What She Needs (19 page)

B
rent sat on the master’s throne in the resort’s dungeon, wearing black leather pants and a black leather vest with slashes in the fabric, awaiting Jenna’s arrival. Tonight was make-or-break. Either she’d survive this fantasy and go all the way, or she’d use the safeword and end it all. Brent’s only worry: Would it be too much for her?

The goals were the same as last night’s—but more intense. Tonight she would be instructed not only in taking, but in giving. Tonight she would be exposed to rougher sex—and other partners, not just women this time. Tonight he would teach her that sex didn’t have to be gentle to be good.
No silk sheets and violins for
you
, sunshine.

He hoped like hell she’d stick this out and keep trusting him. It had to happen for her to make the leap to true sexual comfort and freedom. She might never do anything this wild again, but she had to do it tonight if she were to be truly, deeply happy in her sexuality. It was just her bad luck she’d gotten ugly impressions of sex in her youth—but since she had, and since it had affected her lifelong outlook on the activity, she had to take big, definitive steps to alter those perceptions.

Despite himself, he would take it personally if she opted out. Not only would he fear he’d failed her—but he would fear for the rest of her sexual life. Oh, he knew she’d be okay—not miserable or anything—but he wanted more than that for Jenna. He wanted her to know every possible pleasure, every joy. And besides, he’d be sorry to see her leave, since he was enjoying this particular challenge—as well as the guest who’d challenged him. His cock was already stiff, not only because playing the dominant came so easy to him, but because he ached to see her nipples wrapped with those tight silver rings.

Glancing around the room, he thought briefly through his plans for her. BDSM tools and toys hung on the pegboard secured to the fake stone walls across the room and lay upon the black wooden bench in front of it. Nearby, adjustable-length chains for securing slaves extended from the pseudo-rock wall, along with a variety of cuffs and harnesses. Various padded tables dotted the space, some with chains attached, others with leather restraints, still more with cuffs at each corner or steel rings for slipping ropes or other tethers through. Far to his right stood the whipping post and what the facilitators casually referred to as the pommel horse, an apparatus for bending someone over for spanking or fucking. And near the door hung the black bands of the room’s two sex swings, and beyond that, the stocks and cage.

The room was specially designed to make visitors feel they’d gone underground—even though that would be impossible on a small island. Jenna would soon be entering a building on the ground floor, following her instructions toward a set of dark, winding stairs that led downward—but the structure had been built on a slope, and the entrance just happened to be on a higher piece of land than most of the island.

Throughout the room, facilitators stood chatting, ready to take their places when she arrived. For tonight in particular, he’d chosen people who fit everything he knew about what appealed to her on both a conscious and a subconscious level. And while he’d told her it was possible other guests could show up in her fantasies, mostly, Jenna would encounter only trained facilitators—given her trepidations, he couldn’t risk including someone he didn’t know. Especially tonight.

Now he had to hope he had it all
just right
.

He sighed, thinking ahead to the evening. If it went well, he would enjoy it tremendously, as he had the previous fantasies he’d created for her—but even if she didn’t use the safeword at any point, she still might be angry with him when this was over. So be it. Going soft on her wouldn’t give her what she needed now.

So tonight, everything coming her way would be very
hard
.

Jenna walked the distance from her room slowly. Despite feeling weirdly on display—black coat or not, it was pretty easy to tell she was on her way to a fantasy—she didn’t want to twist an ankle in the high boots. Thankfully, it was dark and she didn’t encounter anyone along the path, and by the time she reached the stairway with a downward-pointing sign that said DUNGEON, she thought she’d mastered the boots.

The fact was, after checking herself out in the mirror, she’d felt like a sex queen. A dominatrix. A woman far bolder—sexually—than she could ever be. If the ensemble had come with panties, she was sure they’d be soaked by now, especially when she added her ongoing arousal from the nipple rings and other less obvious stimuli from the last day and a half. So she was very ready for sex.

