The Inner Room (10 page)

Would the day never end?

~*~

“Wow, this is really nice.” Marissa turned slowly in the small living room of Cam’s house—the right side of a duplex located in Queens. “You probably have twice as much space here as I do in my apartment.”

Cam nodded. “No way could I swing even a studio in Manhattan, but out here there are still some affordable neighborhoods, and it’s right off the subway line. Wait’ll I show you upstairs.”

“The bedroom?” Marissa said in a teasing voice. “Is that where you’re taking me?”

“Even better.” Cam waggled his eyebrows and grinned.

Marissa followed him up the stairs to the second floor. Cam led her past two open doors—one the master bedroom, its bed neatly made, the other an office with a desk and bookshelves overflowing with books. “Where are you taking me?”

“To my own personal inner room,” Cam said with a sexy smile. He stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway and turned to her, his expression now serious. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “Marissa, you’ve told me over the course of the week that you’re ready for more. You want a more total slave experience. Is that still true?”

In the week they’d been together, Cam had stayed over at her place most nights, and the BDSM play, while intense and exciting, hadn’t progressed much past spankings, light bondage and some breath play. Marissa was ready for more, and Cam had promised that today they would begin to delve deeper into her masochistic impulses and desires. Something swooped in Marissa’s gut at his words, and her nipples perked inside her bra. “Yes, Sir,” she said throatily.

Cam nodded. “I’m going to take you into my dungeon. Once you cross the threshold, you are no longer Marissa. You are slave M, and you are my property to do with as I will. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

Marissa stared at her new lover. Property! The very idea was anathema to an independent, strong-willed doctor. But Cam wasn’t talking to her as a professional. He was speaking to the only recently acknowledged yearning Marissa had discovered deep inside—the need to give herself completely to another person—to submit not only with her body, but with her heart and soul.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, Sir. I’m ready.”

“A slave never enters my dungeon dressed in street clothing. Sometimes I will have you dress in ways that please me. For now, you will strip and leave your clothing, all of it, at the bottom of the stairs.” He pulled open the door, revealing a flight of steep, narrow stairs. He looked at her, waiting.

Though Cam had seen her naked a dozen times over the past week, she felt suddenly shy, maybe because he was still fully clothed, or maybe because something had changed in his demeanor. He was once again the trainer from the inner room, and she the trembling novice.

Yet she knew there was really no decision. Or more accurately, that she’d already made it. She pulled her shirt over her head and then opened her jeans as she stepped out of her sandals. He watched her with smoldering eyes as she reached back to unclasp her bra and then slipped off her panties. She folded the clothes and placed them on the bottom stair. She stood, twisting her hands nervously behind her back.

Cam held out his hand and she unclasped her hands and placed one in his. He led her up to the finished attic. Instead of the usual boxes and suitcases, there was a St. Andrew’s cross, a spanking bench, a kind of chain and pulley mechanism hanging from the ceiling, a rack filled with whips, floggers, canes and paddles and, in the corner, a camp cot with a pillow and a neatly folded stack of blankets on top of it. The floor had been covered with a wood laminate that gave the appearance of hardwood. In another corner stood a small sink and a toilet, partially hidden by a partition.

Small, high windows on two of the four walls let the afternoon sunlight into the space. Beneath one of the windows there was an old end table with several dozen candles on it, some of them partially burnt down. Marissa’s imagination immediately shifted into overdrive as she thought about the women Cam must have brought here over the years.

“Stand at attention, there.” Cam pointed to a thick square of carpet set in the center of the room beneath the pulley and chains that hung from the ceiling. Marissa moved into position, her heart thumping. Cam came up to her and stood close. She could smell the scent of his sandalwood aftershave as he leaned down to kiss her lips. She started to reach for him, but he stepped back with a shake of his head.

“I didn’t tell you to move. You will not make assumptions, slave M. Nor will you take liberties. You will do as you are told, and nothing else. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Marissa breathed.

He reached for her breasts, capturing her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and twisting them, lightly at first, and then harder so she winced. In spite of the pain, or no, because of it, she felt a gush of desire throb through her sex, and a small moan escaped her lips.

He let go of her nipples and reached for her throat with one hand, the other sliding down over her mons. Gripping her pubic hair, he tugged lightly at it, while his other hand tightened at her throat. “To be a submissive sex slave is to be completely accessible to your Master. Nothing shielded, nothing hidden. If you are sincere in your wish to belong to me, I will require that you are shaved smooth at all times.”

He wasn’t asking her, she realized. He was informing her this was a condition. Though only a few weeks before Marissa would have refused outright, she found herself excited by the prospect, even eager. “Yes, Sir. I want that. I want to be fully accessible to my Master.”

“Are you ready now, slave M?”

“Yes, Sir,” she answered without hesitation, surprising herself with the strength of her conviction.

“Excellent. I have everything we need under the sink. You will lie back on a stool and remain perfectly still while I groom you.”

He brought a high stool with a wide, round seat and set it down. He went to the cot and returned carrying a towel, which he draped over the stool. He directed Marissa to perch on it, legs spread, feet anchored on the rungs.

Cam went to the sink in the corner of the room and turned on the water. Reaching into the cabinet beneath it, he pulled out various items, including a large plastic bowl, which he filled with water and a squirt of liquid soap. He returned to her with the water bowl, a second smaller bowl, a disposable razor, a pair of scissors and a small can of shaving cream.

“Reach behind you and grip the back legs of the stool,” Cam said.

Marissa reached back as directed, feeling at once lewd and sexy with her breasts thrust forward by the arch of her back, and her pussy on display. She tried to stay very still as the sharp scissors snipped around her privates. Cam worked quickly but carefully, dropping tufts of pubic hair into the empty bowl. When he was done, Cam lifted a washcloth out of the water bowl, wrung it out and placed it over her mons. He rubbed the cloth gently over her, lingering at her clit, which had already swollen and hardened while he was trimming her. After a few moments, he dropped the washcloth back into the bowl.

