Teach Me Tender, Teach Me Rough Page 4

  He’d made it as far as the doorway, hands at his sides, all business.

  “I don’t need to do anything.” Of all times for him not to let things go. Give her an hour or two and she’d be able to sort it all out.

  Maybe.

  “Just leave,” she said.

  Craig moved in now, gripping her arm. “You’re scaring me.”

  The feel of his fingers, masculine and bold, tripped a trigger, attraction and repulsion at the same time. “Plan on forcing me, Craig? Going to make me stay home like your good little wifey? Except you won’t marry me, will you?”

  Craig cocked his head. “Where is this coming from? We both agreed to hold off on marriage until we were done with school.”

  He’d let go of her by now, backing a safe distance away. The move made her feel like a pariah, spurned, dangerous.

  Slut.

  “Sometimes a woman doesn’t want to have to agree to everything. If you don’t like how I’m acting, just put your foot down, that’s all I’m saying.” Since when had she gotten so tired? So god damned weak?

  “I shouldn’t have to, Cameron, you ought to police yourself.”

  “Please don’t be angry.” Her eyes watered. “I love you, Craig, so much.”

  He folded her into his arms. “I’m not angry, baby, I just worry about you.”

  The need hit her like a freight train. Her pussy clenched, driving her every word and action. “Craig, let me…”

  She sank to her knees in front of him. Her breath caught in her throat as she undid his zipper. Cameron needed his cock deep in her mouth. She needed to show him that she could be good…safe and predictable, just like he wanted.

  Craig groaned, pushing his pelvis forward as she released his throbbing, red hot cock from its confinements.

  Cameron wanted it all, better still she wanted him to make her take it all.

  “Put your hands on my head…f—force me.”

  “What?”

  She was panting. “Make me suck you. Order me to.”

  Feverishly she unbuckled his belt. He had to get the message. “Haven’t you… ever…. wanted….”

  Craig was beyond words looking down at her holding up the worn, snaking leather.

  A pretty slave girl at his feet, hopelessly in love, begging to be whipped and dominated.

  “Stop it, Cameron.” His voice was hard, not like she had ever heard it before. “Is this from that sex class? Because I don’t want it.”

  Don’t want you, was what she heard.

  “Cameron?”

  Wildly, like a trapped animal she pushed him away, rejecting his hands, his attempts to soothe. “What’s wrong? We can work it out.”

  No, they couldn’t, not if he couldn’t accept this part of her.

  Hell, she needed him to help her accept it.

  “Just…don’t touch me.”

  Jeremy’s words haunted her as she found herself flying down the stairs.

  Don’t run, he had warned, or she would find herself stuck in slavery, the worst kind of all.

  Whatever that meant.

  ***

  No one answered when she knocked on the door of the club. Were they not open yet? Or was she no longer welcome now that her silver ticket had expired?

  Finally an old man came out to tell her the club was private.

  “Please,” she said, not knowing until then what she would say exactly. “I am here to see Chloe. She’s expecting me.”

  The old man frowned, sniffing out her ill conceived lie.

  “Victor sent me,” she added quickly. “I’m to give her a message.”

  Cameron half expected him to slam the door in her face but instead he grunted something inaudible and waved her past.

  She had done it, she had gained access.

  But what did she hope to find? Really, her mind must be far gone to have brought her to this point.

  I will interview Chloe, said the voice of reason, saving her.

  Yes, that was it. Cameron would look at slavery from a slave’s perspective.

  The club was dark inside, the tables and chairs stacked up, the surfaces bathed in dark shadows that made the place seem even more ominous than it had last night.

  Was it all just a dream, the twisting bodies, the leather and the cries of surrender? Perhaps she would wake up even now and turn to Craig, laughing to tell him about it.

  “This way,” the old man said, pointing her to the back. At first she thought they were going to the back room where she had been last night, but instead he took her to a set of swinging doors.

