Chronicles of Raan (Three BDSM Fantasy Novellas) (7 page)

He’d captured a bit of my heart that day. I thought I’d taken it back in the intervening years, but now, as he moved towards me with a blindfold in his hands, I realized how wrong I’d been.

His hands brushed my cheek as he tied the blindfold on, and my breath caught sharply. Oh, I was all kinds of a fool, for not realizing how much power he had over me. The trainers, with their astute and practiced eyes saw what I’d ignored for so many years; the yearning for Hassan that I tried to bury; my longing for the feel of him. And all of that was here, in front of me now, and I struggled to keep my mind on the examination; to tuck these feelings aside for later reflection. 

“Open your mouth.”

I complied instantly. None of the turmoil roiling through me was visible on the outside; my body was poised, my breathing as level as I could make it. Inside though, I was a seething mass of confusion.

Hassan placed something in my mouth. I ran my tongue on it experimentally. A candle. I bit my lip ever so slightly; I knew what was coming.

The candle was lit; the way I was positioned, little drops of wax would drip down on my breasts and midriff, and I would need to keep still through this ordeal. Evil, twisted genius.

Little drops of fire started raining down from the melting candle, falling on my midriff. I stifled my moans; instead, I opened my mind fully, and let the pain flow through me. I’d trained for this; the only way past this ordeal was to fully embrace it.

The pain ran through my body; I opened my legs wider. I would please Hassan with my compliance.

A very gentle finger on my pussy; checking for signs of arousal. I was dripping wet; there was no concealment. The flush rose on my skin, as I heard Hassan’s warm, pleased chuckle.

Drumbeats, pounding, pounding in my head.

Now, Hassan was taking hold of my arms; positioning my palms flat, placing something on them.

He moved again, and something was placed on my thighs as well.

“These are candles, Leila,” he said in explanation. “They are in shallow containers, they will not burn you if you keep very still.”

Evil, twisted genius. My body would shudder involuntarily when the wax hit my midriffs and breasts; the lurch in my body would cause the wax on my palms and thighs to spill over. The only way forward was to keep very, very still.

He wasn’t done. I could hear him move towards me once again, feel a clamp grip one of my pussy lips, and then the other. Pain coursed through my body, as I held very, very still.

Hassan tugged gently at the chain connecting the clamps, set it swinging. Then, he attached a weight to the chain.

I winced in pain. My pussy was throbbing, in pain and need and longing. The flames of the candles were warm on my palms and thighs, and the candle in my mouth dribbled a steady stream of wax onto my body.

I could feel Hassan retreat. Now, it was just me, and I could feel the eyes of the examiners on me as I was faced with my final test.

Once again, I found the beginning of the chant for peace, and started chanting it silently in my mind, as I retreated to my centre of being; that inviolable place within me that was mine alone to command.

Minutes passed in utter silence; broken only by the occasional crackle of the torches on the wall. The candle in my mouth burned shorter; now the wax was falling on my tender, whipped breasts. But I felt the pain through a haze; I had found my centre of being, and I was finally in utter control of myself.

Time lost its meaning as the wax rained down on me.

Finally, I could feel Hassan move again in front of me, and this, like nothing else, caused my control to waver. He removed the candle from my mouth; then removed the candles from my thighs and palms. Loosened the clamps from my pussy lips, and removed them too. His fingers caressed my face as the blindfold was undone.

I stilled. What was next?

Hassan turned towards the examiners in silence. An unspoken question, an unvoiced answer.

“Thank you, Leila.” His voice was flat. “You are dismissed. You will await the results of your examination in your quarters.”

Oh. This was different. Usually, I found out right away that I had passed. Had I failed? My heart was pounding suddenly in my chest; as I fought to control my nerves. I bowed the correct bow to Hassan; to my Head Trainer, who had watched the entire examination from a quiet corner; to the hooded examiners, who still caused fear in me. 

I retreated to my chambers.

