Bound in Blue (23 page)

“Does that feel good?” he asked.

She shook her head. No, it was too hard and
sustained to feel good. When he played with her, he paused between
licks, varied the tempo and severity, teased her clit to keep her
turned on, but when he punished her, it was just
wham, wham,
wham
until her ass was on fire. He used the strap until her
cheeks flamed and she was breathless from crying, and then he put
it down.

Sara let out a huffing breath. Her ass
throbbed along with her racing heart. She tensed her legs and
curled her fingers in the sheets. She was lucky. She had one of
those Masters who was impervious to pleading and whining, so there
was no pressure to do either one. She only laid still and watched
him pick up the slim pine paddle. It had holes in it, which Jason
alternately called “sad holes” and “scream holes.”

The first whack made her shriek behind the
gag. She tensed her ass cheeks but that only made it worse as the
walloping continued. It was so hard not to flail around and reach
back to cover herself.
Take your punishment. You deserve
this.

After ten hard smacks he stopped and caressed
her pussy with the paddle’s edge. When the wood slid over her clit
she bucked involuntarily. A moan tore from her throat. He answered
with a tsk.

“The problem with punishing you is that you
think pain feels good.”

She shook her head, but yes, he was making
her feel good. She swallowed a sob as he slid the wooden edge over
her entire slit. Then he put the paddle down and picked up the
belt, and doubled it over. “Do you think Theo felt proud of you
yesterday?”
Whack!

The belt’s sting was much more concentrated
than the paddle. Each lick left a burning streak of pain building
on the one before it. “How do you think Theo’s coping, after
everything he went through with Minya? Do you think he enjoyed
almost watching you fall?”

Sara shook her head, keening behind the
gag.

“Maybe I should have invited him over here so
he could have his own go at you. Really, Sara. After everything he
did for you.”

He brought the leather down on her ass again
and again in the same spot until her hips danced on the padded foot
board. Oh God, she couldn’t bear it, but there was no way to
escape. She curled her arms up beside her head, grabbing her
hair.

“No. Arms to the sides,” he said, belting the
backs of her thighs until she complied. “Stick your ass out and be
still. You’re learning a lesson here. If you don’t learn it now,
we’ll have to do this again another time.”

Sara sobbed and shook her head. No, no, not
again. But there would be times she would mess up and have to
endure these punishments. That was the life she’d chosen, a life of
submitting to her Master’s will, and his corrections when
necessary. At last he put down the belt. Sara fought for breath,
brushing her teary cheeks against the bedcovers. Her entire ass and
thighs ached with waves of pain, but there was more to come. That
was the worst part.

He picked up the last implement, the cane,
and tapped it slowly against the bed. It wasn’t the one he’d gotten
in Mongolia—he only used that for happy scenes. This was his
punishment cane. “I don’t want you to sit comfortably for a while,
so you’ll get ten hard strokes.”

Ten? She’d never survive ten, not on top of
the pain she’d already suffered. She started bawling, squeezing all
her fear and panic out through her eyes. He counted each stroke
aloud, which made it even more awful. “One.” “Two.” “Three.”

She screamed behind the gag as each whack
came burning across her already fiery skin.
I can’t. I
can’t.

But this is how you learn to never, ever do
it again.

“Four.” Horrible. “Five.”
Nooo...

Sara’s nails bit into her palms as she
endured each slice of fire. “Six.” She hated Baat for causing her
this pain. “Seven.” She hated Paris and Cirque du Monde, and even
Jason a little because he was hurting her so bad. “Eight.” No, not
hurting, punishing. Even if his stern voice and cane strokes would
give her nightmares later, this is what she’d earned. She screamed
at nine, and then he paused and she waited, dreading the final
shot. It was the worst of all, a stroke across her parted ass,
resonating through her tender center. It brought her no pleasure,
only agony.

But that was it. If he told her ten, he gave
her ten. As much as it hurt, it had been a controlled and bearable
punishment. Her body relaxed as he put down the cane. He stroked
her ass, squeezing the painful welts he’d given her. He delivered a
few final smacks with his hand, dull, hot spanks that wrested a
moan from behind her gag. He ran his fingers up her spine and
tugged her head back by the hair. A few jerks of his fingers and
the dreaded gag was off.