  The rows of pots on the wall and gleaming silver countertops immediately identified it as a kitchen. Pots were set up on the stove. A chef was stirring one of them.

  Cameron startled as she looked down at the floor behind him. A nude girl, a buxom blonde was on her hands and knees scrubbing, welts crisscrossing her ass, indicating a long history of physical punishment. A leather collar circled her neck. She had matching bands on her wrists and ankles. Silver rings were sewn into each, presumably to chain her with.

  She did not look up upon their arrival. No doubt she was trained to perform her menial function without interruption.

  Cameron saw a second girl come around the corner with a cutting board of freshly chopped celery. She was naked and collared like the first. Her hair was chestnut brown and she had very tiny breasts and pointy nipples each of which had been pierced.

  The chef gave her a reward, letting her take one of the celery pieces from between his fingers straight into her mouth. She tried to rub herself against him, but he pushed her away and returned to his cooking. Almost as an afterthought he dropped a celery piece onto the floor and snapped his fingers.

  The blonde slave promptly crawled over to retrieve it. She did so with her lips and tongue…like a dog.

  “Stop stalling and follow me,” the old man said impatiently. “Get your jollies somewhere else.”

  Cameron flushed. She hadn’t realized how intently she been watching the scene, both horrified and aroused. It was so scandalous and wrong, treating women this way, but why then did her belly burn? Why was she so excited, pulse racing as she tried to imagine herself like this, denied clothes, stripped of all dignity, reduced to eating off the floor.

  The old man led her to a door all the way in the back. The door led to a set of wooden stairs that plunged into darkness. She could only imagine what lie at the bottom. Chloe, if she could believe the old man was really taking her to see Chloe and not leading her to some terrible fate of her own.

  What was she doing here, anyway? Why had she left Craig, running off like a mad woman? She should be talking to him, letting him help her through this crisis so she could go back to being a normal girlfriend, one who liked her sex safe and vanilla.

  The old man didn’t speak again until they reached the bottom. “You will find Chloe in the back. When you’re done knock on the door upstairs, someone will let you out.”

  Cameron’s stomach tightened in terror. Victor had told her about this room, a special place for ‘girls like her,’ as he’d put it. Given what she had already seen in the kitchen, she could scarcely imagine the condition Chloe was being kept in.

  Was Cameron so different? Wasn’t she a female, too, small and vulnerable, so easy to capture and hold. She was painfully aware now of her light clothing, the sleeveless cotton blouse, khaki shorts and open toed sandals. How easily it could all be taken away.

  “Y—you’re leaving me?” she said.

  “Of course I’m not,” he said sarcastically. “What could be more important than staying here and waiting hand and foot on the likes of you?”

  “Isn’t there a light you can turn on at least?” She tried not to sound too pitiful.

  The old man laughed. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”

  “Please,” Cameron rasped. “Turn on a light?”

  “That’s not how you ask,” he chided.

  She gasped, feeling his hands in the darkness, one settling on h
er breast, the other clamping her ass cheek.

  “No, don’t,” she groaned.

  He was strong for his age. Cameron was powerless to resist as he pulled her tight against him for a kiss. His tongue pushed deep, invading, using. His breath was foul. She could feel his hard cock.

  Oh, god, please, don’t make me have to…

  Abruptly he pushed her away. “Too bad Victor doesn’t share his fresh meat. That’s all right, you’ll be choking down my cock soon enough.”

  “I’m not Victor’s meat or anything else,” she protested, trying to deny the reality of the stench in her mouth, the humiliating dripping between her thighs. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

  The old man laughed. “Who the fuck are you kidding? You’re a slave all right, it’s written all over you.”

  He was still laughing as he headed up the stairs. When he got to the top he flipped a switch illuminating the room below in a pale yellow. Cameron adjusted her eyes to the light, trying not to panic as he closed and locked the door behind him.

  The truth was sinking in. There were women down here somewhere, slaves in cages.

