Bound in Blue (12 page)

“He didn’t seduce me. It wasn’t like that.
Things just happened.”

“
Things just happened
doesn’t make it
right,” he said, his voice sharpening.

Jason made a low warning sound. Lemaitre
could rail at him all day, but he wouldn’t let him chew out
Sara.

Lemaitre’s scowl deepened as he lounged back
on the couch. “You and Jason will be working together as part of a
professional team. Whether ‘things happened’ or not, you both have
an obligation to focus on the development of your act. Let me put
it this way: I brought you here to grace the stages of Cirque du
Monde, not the bedroom of Mr. Beck.”

Sara straightened her shoulders and stared
her imposing boss in the face. “You should have some respect for me
as an artist. Do you think I won’t give my all for Cirque du Monde?
For my performance? Whether Jason’s in charge of my act, or you, or
someone else, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to do my best work,
regardless of my personal life.”

She lifted her chin, as if daring Lemaitre to
defy her. She didn’t realize it, but with that brave outburst,
she’d earned her boss’s respect. Jason knew him well enough to see
the approval in the twitch of his lips, the softening of his stare.
“Very well,” he said in a gruff voice. “Your best work? I’m going
to hold you to that.” He picked at the tailored cuff of his sleeve.
“I apologize for waking you,
mademoiselle
. It is early.
Perhaps you should retire again upstairs.”

It was an order, not a suggestion, and it
meant he wasn’t done hammering Jason yet. Jason walked to Sara and
pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Bad girl,” he whispered, pulling
her close. “I told you to stay in bed.”

She gave him a look, that look slaves had
when they knew they’d fucked up and were very sorry for it. If
Lemaitre hadn’t understood how serious their thing was before, he’d
know now from the expression on Sara’s face.

“It’s okay,” he said, tracing a thumb down
the curve of her cheek. “We’ll talk about it later. For now, you
really need to go upstairs.”

“Yes, M—” She slid a look at Lemaitre. “Yes,
Jason.”

Sweet, clueless Sara, hiding their dynamic
from the outsider. She didn’t realize yet that Lemaitre was the
Master of them all. He’d have to explain it soon, so she’d
understand the world she’d entered. He turned back to his boss, who
regarded him with a shuttered expression.

“Very nice,” was all he said.

Jason went on the defensive. “It is very
nice. It happened naturally for both of us. You know how rare and
special that is.”

“‘Rare’ and ‘special.’ What a glowing way to
look at it.”

“I’m telling you, from the start, we knew. We
sensed this thing between us. Even the first night, we knew
something was going on. You don’t understand the pull we feel to
each other.”

Lemaitre stood and stalked to the window,
then turned back to him with a scathing look. “No, I don’t
understand, because I control my ‘pulls’ when they’re
inappropriate. It’s called restraint.”

“Are you lecturing me about restraint,
Michel? Because I don’t think you have any moral high ground to
stand on. You sleep with your subordinates all the time.”

“Perhaps, but it doesn’t ‘just happen.’ I
choose my partners with great care. I groom them for weeks, months,
years sometimes. You’ve known Sara for what? Three days all
together?”

“Almost a week.”

Lemaitre’s phone buzzed and he looked down at
it. He glanced back at Jason, then out the window again.
Struggling. Lemaitre was struggling with something, which almost
never happened. Jealousy?

Michel Lemaitre wanted Sara for himself.

Jason suspected it, dreaded it, and now it
seemed obvious. “I won’t say I love her yet,” Jason declared,
“because as you said, I just met her. But I’m on the way to loving
her. I’d appreciate it if you would respect that.”

Lemaitre turned to him, stroking his chin.
Jason endured his assessing stare, shored up by his convictions. He
cared about Sara. He would have lost his job for her. He still
might lose his job over her, if Lemaitre couldn’t let the jealousy
go.

“You’re off her act,” Lemaitre finally said.
“I’ll oversee it myself with Theo’s help. As for the other, I wish
you both the best.” He looked back down at his phone. “A few
minutes ago, Sara’s partner arrived at Cirque du Monde
headquarters. I see no point in telling her until I’ve met with the
young man and learned his intentions.”