***

The wait was maddening. I was alone; no one came to talk to me. I clothed myself, grazing the wax off my midriff and breasts before I robed. Then, I sat on my cot; gazed into space. I dared not think of Hassan at this moment; I wasn’t done; I could be called back for further examination; I needed to hold myself together; to keep myself entirely in the moment.

My fingers were clutching the edges of my blanket nervously. I forced my hands into relaxation; studied my palms instead. I had held fairly still during the test with the candles; there were no burns on my palms or my thighs. Faint hope that I had done enough to pass.

A knock at my door, and the door was swung open. A woman, robed entirely in black, her face hidden by a cowl. One of the examiners. I felt nervousness claw at me, and under that nervousness, fear.

I had swung into an automatic bow, but her voice stilled me.

“Be still, child.” The merest rasp.

She lowered her cowl, and the fear rose in a roaring tidal wave in me. The Mother Superior; head of the Witch Council of Raan. The Witches were whispered about on the world of Raan; and I had heard the whispered fragments my entire life. I struggled to obey her order; to hold still.

Every warning bell in my mind was ringing; every muscle in my body tensed to flee.

She had not moved as I tensed; but as I fought for control, she moved into my chambers. An unknown look flickered in her eyes – was it pity? Compassion? I could not tell.

“You have a difficult road ahead, child.” Her voice was still a rasp, but oddly hypnotic. “And I cannot predict how it will turn out, my powers do not permit me to see the future…”

She moved towards me, her hands raised. Her palms rested on either side of my forehead. “Learn now, child, what we do and why…” she muttered, as my mind tore at the images she sent to me; the onslaught causing me to sink to my knees. She didn’t break contact; understanding rained down, and I thought my brain might break under the weight of everything she was sending me...

And then, she was done. “Sleep now, child,” she said, her voice soothing. “Let your mind heal in your sleep. When you wake, you will have no memory of our encounter…”

She left, I sank on the bed and fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

***

Red light was streaming in through the window when I woke; I dragged myself to the bathhouse; longing for a good soak.

My Head Trainer was in my quarters when I returned, quivering in impatience.

“Sorry,” I apologized to her. “I didn’t realize I’d be needed.”

“No matter…” she waved aside my apology. “Change your robes, come with me.” She pointed to a set of robes on the bed. A set of red robes. Red. Hope rose in me as I gazed at my Head Trainer in shock and wonderment.

Her smile grew on her face, and she inclined her head in response to the question I didn’t have the courage to ask. “The newest pleasure slave of Argentia. Congratulations.”

I could feel my smile break out on my face; my body was shaking in relief. For the first time, I drew my Head Trainer in a hug; breaking all protocol. “Thank you…” I whispered. She had worked unceasingly the last six years to make me the best I could be; I owed her everything.

She looked moved by my demonstration of affection; but then, she straightened, and her implacable mask was back. “Leila, I will whip you if you aren’t dressed this instant…” But I knew her well, and this was only an idle threat.

But I still obeyed with haste; I would not have her unhappy with me today. I smiled as I obeyed; I could not keep the smile back; not this day.

We were back to the examination chamber from yesterday. I followed my Head Trainer’s gesture; entered the centre of the room. The hooded examiners were at their usual spot in the room. I bowed deep in their direction.

I felt no fear. Interesting.

My Head Trainer followed me, also bowed in the direction of the examiners.

“Leila.” Her voice was solemn. “You have passed every test with flying colours. We are proud at your performance.” The words were sweet balm to my soul.

“Kneel.” I obeyed. One of the examiners moved forward; her voice was a rasp.

“We have watched you the last two weeks, and your performance brings us joy.” Her words were oddly hypnotic. I had the oddest sense that I’d had this exact thought before; a strange memory of pain.

I shook my head. “Focus, Leila,” I scolded myself.

“We award you the highest rank available to a pleasure slave…” A momentary searing pain on my forehead as the tattoo was applied. “Three stars and crescent.”

“Your first auction will be in a week. Be prepared.” The words were a dismissal. I bowed; my head churning at the honour of the tattoo of the three stars; at the thought of my first auction.

