Teach Me Tender, Teach Me Rough Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Teach Me Tender, Teach Me Rough

  by Reese Gabriel

  ISBN 13: 978-1-936173-89-1

  ISBN 10: 1-936173-89-1

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2010, All rights reserved

  Chapter One

  Cameron was trembling with anticipation by the time she arrived at the club. It was in the old warehouse district, a block long building with no sign out front, just a street number stenciled on an ominous black metal door, windowless and dented. The walls were equally foreboding, cracked and bleak like something out of an old East German movie.

  “Are you getting out or not, lady?” the cab driver called from the front seat.

  Cameron jolted at the sound of his voice. “Yes,” she said, reminding herself that this was just research, background for her final paper in Alternate Sexuality. “I won’t be long, though, will you wait for me?”

  He laughed, indicating just how absurd he thought the idea to be. “No frigging way, do I look like some kind of pervert to you?”

  I’m not one either, she wanted to tell him. Really it was all a mistake. Professor Myles should never have given her this assignment. Oh, god how embarrassing it had been to hear him read the topic list out loud in class. One by one he had gone down the line.

  “Robert, you’re our voyeur, Cameron, you’ll be our BDSM princess.”

  There had been teasing galore as he handed her the folder with the ticket for club admittance and the bibliography she was to read ahead of time. One wise ass in the class had actually wanted to know if she was going to buck for extra credit by performing at The Cage, and if so, would she be a top or a bottom?

  “Neither,” Cameron had said proudly, although that wasn’t entirely true, not if you counted all those submissive dreams and fantasies she’d had since she was a teenager.

  “Keep the change,” she told the balding pock faced driver, handing him a twenty and a five for his trouble.

  A large man was waiting at the club door. He wore a tight black muscle shirt and jeans. He was hairless with dark eyes.

  Cameron shrank instinctively in his presence. Was he a dominant? Did he play with submissive women, did he like to whip them and put them in chains?

  The guard frowned giving her a good looking over before letting her in. Was her appearance not acceptable? She had changed clothes several times before deciding on the brown suede skirt and maroon tank top. She wanted to appear casual, open but not in any way available for whatever sort of games might be played in such a place.

  “You’ll find what you’re looking for at the bar,” he said at last, whatever that might mean.

  “Thank you,” she said, scooting past him as quickly as possible. He made no effort to move out of her way, compelling her to brush her arm against his.

  A zap of electricity passed through her.

  Inside the club was a silvery haze, dim lights on the ceiling reflecting off glowing faces. Tinny music played in the background, a kind of underwater jazz. There was a dance floor, all females, no males.

  A blonde with short frizzy hair was gyrating her hips. She was hugging her own body at the same time, resting her head on her shoulders. Giving a deep sigh, she grabbed at the hem of the short skirt, inching it just a little higher, almost to the bottom of her cunt.

  Another woman was bending her body backwards. She wore a black sequin halter top and shorts. She was tugging at a strip of leather which Cameron quickly realized was a leash attached to a slim black collar about her neck.

  The collar was affixed with a tiny silver lock. Two identical locks, one each, adorned the straps on her spindly black heels. Cameron felt a clutching in her stomach. The woman was in bondage, right down to her clothing.

  At least she was properly dressed, unlike the tall redhead, lean as a model, her willowy frame barely concealed by a matching pink lace push up bra and thong.

  She looked like some kind of a lingerie ad, right down to the sparkly mules. Cameron nearly fainted when she turned around.

  The mark on her ass was no mere tattoo, nothing a woman would choose for herself. She had been monogrammed, marked as the possession of another.

  Cameron’s knees were weak as rubber. Her pulse was racing. Was she dreaming or had she walked into a nightmare? A little of both, perhaps.

  Gradually she became aware of the eyes on her. Male and predatory, puffing cigar smoke, sipping cognac and scotch, sitting in groups of two and three at small tables ringing the dance floor.

  These would be the masters.

  The recognition sent a chill down her spine. She needed a drink. She needed to get up to that bar. Hadn’t the doorman told her she would find what she needed there?

  “A white wine, please,” she told the bartender.

  He set the glass on the bar, not bothering to quote her a price.

  “How much?” she asked. “Excuse me?”

  How rude, she thought as he walked off.

  “Your money’s no good here,” declared a voice, deep and rich and toe curling.

  The newcomer stole Cameron’s breath. He was well over six feet tall, broad shouldered with a narrow waist. He wore a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up twice on either side. His slacks belonged to a business suit, expensively tailored. The shoes were hand-made, probably in Italy.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He smelled of saddle leather and musk. With each breath she felt a little more lost. His eyes were the deepest blue, the kind women were conditioned like Pavlov’s dogs to fall in love with. Something about the mouth, though, a little touch of cruelty and a mind blowing dose of self indulgence.

  “I mean that you don’t exist as far as he’s concerned.”

  Cameron’s back stiffened. “Well he served me, didn’t he?”

  “No. He served me.” She watched him reach in his pocket and pull out a billfold, diamond encrusted. Peeling off a fifty he placed it on the bar.

  “Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?” she demanded.

  “You’re the joke. What’s with the get up?”