Jason’s head spun from the sudden change of
subject. “Baat’s in Paris?”

“He’s waiting at my office. Keep Sara away
from headquarters until I call with news.” He strode to the door,
then turned back with his hand on the knob. “Don’t be too hard on
her. She only disobeyed out of concern for you.”

“You know how this works. If we start letting
little things go...”

Lemaitre waved a hand. “Yes. Unhappy slaves.
Okay then, give her hell. But remember why she did what she
did.”

Jason saluted his boss and locked the door
after he left. What a morning. Baat was here, Jason was no longer
working with Sara, and Lemaitre had wished them “the best” in their
relationship. Jason needed food, and coffee. Maybe a drink.

But first he had to discipline a naughty
slave who’d really only had his best interests at heart.

* * * * *

Sara heard his feet on the stairs. Her heart
pounded as she pulled up the covers and feigned sleep. Maybe if he
thought she was tired...if she looked especially exhausted...

She shut her eyes and lay very still. She
heard him cross the room, heard the rustle of him taking off his
clothes and then his sigh as he walked to her side of the bed.

I’m sleeping, see? Poor, tired Sara.

But it was a lie, cowardly avoidance. A good
slave owned up to her mistakes. She opened her eyes to find his
face inches from hers. She blinked and scooted back as he crawled
onto the bed after her. Within seconds, she was pinned underneath
him, staring up into his steady gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You told me to
stay upstairs.”

“Yes I did. Very simple directions. It seems
you need to be reminded who’s in charge.”

She didn’t really need to be reminded. He was
making it obvious, with his dominant position and his threatening
stare.

“I was afraid,” she said. “I heard Mr.
Lemaitre’s voice and I worried he’d fire you.”

“Those are excuses. I appreciate your
concern, but you still disobeyed. Masters like submission and
trust, and obedience. Do you know what they don’t like?”

Sara took a stab at it. “Naughty slaves?”

He took one of her nipples between thumb and
forefinger, pinching in a sharp, burning twist. “Naughty slaves who
don’t trust their Masters to handle their own business. My job
isn’t your concern. And for the record, I would have given it up
for you. If it came to that.”

“That would have been sad.”

“You’re about to be sad.” He released her
aching nipple. “But that’s how naughty slaves learn.”

Her heart had been pounding earlier but now
it banged in her chest like a fire alarm. Punishments weren’t sexy
and fun. Whatever he did was going to hurt, and she suspected
someone as meticulous as Jason would make it hurt worse than
most.

“Master...please...”

“Hush. Turn on your tummy.”

With a helpless whimper, she complied. She
watched with her face half-mashed into the comforter as he crossed
to a chest and hauled open a drawer. He took out a thin braided
whip, about two feet long, and flexed it between his fingers. Oh,
no. Narrow, whippy implements hurt the worst.

“Reach above you and touch the headboard,” he
said as he returned. “Scoot up if you have to. You’re not to move
your hands.”

“Yes, Master.” She trembled, wondering how
many strokes he’d give her. Five? Ten? Twenty?
Please, not
twenty.
Well, this is what she got for going downstairs and
butting into his business with Mr. Lemaitre. “I’m sorry,” she
whispered as he pulled cuffs from beneath the padded footboard and
buckled them around her ankles. His bed was so big, she had to
spread her legs wide.

“I know you’re sorry,” he said, checking the
tension. “This is to remind you who’s the Master and who’s the
slave.”

He walked around the bed and drew back his
arm. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited in dread for the
punishment she’d earned. The first slice of the whip was horrible,
because there was no warm up, no exciting foreplay to make her want
it. Her legs jerked but they couldn’t move more than an inch or
two. She clutched at the sheets, then returned her hands to the
headboard as he’d instructed her. The next stroke tore a shriek
from her throat.

“Be quiet or I’ll gag you,” he warned. “We
talked about the air ducts. I don’t want the police showing
up.”

She buried her face in the sheets, biting
down on them to keep from wailing at the next stroke. The pain was
fiery, impossibly sharp. Punishing. It was all she could do not to
throw her hands back to cover herself. Five, six, seven. Eight. He
paused, and Sara felt eight separate, throbbing welts on her ass,
laid over the lingering bruises from his belt the night before. She
braced for more, but then he moved away, put the whip aside.
Thank you, Master.