***

In the end, there was really only one place I wanted to be that final week, and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t knock on that door.

I stood in front of Hassan’s quarters again, raised my hand. I found it was shaking. I was more nervous than I had been that first time, so long ago. Our paths were forking, perhaps they had already forked.

I knocked.

“I hoped you would come…” Hassan’s voice was even as he opened the door, but there was hunger in his eyes; a blazing heat that kindled a corresponding heat in me.

“If the Bull of Mah’reb provided the greatest pleasure, can a woman seek it again? Will the ritual allow it?” My voice was very soft, hesitant. He moved in front of me; his hands on my upper arms; drawing me into his warmth. He bent forward; kissed me gently, then, with increasing passion.

“Mah’reb was never faced with a woman like you, Leila…” he answered softly. And his hands were on my body, and they proceeded to answer my question in a way his words didn’t.

About the Author

Hello, I’m Tara Crescent. I’ve always fantasized about being a mysterious spy, leading a secret double-life, and now, I find that that’s come true!

Sort of.

By day, I’m a mild-mannered corporate drone in Toronto, but by night, I’m limited only by my imagination; I sit, and I type, and I am a daring writer of BDSM, erotica and romance.

In my spare time, I write of course. I also read, garden, travel, cook, and almost never clean. I just started watching Walking Dead on Netflix (zombie erotica, anyone?), and I’m impatiently awaiting the next episode of Doctor Who. (I would kill for a TARDIS.)

I’ve scribbled bits and pieces all my life, chiefly inspired by what I’m reading, which tends to be mainly science-fiction and fantasy, with a healthy sprinkling of romance and erotica thrown in.

I’m a huge believer in happily-ever-after, but tempered by real life, where happily-ever-after is possible, but takes work.  My favorite kind of romance stories are ones that are somewhat believable; I like strong men and women who know what they want out of life, and are driven to get it.

From time to time, I blog about what I’m writing at
http://www.taracrescent.com
. The blog is also where I post book excerpts; highlight information about upcoming promotions, and so on and so forth. Follow me there to keep up with all the fun!

Books by Tara Crescent

BDSM Romance:

Teaching Maya

The House of Pain

BDSM & Medical Play:

Triage (Doctor Dom Volume 1)

Observation (Doctor Dom Volume 2)

BDSM Fantasy:

Chronicles of
Raan

The House of Pain

Text copyright © 2013 Tara Crescent

Sara White is outwardly a good girl; she follows the rules; works in a professional office; has a boyfriend who treats her with consideration. However, deep inside her, there’s a craving for pain, a desire to be spanked and whipped, to be submissive, to be controlled.

One day, she walks into the House of Pain, a sex store in Toronto that also does shows in the back, where women are whipped and spanked in front of an audience. Transfixed by the idea, she signs up.

Doug Patterson has met Sara at work, but discovers a whole new side of her when he sees her at the House of Pain. He approaches her and suggests Sara become his submissive. Sara is attracted to Doug; but afraid of complication.

Will Sara surrender to Doug, and yield to her desire to be submissive?

Contains BDSM, flogging, anal sex, and much more...

*****

Read on for an excerpt from The House of Pain…

***

“Did you like getting whipped at the House of Pain?” His words pull me back to our conversation.

“Yes.”

“Did you like being tied up?”

“Yes…” I whisper again.

“So, what concerns you?” There’s no impatience in his voice. He’s trying to understand.

“I don’t like the idea of being obedient, submissive.”

“Are you submissive in bed?” he asks bluntly.

I flush. “Sometimes… but I’ve always had a choice; I don’t have to be submissive.” I’m explaining myself badly. I think I’m afraid I’ll lose my ability to choose; that my submission will not be a choice I make; but the expected behaviour from me.

Doug listens as I try to explain this. Finally, he raises a hand, interrupts me.