  “It’s not a get up, it’s a normal outfit, not that you people would recognize one.” Cameron seldom went on the attack except when she felt threatened like she did now.

  “You people?” He snorted, pulling out a cigarette from a silver case.

  Too bad, she thought, such a filthy habit for such a good looking man. “Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m just not a member of the BDSM community.”

  “What you are,” he pronounced, blowing a very impressive ring of smoke, “is a very obnoxious little brat.”

  Cameron knew the term from her research. “I’m not a brat. I’m not a sub at all.”

  “Don’t tell me, you’re here writing an article for Better Homes and Dungeons.”

  “I’m a grad student, actually. This is for a project on sexual variations.”

  Damn it, why was she revealing her true purpose to this man, and so early on, too?

  “Sexual variations?” he mocked. “You mean like doggy style while watching the late show? Kind of risky, don’t you think, Mrs. Cleaver?”

  Cameron was past uncomfortable to supremely pissed off. “You don’t have to be a dick, you know.”

  “How do you know what I have to be? I’ll wager you
don’t even know the first thing about yourself.”

  Gulping her wine and putting out her hand she met him head on. “Obviously you are a dominant. My name is Cameron, Cameron the Non-Submissive.”

  He flicked his eyes up and down her body, declining the handshake. “If you really want to see what the club is about, you need to come to the restricted area.”

  She swallowed hard. “The play area, you mean?”

  “Some people call it that. Go and fetch Chloe for me and I’ll give you a little demonstration.”

  “Chloe?”

  “The red head on the dance floor. Tell her Victor desires the pleasure of her company.”

  Cameron’s legs barely carried her across the room. “E—excuse me?”

  The one called Chloe tilted her head, arms still raised in a slow swaying motion. “Yes?”

  “Victor…he asked me to get you.”

  Cameron half expected the woman to laugh in her face. Instead she went a shade paler. Lowering her arms and her eyes both she said in a slow, dark whisper, “Yes.”

  If Cameron had had any doubts that the lovely Chloe was submissive, they were officially at an end. As to who commanded her lithe beauty, she now had the answer, at least in part.

  Victor…the very same man who had told her she didn’t exist in here and who was about to give her a demonstration.

  So be it, she thought, heart slamming in her chest. So long as he knows I won’t do anything but watch.

  Victor was downing a shot of whisky when they got back to the bar. Chloe kept her head down, her long tresses hanging over her heart shaped face. She was a tall woman but Victor dwarfed her.

  “Chloe, this is Cameron. She’s not submissive. Find a room and wait there with her.”

  “Yes, Master.” Chloe’s voice quivered.

  Cameron took issue with Victor’s tone. “Don’t think I missed the sarcasm. For the last time, I am sexually neutral, not a top or a bottom.”

  Victor looked straight at Chloe who promptly took hold of Cameron’s arm. “Please, we need to go.”

  “Are you afraid of him?” Cameron asked as they waded through the increasing crowd. Chloe said nothing pulling her straight to the back of the club. She rapped with her delicate knuckles on an unmarked door.

  It opened from the inside. A blond man with a pony tail let them in. The room was completely white and sterile, not one bit of furnishings. Chloe stood perfectly still, waiting. She looked straight ahead, gorgeous breasts thrust out, belly sucked in, eyes focused on his left shoulder.

  The man had no shirt on. He wore tight wrestling pants and black boots. He was compact, just an inch or two taller than Chloe. There was no mistaking his power over her, the casual possessive way he dealt with her.

  Anywhere else a woman this beautiful would command the obedience of princes. In here she was as meek and humble as a doe.

  “Who’s she?” he asked Chloe, barely acknowledging Cameron’s existence.

  “Master Victor told me to take her to a room,” she said, choosing to leave out the part about her not being submissive.

  “I’m a guest,” Cameron took it upon herself to say. “A student from the university.”

  Chloe winced ever so slightly. Now what had Cameron done?

  The blond man pursed his lips very slightly. One by one, he removed Chloe’s naked breasts from the flimsy bra cups.

  It was Cameron and not Chloe who gasped as the man raised his hand, slapping the generous globes, one after the other. They were short, sharp blows, exceedingly cruel.

  “Are you taking notes?” said the blond to Cameron, his thumbs and fingers savagely twisting Chloe’s nipples.

  Chloe blinked back tears even as she arched her back, silently taking it.

  “Please, don’t hurt her,” Cameron begged.

  The man snorted in disgust. “Better do as your master told you, slut.”

  Chloe took Cameron down a long hallway. There were doorways on either side. They had sliding view ports like the kind in prisons. Each had a number in red. She counted up to thirty before Chloe stopped, opening door number thirty one.

  Cameron was terrified to walk inside. She did so for Chloe’s sake, knowing it would be the hapless redhead who would suffer in her stead.

  The room was roughly twenty feet by thirty feet. The first thing Cameron noticed was the rack on the wall. More than a dozen whips hung from it. There were light buggy whips, floggers and a couple of very long and nasty looking bull whips. A nearby table had paddles on it, arranged in size order. The longest was nearly a yard.

  Chains hung from the ceiling along with some very nasty hooks.