She felt his legs warm and hard against the
backs of her thighs. His grip tightened in her hair. “What do I
always do at the end of punishments?”

It took her a moment to find her voice. “You
fuck my ass, Master.”

“Are you allowed to come?”

“No, Master.”

“And we don’t use lube, do we? Beyond what’s
on the condom.”

“No, Master.” Her voice caught a little on
the words. “Only good girls get lube.”

“What are you waiting for?”

With a small sob, she reached behind her and
parted her ass cheeks.

“Wider,” he murmured. “Like I taught you.
Don’t make me get the cane again.”

It was so difficult to do, and yet he
required it, so the choice really wasn’t hers. She pulled her
cheeks wide and offered her asshole to her Master, to punish her as
he pleased.

“That’s better,” he said, spreading one hand
at the small of her back. She clenched her teeth and tried to relax
as he used his other hand to press his thick girth against her
hole. The slippery stuff on the condom always got the head in, but
the rest... She muffled her whine in the covers as he forced
himself deeper. “Does that feel good?” he asked.

“No, Master,” she said on a sob.

“Because punishments don’t feel good, do
they?”

“No, Master, they don’t.” Punishments hurt
like being pried open from the inside. Once he was fully seated, he
told her to put her hands at the back of her head, and then he took
her sore ass cheeks, one in each hand, and drilled her in a steady
rhythm meant for his pleasure, not hers.

It didn’t
hurt
hurt. He wasn’t
injuring her, but each time he moved into her body it was
uncomfortable. It stretched her asshole and taught her a very stark
lesson.
I’m in charge of you, and I hurt you when you’re
bad
. He could have sodomized her for an hour and she would have
taken it. In reality, he fucked her only a few minutes before his
strokes quickened to a more focused pounding. She heard a grunt and
a sigh, felt him drive all the way inside her and fall over her
back. He stayed that way, his balls hanging down against her clit.
She wanted to grind her hips back to intensify that tickle of
pleasure, but she didn’t dare. He’d fuck her again and really make
it hurt, because this wasn’t about her.

A few moments later, he leaned back and
withdrew, and went into the bathroom to throw away the condom. She
knew better than to move a muscle without his permission. She
stayed sprawled where she was, feeling sore and punished, just as
he wanted her to feel.

Finally he returned and released her from the
spreader bar, and stood her up. He held her arm a moment, until she
got her legs back, and then he made her look in his eyes. “I only
punish you because you need it,” he said.

“Yes, Master.”

“Now walk over to the drawer and get the
black clover clamps.”

Her whole body went hot and cold but she
obeyed him, because revolt wasn’t an option. She found the dreaded
set of clamps and carried them back by their chain. Her rising
panic finally spilled out as she placed them in his hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, no,
Master.”

There might have been a small inkling of
sympathy in his gaze. She couldn’t tell for sure through the tears
obscuring her vision. He flicked her nipples, leaning down to lick
the treasonous things to attention in preparation for the clamps.
Her whole body hurt, her asshole hurt, her pride hurt, and when he
closed the biting teeth on her nipples, her breasts hurt too. He
tugged down on the chain, ignoring her groan. “Tell me what you
learned today.”

“Not to keep secrets. Harmful secrets,” she
said, gasping through the pain.

He jerked the chain again. “Not to keep any
secrets. Slaves don’t keep secrets from their Masters. Not good
slaves, anyway.” He wiped away her tears and tilted her chin
higher. “Are you going to be my good slave from now on?”

“Yes, Master. Please...” She pulled in her
shoulders, giving him her most piteous look.

He kissed her on both her eyes, then gave her
a little squeeze on the neck that made her nipples throb harder.
“Does
please
ever work for you, little one?”

“No, Master. It never does.”

“Hush then. You’ve got ten minutes in the
corner with the clamps, hands at the small of your back. Then we’re
through and you’re forgiven.” He let go of her neck and gave her a
crisp smack on the bottom. “Now go.”