“As I see it,” he says, “you are trying to run before you can walk. These things, everything you are worried about – the nature of submission, the boundaries of the submission, they are complicated things that every couple negotiates over time.” He takes a sip of his beer, eyes me, continues... “Right
now, I think we should be more concerned about the hard rules – things you have no interest in doing in bed; things you definitely want to do, that kind of thing.”

He’s right. Besides, as he said, this can be a one-time thing.

“No blood…” I say. “No permanent damage. No caging.”

“Ok.” We quickly agree on the basics; set me up with a
safeword. Red.

“I really have only one rule, Sara…” Doug says. “One that applies to both of us, really. Open, honest communication. If something isn’t fun, say so. I’m pretty sure that we can find enough things that we will both enjoy.”

“Ok,” I say, softly. I am once again a bundle of nerves. I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this.

He senses my nervousness. “Sara, it’ll be fine, I’m not a jerk…” he says wryly. “Look, do you want to do this some other time?”

“No…” I don’t think I’d have the courage to go through this again. Besides, I broke up with Colin because of this dark chasm in me; and here’s my opportunity to explore it a little bit.

“Can I get a glass of wine?” I ask him.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Liquid courage?” he asks with some amusement. “Red or white?”

“Whatever’s easier,” I say. Doug opens the refrigerator, pulls out a bottle of white wine; pours me a glass. I take a sip; it is light, refreshing; a perfect summer wine. I take another sip.

“Let’s go back to the living room…” he says.

***

In the living room, Doug sits on the couch; pulls me onto his lap. He pulls me close; one hand encircling my waist, the other traces a gentle line down my cheek. He runs a thumb over my lower lip; an incredibly erotic touch that has me shifting restlessly in his lap.

“Want to do this?” he whispers in my ear; catching my earlobe between his teeth; nibbling it lightly. Little tendrils of arousal run through me; replacing the nervousness. I shift in his lap again; I can feel his erection against me, and I bite my lip. His body feels good, really, really good.

I nod. Yes. I want to do this.

He pulls me closer, kisses me. His mouth is initially gentle on mine. I sigh softly. I haven’t been kissed in over five weeks, and I miss it. My mouth parts, slightly, lets him in. That’s the signal Doug’s been waiting for. His lips are suddenly more insistent, his tongue pushes into my parted mouth, dances a delicious duet with mine. His free hand traces idle lines on my bodice.

I moan. Doug’s hands are, in their own way, creating a fire as insistent as the whip. My body tingles in pleasure; lust. I move into him; bring my hands around his head to draw him in, still closer.

“No…” he says softly, pulling away from my mouth for an instant. “Let me set the pace, please…”

Aah. The first demonstration of control. But he doesn’t order me, this is a request; not a command. I nod; I can do this for him. My hands remain at my sides.

He bends his head again, pulls my mouth onto his. He’s nibbling my lower lip now, softly, and the feeling of his teeth on my lip is awakening a deep hunger in me. I moan; shift restlessly.

“Keep still, baby…” he mutters. Again, not an order, but again, I obey.

His hands are now running lightly over my breasts. I want to shrug off the straps of my dress, lower the bodice so that his hands will caress my bared breasts; but I hold still. His fingers are dancing a little waltz on my bared arms; tracing a pathway along my exposed cleavage, running a fiery line along my thighs.

I part my thighs. Doug chuckles… “Keep still, baby…” he says again.

His mouth now is trailing little kisses on my neck. I love being kissed on my neck; it’s my secret erogenous spot, one with a direct line to my pussy. I feel the familiar stirrings as he kisses me; the familiar dampness. I bite my lower lip; moan.

The sunlight is streaming in through the windows in his living room. Doug groans. “The dungeon is in the basement…” he says, a little ironic inflection when he says dungeon. “The bedroom is upstairs. Which way, Sara?”

It is tempting to pick the safe path; to gesture towards the bedroom. I don’t do that. Instead I gather up my courage. “Downstairs…” I say quietly.

We walk towards Doug’s dungeon.

***

If you would like to read more of Doug and Sara, pick up their story,
The House of Pain
.