“Reach back and part your ass cheeks. Yes,
you can let go of the headboard. Reach back and spread them
open.”

Sara hesitated, reluctant and humiliated, and
shy.

“You have three seconds to obey me before I
pick up the whip again.”

She reached back and yanked her ass cheeks
apart, wincing as her nails accidentally raked one of the whip
marks. She wanted to beg for mercy but she felt too punished and
shamed to say anything. And too terrified of what was coming
next.

She felt his weight on the bed beside her. He
had a condom and a bottle of lube, and a grim expression on his
face. “Do you like anal sex, Sara?”

She couldn’t process his words for a moment.
“Wha— What?”

“Anal sex. Do you like having your ass
fucked? I know you like having it played with,” he said with a
ghost of a smile. Yes, he’d played with it that first time, but it
had only been his fingers, not his huge cock. “Answer me,” he
prompted, “and keep those ass cheeks spread.”

She stammered as he dripped cold lube into
her crack. “I— I like it sometimes. But it usually hurts.”

“I imagine it does.” He pushed a finger into
her, smoothing the lube around her sphincter. She felt close to
panic, even though the pain hadn’t started yet. She heard the
rattle of the condom wrapper, and felt him shift as he put it on.
“Sometimes I’ll make you come when I fuck your ass, but this isn’t
one of those times. You understand why.”

“Yes, Master.” Tears filled her eyes. Fearful
tears, penitent tears, maybe even thankful tears. She was too
scared to know at the moment.

He paused with the head of his cock against
her tensing hole. Her legs were still bound to the bed, her hands
still holding herself open. “Lift your ass up. Offer it to me. My
pleasure for your punishment.”

It was too humiliating to bear, but she did
it, and when he pressed the head in she sobbed into the pillow. It
hurt
. His cock stretched her, unfamiliar fullness that
brought a frightening ache. If she’d screamed “Get it out!” the way
she wanted to, she knew he would have done it, but she kept the
words inside because he was her Master and this was how their world
worked.
My pleasure for your punishment.
She arched her
bottom even more.
Hurt me, take me, use me. As long as you
forgive me afterward and tell me everything’s okay.

“Good girl,” he sighed as she relaxed into
the pain. It hurt the most at the beginning. She knew that. Now he
was in and it was only a matter of enduring the fucking part. He
held himself above her, thrusting steadily in and out, deeper and
deeper each time. From the noises he was making, it felt extremely
good on his end. Because of the lubricant, it didn’t feel so bad
for her. It was only that it was punishment.

“Who’s the Master in this relationship?” he
asked a few minutes in.

“You are.
Mmph
.” He did an especially
deep thrust and she bit her lip to keep from crying.

“And who are you?”

“I’m your slave, Master. I’m sorry I
disobeyed you.”

“Your disobedience is why you have nine fat
inches of cock buried in your asshole, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Are you enjoying this?”

“No, Master,” she said truthfully. She had no
doubt he could make it feel good if he wanted to, but her ass was
already sore from the whip and he was fucking her like he was
teaching her a lesson, not trying to make her come.

“Next time Master tells you to stay
somewhere, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to stay,” she sobbed. “I’m going
to listen to you, I promise.”

“I hope so. I hope you’ve learned a
lesson.”

He punctuated each word with a hard thrust
and then he jerked his cock out of her. A moment later she felt hot
spurts of cum on her back, and on her ass cheeks where she held
them open. It seemed like the worst punishment of all, that he
didn’t deign to come inside her, but this was one more display of
who was the Master and who was the subordinate.

“Rub it in like a good girl.”

She didn’t question, just obeyed, releasing
her ass cheeks to massage her Master’s cum into her skin. She felt
wrung out, exhausted, and yes, punished. Jason got up to throw away
the condom, then uncuffed her legs.

“Don’t move. Just lay there.”

She rested her hands on the bed and lay very
still, and submitted to Jason’s inspection of her body. When he
finished, he drew her into his arms and she sobbed against his
chest, babbling a mish-mash of apologies. He stroked her hair and
wiped away her tears, and then he told her she was forgiven.