  She did a scan of her surroundings. The walls were made of cement blocks. There were rubber mats here and there on the floor. The first thing she noticed along the wall was the row of torture implements, from whips and paddles to complicated metal harnesses and clamp devices. A little further down she saw a wooden X frame with leather straps attached to all four sides.

  Beyond this was a ceramic toilet, unadorned white, fully exposed on all sides.

  Was this where the slaves relieved themselves, no privacy and no shame?

  “Turn off that light,” complained a sleepy voice, soft and feminine.

  Cameron turned to her right. There against the opposite wall was a gleaming rectangular cage. It appeared to have been made for a large dog but its occupant was very human.

  The dark haired girl lay on her side, her legs drawn up toward her chest. There was no room in the cage to stretch out nor could she rise above a crouch.

  A cunning form of imprisonment, Cameron thought, well suited to making the woman feel like an animal. No doubt the silver dog bowls in the cage reinforced this.

  “I’m sorry,” Cameron croaked as the woman continued to glare at her.

  “Who are you?” the slave asked.

  “My name is Cameron.”

  “Cameron,” repeated the girl. “That’s a pretty name, too pretty for a slave. They won’t let you keep it.”

  “I’m not a slave. Why does everyone think I am?”

  “I used to be Elizabeth, now I’m Sweet Tits.”

  “But that’s disgusting. How can they just take your name?” Cameron asked appalled.

  “They take everything,” said the girl. “That’s the idea.”

  “But you must hate it,” exclaimed Cameron

  “But you must hate it,” mocked a voice.

  It was coming from underneath a tarp in the back of the room. Cameron saw other tarps as well. How many women were down here exactly?

  “I’m looking for Chloe,” said Cameron. “Does anyone know where she is?”

  “Chloe’s got a girlfriend,” a woman chuckled. Someone else followed up with a whistle.

  “I’m over here, you little twit,” Cameron heard a fierce whisper.

  Cameron followed the voice to the appropriate cage. She pulled off the tarp to reveal the beautiful woman lying on her side, naked. There was a water bottle attached to the outside with a tube for Chloe to drink from. A small silver dish was attached to the door. It was half full of brownish pellets. Cameron’s knees went weak. Did they make her eat animal food?”

  “What are you doing here, haven’t you gotten me in enough trouble?” Chloe demanded.

  “I—I wanted to interview you.”

  “Do I look stupid?” she demanded. “You think I would ever open my mouth without Victor’s permission. He would have my hide for talking to you now.”

  “So your slavery isn’t consensual.”

  Chloe hissed. “You don’t understand anything. You’re a vanilla poser bitch and I would love to see you strung up by the ankles and taught some manners.”

  “Time’s up,” the old man called out.

  Cameron rose hastily to her feet.

  “Put the tarp back,” said Chloe.

  “But wouldn’t you prefer the light?”

  “I really pity you, you know that?” Chloe said. “With all your choices and your high and mighty airs. You must be pretty fucking miserable. Run home, maybe your boyfriend will smack your ass a while if you ask him nice.”

  “I am not a masochist.”

  “You’re a slut and that is close enough.”

  Cameron covered the tarp and hurried out. She didn’t look back until she was safely on the sidewalk. Chloe’s words ate at her. What the hell did it mean, she was a slut and that was enough? And why should she take advice from a girl who got her kicks living in a cage eating rabbit pellets.

  It was disgusting. Even if it did heat up Cameron’s belly making her imagine herself in Chloe’s place, humiliated, helpless, totally degraded. What if Brian saw her that way or Jeremy? What would they think of her? And what would they do to her? This last thought sent a very dangerous shiver down Cameron’s spine.

  She was so absorbed in the plunging vortex of her thoughts that she never saw the man in front of her.

  “Whoa,” he said, his voice rich as coffee. “Where’s the fire?”

  Cameron regarded him. The man was handsome in a non-conventional way. He had a prominent nose, hawkish eyes and a lean and sturdy build. He wore black jeans, narrow boots and a leather jacket.