  There was a mattress in the far corner fitted with ropes. Tell tale stains indicated it had been used for sex on numerous occasions. As if this wasn’t intimidating enough, the mattress was deposited next to a dog cage, complete with dishes for water and food.

  Dear god, was this how they treated submissives?

  Cameron wondered at the other bed, a velvet-covered four poster. Just behind that was a mini bar and an old fashioned brass spittoon. Two or three bamboo rods were stored in the spittoon.

  “Why do you need that old thing?” Cameron pointed to the mattress.

  “They fuck you on it to humiliate you, or sometimes they just tie you up for a while for the hell of it. Oh, god,” she said, leaning against the wall near the rack of whips and sliding to the floor to hug her knees. “Why did you have to come here?”

  “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble, Chloe. I just don’t understand what all this is about.”

  “And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here.” Chloe looked up, animated, her exposed breasts jiggling ever so slightly. “Don’t you get it? He’s going to make a complete fool of you. And he’s going to beat my ass black and blue to do it.”

  “We can stop him,” said Cameron, speaking with absolutely zero confidence. “You and I can just walk out of here right now. You can press charges if you want.”

  Chloe looked at her with a perfect mix of pity and disbelief. “What is it you study, anyway, because it sure can’t have anything to do with human sexuality.”

  “Actually, I’m going to be a psychologist,” she said proudly. “Specializing in sexology.”

  Chloe arched a perfectly plucked brow. The next thing Cameron knew she was collapsed on her side in laughter.

  “It’s not that funny,” said Cameron.

  “What is the meaning of this, slut?” Victor was behind them growling. Cameron had not even heard the door open.

  Whimpering, Chloe rolled to her belly on the carpeted floor. “Forgive me, Master.”

  “I’m not the one you need to be begging. I saw your little performance when I walked in. Is that how you conduct yourself in front of a Mistress?”

  “No, Master.”

  Cameron’s mouth went dry. “I’m not a Mistress, I’m neutral.”

  “There are only masters and slaves in this world,” Victor dismissed. “Slut, you may abase yourself before our free guest.”

  Chloe began to crawl, moving on her stomach like a worm. Cameron took a step backward only to hear Victor’s harsh command.

  “Stay where you are, student.”

  Cameron flushed red. Obeying was a mistake, she knew it, but her feet would not allow her to move any further.

  “Forgive me,” croaked Chloe, close enough now to press her lips to the tips of Cameron’s shoes. A light sheen of sweat covered the redhead’s body. The way she had rubbed along the carpet had caused her thong to ride down, just below the mark of her insignia.

  From up close Cameron saw the initials on her the swell of Chloe’s ass. ZS. No V for Victor. Did another man own her perfect body? Or did the mark not represent any individual in particular?

  “Forgive me, Mistress,” Victor corrected sharply.

  Chloe licked desperately at Cameron’s shoe, her beautiful hair draped over her foot. “Please, Mistress, forgive me.”

  “I think you can do better,” V
ictor decided. “Hump the floor, Chloe.”

  Chloe moaned, grinding herself against the carpet. She had her hands at her side, palm up as she undulated, rubbing her nipples and pussy. The whole time she never missed a single lick, her tongue servile and quick on the tops of Cameron’s shoes.

  “Don’t you dare come,” Victor commanded as Chloe began shuddering, her body clearly on the edge of release.

  “Victor, must you continue this obscene performance?” Cameron blurted when she could take no more.

  “No, as a matter of fact, we can end it right now. Chloe, go and fetch the snake.”

  “Yes, Master.” She rose to hands and knees, shaky. Whether because of lack of strength or some prior arrangement between the two, she crawled on all fours to the whip rack.

  Cameron’s belly did a hot flip as Chloe rose to her feet, her well manicured hands reaching. She was barefoot now, having lost both her mules during her earlier crawling display.

  Gingerly, she removed the black braided snake, so aptly named. Cameron couldn’t imagine how Chloe’s delicate pink skin would hold up to such brute force.

  Eyes lowered as always in Victor’s presence, Chloe went to him, presenting the device as some dread offering to a god.

  Victor took the whip in his right hand. With his left he proceeded to lightly stroke Chloe’s cheek. She trembled like a flower in response, her eyes sliding shut. With all the gentleness of a French lover, as if to mock her reality, he kissed her on the lips, so faint and pure it made Cameron want to cry.

  He made love to her with his mouth now, pressing his lips to her forehead, her eyelids, the lashes fluttering and finally to her earlobe.

  The strength vanished from underneath her as he whispered words in her ear.

  Cameron had never felt so outraged…and so jealous. She wanted to know what Victor was saying. She wanted to share that secret so special it could only be borne with heaps of degradation and pain.

  Chloe sucked in her breath as he touched the whip to her belly, to her sex and to each nipple.

  “Down,” he commanded.

  She fell to all fours, grateful to be relieved of the responsibility, the pretense of standing equal to him.

  Victor took his time, the whole world vanishing from his sight as he curled and uncurled the whip in his hand, operating the dread coiled beast like some kind of perverted yo-yo champion, a master of the eastern arts, awe striking.