “that look” and I’m a puddle of desire. She purred under his hands. It’s just not fair! I should have developed some resistance to his charms by now. “Don’t worry about that. There’s no way I’m going to forget you. I’ll be missing you and this every day,” she said, trying to put her heart into her voice. She had come to realize just recently that she was in love with Trent although she had not wanted to admit it, even to herself. She had not planned on that happening since she was not sure exactly how he felt about her. He had really hurt her that first weekend when he had told her that he didn’t think that their moral compasses were in sync and that was why he had not made love with her. That statement had rocked her confidence. To be considered unworthy of intimacy had been a blow to her self-esteem from which she was still recovering. Even though they had moved on since then and had been intimate for some time, those few words had done a world of damage. She had always been one to protect her herself. Despite her tough outer shell, she had a soft heart and was vulnerable and sometimes secretly insecure.