He shook the can of shaving cream and squirted a small amount onto his palm. He spread it with his fingers, lingering teasingly at her labia until she began to pant with desire. Ignoring her, he took the disposable razor and pulled away its plastic wrapper. He worked with sure, careful strokes, moving the fingers of his left hand in the wake of the razor until he was satisfied. When he was done, he took the washcloth again from the sudsy, warm water, wrung it into the bowl and then gently washed away any remaining shaving cream.

He stepped back to look her over. “Beautiful,” he said, the admiration clear in his tone and in his expression. “You’re like a work of art.” He met her eyes and smiled. “You may sit upright. I want to show you the full effect.”

He moved quickly toward the back wall, returning with a full-length mirror, which he placed in front of Marissa. She stared at the image of her denuded sex, fascinated and surprised. She had expected something along the lines of a plucked chicken, and instead saw the petals and folds of an exotic flower in varying shades of pink, darkening to red in her lust.

Cam crouched in front of her and placed a hand on either thigh, forcing her legs wider apart. He leaned toward her sex and touched her hooded clit with the tip of his tongue. Marissa blew out a shuddery breath as he drew his tongue in a long, smooth line between her labia.

Cam lifted his head to look at her face. “Don’t come. You do
not
have permission to come. Understood?”

Marissa nodded, and whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

His warm, wet tongue felt like heaven as it glided over and between her labia and teased in a swirling circle around her clit. His kisses felt different—more intense, more sensitive—without the cover of pubic hair. Marissa knew at this rate she wasn’t going to last long. When he pressed a single finger into her wetness, Marissa cried out involuntarily, “Oh god! Fuck me. Please.”

“Shh. No talking,” Cam admonished, before ducking back to lick and suckle her.

Marissa felt the uncontrollable rise of an orgasm as Cam relentlessly licked and fingered her. “I can’t,” she gasped. “I’m going to, please, oh, Sir. I can’t help, oh…”

An orgasm thundered over and through her and she began to shake on the stool. Cam gripped her thighs harder, never letting up, though he had to be aware she was coming. She moaned, the sound deep and guttural in her throat, and then rising to a high, piercing wail she was powerless to suppress.

When he finally pulled back, she fell back against the stool and would have toppled off it if Cam hadn’t been there to pull her into his arms. Still cradling her, he sank to the carpet with her in his lap. “Naughty, naughty girl,” he said into her ear. He chuckled. “If you were properly trained, I would have to whip you for that transgression, slave girl. But I’ll cut you some slack, since this is your first time in my dungeon.”

Marissa, her breath returning somewhat to normal, looked up at Cam. “I’m sorry,” she began in a rush. “I didn’t mean to. It was just so intense. I was trying not to but—”

Cam silenced her with a finger to her lips. “Shh, it’s okay. I don’t need to hear any excuses. You did what you did. There’s no getting around that. And while I’m not going to whip you, you are going to be punished.”

“Punished?” Marissa whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

“Perhaps punished is too strong a word in this instance,” Cam said. “Corrected might be the better term.” He pushed her gently from his lap and got to his feet. “I’m thinking some nice hot wax melted onto that smooth, disobedient cunt of yours will be a good reminder in the future of what happens to slave girls who come without permission. Have you ever had hot wax dropped on your labia?”

Marissa felt suddenly faint, and she reached instinctively to cover herself with her hands. “On my labia?” she echoed.

“Answer the question.”

“No. No, Sir. Isn’t that dangerous?”

Cam shook his head. “Not with the right candles. It will scald a bit—leave you a little tender perhaps, but no lasting harm. As I say, a good reminder. We’ll use the spanking bench for this. You will lie on your back, ass on the edge of the bench, feet planted firmly on the ground on either side, legs spread. I’ll put a cushion under your ass so you can offer your cunt more easily.”

Again, he wasn’t asking—he was instructing, and Marissa found herself getting to her feet and walking toward the bench. She waited while he brought a towel and a cushion from the cot. He placed the cushion on the bench and draped the towel over it. “Go on,” he said, pointing to the bench. Marissa lay down, her pussy still gently throbbing from the orgasm, her heart fluttering wildly.

Cam left her and returned a moment later with a fat red candle on a small china plate, a box of matches beside it. He placed this on the floor beside the bench and knelt next to her. He reached for her face and gently stroked her cheek as he gazed into her eyes. “Do you trust me, slave M?”

“Yes, Sir,” Marissa replied without hesitation.

“Good. I promise never to give you reason to doubt that trust.” He picked up a small bottle and squirted something into his hand. “This oil will make the wax removal easier afterward.” He rubbed the oil over her mons and labia, his touch sending electric currents of desire through her.

“Control yourself,” he said, though he was smiling. He lit the candle and held it over her groin. “You will keep your legs spread and your cunt offered up to me. You will not move out of position. You may cry out, and if you are in true distress, you may use your safeword. But I think you can handle this. In fact, I know you can. This particular wax is made for this kind of play. It will hurt, but it’s not dangerous. Remember, this is just a correction as we begin to work on orgasm control.”

He held the candle over her spread sex and Marissa tensed. Though she believed him that it was safe, she clenched her hands into fists as she waited with anxious anticipation. She squealed as the first hot drop landed on her smooth mons, more out of fear than actual pain. When wax landed on the tender folds of her inner labia, her cry of pain was real. But she could do this. She could and she would. For Master Cam. For herself. She arched her hips upward in silent offering.

“You make me proud,” Cam said softly. There followed a steady stream of splashing hot liquid until her mons and labia were covered in the cooling red wax.