Sara went to headquarters the next day at her
usual practice time, even though her body still hurt. Even though
she didn’t want to. It was Theo’s last day and he told her to come
in for one last session. Jason had work of his own, a meeting with
Lemaitre and the other directors. They had to deal with the
aftermath of the ruined Exhibition. Everyone was freaking out. The
artists whispered to each other, retelling the story of Sara and
Baat’s botched act and the fight afterward, embellishing it, making
it even more awful. Several artists hadn’t gotten their chance to
perform because of Baat.

Because of her.

Baat wasn’t there, so Sara bore the brunt of
everyone’s disapproval. Even Theo was cool to her, putting her
through an especially grueling warm up.
You deserve this. You
fucked up.
He’d ordered the trapeze lowered to its former
height, another humiliation. When she finished the exercises he
ordered, she swung herself up onto the bar and winced.

Theo crossed to stand under her. “You are
injured? What hurts?”

“My ass,” she said through her teeth.

She thought he might offer sympathy, even
anger on her behalf, but he only nodded. “I would have done the
same. I’m tempted to give you a few whacks right now. I lost two
years of my life, watching you dangle from his fingers.”

Even her coach had no pity for her. She
hugged the rope and leaned her head against it. “The mat was
underneath.”

“The mat saves your life,” he snapped. “Not
your career. You still might have broken an arm or leg. You might
have been paralyzed. A small chance, but a chance.”

Sara swung her legs, peering down at the blue
surface of the practice floor. “My career might be over anyway. I’m
supposed to talk to Mr. Lemaitre today at three-thirty. About Baat
and my future here.” She wished she could crawl into a hole
somewhere. Lemaitre would be angry, and Theo, her wonderful coach,
was leaving just when she needed him most.

He took in her bleak expression, reached up
and patted the side of her leg. “Come down. We need to talk. Your
butt is too sore for trapeze anyway.”

She swung down by her knees and winced again
at the ache in her muscles. Theo took her by the waist and plucked
her from the bar, setting her on the ground. Even the soft mat hurt
her ass. She stretched out on her side and rested her head on her
arm.

“Poor punished girl. It could have been much
worse, you know,” said Theo. “You could have been in the hospital
with some terrible injury. Broken neck.” He kept his voice light,
but a muscle worked in his jaw.

“I’m sorry for what happened, Theo. I know it
was hard...hard for you to see.”

“Yes, well, you shouldn’t have gone up with
him. You should have told someone about his drinking.”

“Jason already lectured me and wrecked my
ass.” She rolled onto her stomach, burying her head in her hands.
“Please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.” She started
crying and hated herself for it. It wasn’t professional to cry in
front of your coach. She thought he might stalk off in disgust, but
he sat and waited. She peered over at his fingers tapping the mat.
Those fingers had dropped someone once, someone who’d died.

“I’ll make it up to you.” She rolled back
over, wiping her tears. “What can I do?”

“You can stop crying like a baby, and start
talking to me about your new act.”

“What new act?”

“Your new solo act you’re going to have to
learn now that your partner’s gone.”

She blinked, sitting up. “I’m going to do a
solo act?”

“You already know some tricks. When you go to
Lemaitre, you can ask him for this opportunity. You can ask him for
anything you want, and if he thinks you can do it, he’ll say
yes.”

“But...” A solo act? Just her doing tricks on
the trapeze? “I don’t know if I can do that, carry a whole act by
myself.”

He scowled at her. “I will spank you again,
right now, on your painful ass. I don’t care who sees.”

She scooted back from him, just in case he
was serious. “But you’re leaving. Who’s going to help me?”

“How about helping yourself? You’re the only
one in your partnership who ever had a heart for trapeze, for
performance,” he scolded. “And you’ve been practicing tricks for
weeks, solo tricks you could use to anchor your own routine. This
I-don’t-know-if-I-can
nonsense makes me angry. Of course you
can do it. You only need determination, and ideas.”

She stared into Theo’s avid gaze, an idea
forming in her mind. “I could make up my own story. Couldn’t I?
Would that be okay?”