She was just scared to death about what she’d find at the bottom of these stairs.

Please let it be only Brent.
More slave play she could handle, even though it would obviously be darker than last night’s. Domination, submission—she thought she could handle that, too—so long as Brent was the only other person involved. And maybe he was intuitive enough to realize that. God knew he’d been intuitive enough about her so far.

She still couldn’t believe she was
starting out
the evening pantyless, though—that her cunt was completely bare beneath the coat, without even the sheer covering her harem skirt had provided. The corset itself extended to her hips, but not beyond—and the boning made her feel very
bound
already. Which was the idea, she supposed. As she’d suspected, the leather cups for her breasts were small, just barely covering her nipples, and the corset shoved her breasts high, making them look plump and sexy.

Yet, of everything she wore, as weird as
all
of it felt, the most unsettling accessories were the collar and wrist cuffs. They weren’t uncomfortable, but in her mind, they lifted the kinkiness of the outfit to a whole different level. Even so, she’d tried—for Brent, and for herself—to embrace this as much as possible, even applying exaggerated eyeliner in some attempt to look a little more daring than usual.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, she encountered a heavy wooden door. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and stepped inside.

But this clearly wasn’t the dungeon—this was some sort of entryway to the dungeon, just like she’d gone through for her other fantasies. Although she’d dressed in her room, she could see the same clothing hooks and closets she’d encountered en route to the schoolroom and harem room.

Just then, the door on the opposite wall of the small space opened and in stepped a beautiful . . .
porn star
. That’s all Jenna could think, since that’s what the girl looked like. The blonde was gorgeous and topless, with large, perfect boobs. She wore a miniscule leather skirt with black stockings and black patent-leather stripper heels. Both the skirt and shoes possessed lots of silver buckles. “You must be Jenna,” the girl said as naturally as any party hostess.

Taken aback, Jenna could only nod.

“I’m Serena,” the petite but buxom blonde said. “Let me take your coat.”

Jenna could barely breathe as she untied and unbuttoned the long trench—and when she slipped it off, she was trembling with nerves.

Serena noticed. After tossing the coat on a wall hook, she turned back to Jenna with what looked like genuine concern. “I know you haven’t played any BDSM games before, but there’s nothing to be afraid of—I promise.”

“Okay,” Jenna managed to eke out, yet she knew she didn’t sound convinced.

Serena held up one finger. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and not thirty seconds later, she returned with a glass of white wine. “Here, drink this. It’ll help.”

Jenna took it, sat down on the padded bench near the door, and sipped. She’d downed half the bottle of pinot grigio that had come with dinner, but that had been hours ago. It just now occurred to her that Brent had probably sent it to relax her before the fantasy. So she drank more from her glass, eager to take the edge off her anxiety.

Serena sat down beside her, shifting to face her. “About the BDSM—let me assure you no one here would ever do anything to cause you real pain unless you specifically requested that, and even then, we have our limits. Your fantasy tonight isn’t about pain—it’s about discipline and obedience. I hope that helps assuage your fears a little.”

“Actually, it does.” Deep down, she knew Brent wouldn’t hurt her, but given the setting and lack of control involved, it was a little scary. “Brent always says that everything he designs for me will ultimately bring me pleasure.” She supposed she was reaching out to Serena for even more reassurance.

“Completely true. After all, that’s what we’re all here for,” she added with a smile as she squeezed Jenna’s hand.

You seem so nice
, Jenna wanted to say.
Why do you work here?
Why did
anyone
work here? But then, why was she here herself? Maybe the circumstances that brought someone to the Hotel Erotique were too complex to be tackled in pre-fantasy small talk.

“Drink up,” the topless Serena said, then widened her eyes playfully. “And let yourself get excited about this!”

“Okay,” Jenna said, finishing the wine and setting the glass beside her.