  “Or maybe it’s a ghost you’ve seen?”

  “Neither,” she managed finally her voice dry as a desert.

  “I am Rennie.” He put out his hand.

  Cameron accepted the grip, his long strong fingers enveloping hers.

  “You look like you could use a friendly listening ear,” he said.

  “Me? Oh, no, I…” The objections died in her throat. She was pretty desperate right now. She couldn’t go home and she certainly wasn’t going to talk to Jeremy. Ultimately, she sighed. “I am afraid it might be hard to explain.”

  “If it has something to do with what goes on in there, I am familiar with the place. I’m also very discrete.”

  He angled his head toward the club door.

  “Do you know Victor?” she asked.

  He winked. “What about you? Shall we call him for a reference?”

  “It’s not like that,” she said quickly.

  “I was only playing with you.” He took her arm. “I think you’ve had enough of this place for one day. Let’s go and have coffee, shall we?”

  Chapter Five

  Rennie made Cameron laugh all the way to the café and well into their second cup of coffee. They talked about a lot of things, none of which had to do with BDSM, much to her surprise.

  It turned out there were a number of coincidences between them. He liked the same bakery in Paris. He had enjoyed walking along the Left Bank with a warm baguette in his hand, just like her. He was also fond of Woody Allen movies, especially the later ones where tragedy seemed to inevitably overcome the humor of his early films.

  “So,” he said at last, on their third cup of cappuccino. “Tell me about you and the club.”

  “You mean what was a nice girl like me doing in a nasty place like that?” she quipped.

  “Actually I was wondering why a nasty girl like you would be in such a nice place,” he gave it right back to her.

  She slapped his wrist. For just a moment, in the midst of the play she sensed the electricity. Something lit in his eyes. Cameron wrapped both hands firmly around her cup.

  “I’m doing a paper on ritualized alternative sexual practices, actually.”

  He pursed his lips. “Is that what it’s called? Dear god, perhaps I’m not as qualified as I thought.”

  Cameron’s ears perked u
p, as did her nipples. “So are you...into the scene?”

  “So many euphemisms,” he noted. “Are you that afraid to call a spade a spade?”

  “Of course not, I’m preparing to be a counselor.”

  “Are you? Then you should counsel me.”

  “I am not licensed.”

  “But you have training, information?”

  “Some, yes.” She felt the need to be cautious.

  “Personally,” Rennie told her. “I enjoy having women to my home. I make them clean for me, very degrading stuff.”

  Cameron’s toes curled. “That’s…an interesting fetish.”

  “I don’t have sex with them. They are required to masturbate me but that’s as far as it goes.”

  “So you have a domestic fetish,” Cameron sought to keep the conversation. “Are there certain costumes which arouse you, say the classic French maid’s uniform?”

  “That’s too much fluff,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I like a woman naked on her hands and knees.”

  “Like at the club, in the kitchen?”

  “I have never been in the kitchen.”

  Cameron sipped her drink. Whether from the caffeine or the stimulation of the conversation, she found her hands were shaking.

  “I could show you if you like,” Rennie said.

  Cameron’s heart skipped a beat. “You could…what?”

  “We could go to my apartment and you would have a demonstration of my fetish, as you call it.”

  “You…you have a woman there already?”

  He arched a brow. “I think you know the answer to that.”

  The answer was he wanted to perform his fetish on her. She lowered her eyes. “I couldn’t possibly.”

  “Don’t answer hastily. It’s a unique opportunity, a one-time event. You would be completely safe and afterwards we would never speak of it again.”

  “I have a boyfriend.”

  “I told you, it’s not sexual.”

  “But it would be a betrayal.”

  “And what about this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All of it, sitting here talking with me, going to the club. I assume you have some kind of feelings. Surely you see how that is taking you from your boyfriend.”

  “I don’t want to talk about my personal life.” She couldn’t begin to explain how she was working things out with Craig, how together with his help she would get this out of her system.