Then she watched as Serena reached into the nearby chifforobe and pulled out a long, thin length of leather—which she then smoothly snapped onto one of the decorative rings on Jenna’s neck collar.

Oh God. Oh shit. They weren’t just decorative. “Um . . .” she said nervously.

But Serena acted as if it were nothing. “Just a little leash,” she said. “Remember, you’re Brent’s new slave tonight—and it’s my job to deliver you. And . . . I might not seem as friendly once we’re inside, but that’s just part of the game. Don’t be afraid. Let your body love this.”

With that, she opened the door and pulled gently on the leash, and Jenna literally had no choice but to follow her through—into what looked like a true dungeon, complete with curving rock walls and ceiling. Except, glancing around the room, she could see this wasn’t a place where people were banished to die—it was clearly where people came to be punished.

Brent sat in a large black chair atop a small pedestal, but Jenna was so busy taking it all in—the strange, scary equipment and the other men and women in the room, all wearing more domination-style black leather or shiny vinyl—that she didn’t even look at him at first. He’d been right—the harem fantasy had been a walk in the park compared to this. She wished she were back in the harem room in her flowy chiffon right now.

“The new sex slave, master,” Serena said, leading Jenna to Brent’s perch.

Their eyes met, only for a second, before his gaze swept down her body. He didn’t smile, but she wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t expecting many smiles here. “Chain her to the wall,” he said.

The wine had just hit her and she went light-headed.
Chain her to the wall?
But when Serena tugged, she followed—what else could she do?

Say Susan B. Anthony,
a little voice in the back of her mind answered.

But a submissive slave wouldn’t even
think
about saying it.

She stood obediently, trying to relax her breathing, as Serena pushed her back to the wall directly across from Brent, from which chains protruded at various heights. Serena secured one of the chains to her collar, after which she removed the leash. Then she hooked chains to each of the cuffs on Jenna’s wrists. Thankfully, their length left plenty of room to move around if she chose—but she still felt trapped. Why on
earth
did that make her pussy spasm?

“Get her tits out,” Brent commanded then, making Jenna flinch atop her impossibly high heels. “But be careful—she’s wearing nipple rings.”

With movements still as smooth as silk, Serena reached up to draw down the leather cups covering Jenna’s breasts. And there she was, as topless as Serena—and bottomless, too—in a room full of strangers.

And, of course, her breasts, nipples, remained sensitive and aroused from the rings—and a glance toward Brent told her he knew it. “The nipple rings suit you, slave.”

Jenna wasn’t sure how to reply. “Thank you,” she answered feebly.

“Master,” Serena whispered next to her.

“Huh?”

“Thank you,
master
,” she said softly. “You must always address him as master.”

“Thank you,
master
,” Jenna repeated, but the words came out light, barely audible, because this felt so strange.

“Attach a nipple chain, Serena,” he instructed, and while Jenna waited to see what the hell
that
was, she realized her breasts were heaving a bit—still from nervousness, but also from the stark arousal she’d been suffering. Nothing here should
be
arousing her—and nothing
was
, mentally—but after so much unanswered lust, her body seemed to be responding to the hard sexual aura of the setting: the clothes she wore; the men and women staring at her breasts and pussy right now; and knowing that whatever Brent wanted to give her here, she had to take. Unless she ended it all with the safeword. She’d decided unequivocally not to use it, but this fantasy had her reconsidering that.

Serena returned from a nearby cabinet with a much smaller chain in hand—thank God—than those that held Jenna to the wall. Carefully, she slid one link at the end of the silver chain onto the overlapping end of one nipple ring, then repeated the process at the other breast, leaving the length to dangle in a semicircle between Jenna’s boobs. Glancing down, she noticed black beads decorating the chain, like a necklace—except it hung from her nipples.

“What’s it for?” she asked Serena.

“Did I give you permission to speak, slave?” Brent boomed from his chair.

Jenna flinched, but no one else seemed surprised. “Um, no,” she managed timidly.