Master's Flame (16 page)

He escorted her upstairs, checked over her cuts and found them without infection, and then steered her over to the wall, to the black writing of which he’d become very fond. He wondered if she felt the same fondness as he pressed her against the words. “Stay.”

He went to the nightstand for the usual supplies. He’d already buzzed through nearly an entire tube of lubricant. Valentina’s mouth fell open as he slathered it over the condom.

“Again? Tonight?”

“Yes, I told you. Tonight, and any other time going forward that you ask for a break. There are no breaks in this sort of slavery.” He nodded toward the wall. “Eyes there, my dear. Right there on that line you signed with your little hearts.”

“But—”

“There are no buts either. No buts, no breaks.”

“I understand now,” she said as he parted her and lubricated her asshole. Lovely, how she closed up so tight in the space of a couple of hours, so he could force his way in again. “I understand, okay? I won’t ask for any more breaks.”

“Wonderful,” he replied, blithely and intentionally ignoring her point. “I asked you to face the wall.”

She turned and let out a sigh as he pressed against her from behind. His hands caressed her hips, her waist. Ah, but her body was lovely, her breasts high and full, her ass so round and strong, and still tender from her spanking over his lap.

“I don’t care if you punish me for saying this,” she said. “But I think you are way too obsessed with anal sex.”

He didn’t answer, only put a hand over her mouth and smiled into the soft, fragrant mass of her hair. With his other hand he pressed his cock between her ass cheeks and availed himself, once again, of her tightest, most sensitive orifice as she groaned and whined, pinned against the wall. “
I belong to Le Maître
,” he read, breathing against her ear. He let go of her mouth to tap the wall. “Signed,
Valentina Maria-Rosa Sancia
. Do you know what that means?” He eased deeper into her ass, as deep as he could go. “It means no breaks,
ma mignonne
. Ever.”

He put his hand back over her mouth, not that she had anything to say besides soft pleas of entreaty. He just liked fucking her that way.

*** *** ***

Valentina had always loved work. Even when it was tedious, or challenging, she’d loved showing up for practice, but never, ever had she loved it more than today.

Oh God, to get away from the damn white room, from her cage in Mr. Lemaitre’s house.

Jason told her to ease back into her routine slowly, but she was bursting with pent-up energy, and besides that, the only way to stop thinking about Mr. Lemaitre...
Master
...was to throw herself full throttle into her act’s development. She had other parts to learn too, narrative elements that would be woven throughout the production. Some were as simple as sweeping across the stage in a theatrical way. Others involved acting and choreography, and interaction with other performers playing their own roles.

None of this worried her. It was all easy, even exciting, and she’d accomplish it all long before
Cirque Élémental
’s premiere in the spring.

By then, she’d no longer be his slave.

This idea both exhilarated and depressed her. She was less than a week into her four-week servitude and she already felt like Mr. Lemaitre had scrambled her brain. Whenever she saw him, a needy, aching longing took over her whole body, and she wanted his attention more than she wanted life itself, but at the same time, he frightened her until she could barely breathe from it. Add this to the fact that he scorned her as much as he fucked her...

Her feelings didn’t make any sense.

But work made sense and that was something she could do well. Work was something measurable, something useful that made all her other agitations go away.

Agitations? But you wanted this, Tina. You’re living your “dream.”

“Hey there. Valentina?” Jason’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. She looked at the clock and was disappointed to realize that practice, contractually limited to two hours a day, was already over. While she’d been busy daydreaming about her Master, Andrew, Roman, and Danil had packed up and headed off. Adei lingered, giving her a strange look. She’d gotten that look a lot today. He and Jason exchanged glances and then he left too.

“I thought Mr. Lemaitre kept a lot of slaves,” she said. “Why is everyone gawking at me?”

Jason pulled at his lip, then let out a soft breath that flared his nostrils. “Do you want to have lunch?”

Oh no. She’d come to recognize that tone all too well. “Actually, I was going to grab something quick and head over to the gym—” she began.

“I think we should have lunch.”

She followed him to the cafeteria, trying not to think too hard about the determined expression on his face. People stared as they walked down the corridors, and continued to stare as they filled their trays and sat down at a table.

She turned her back to everyone and took apart her turkey sandwich, eating the tomato slices first. She wished she could put tomato on some of her art. The red was so vibrant. The texture of the shredded lettuce clinging to the turkey caught her attention next. She poked at it as she bit into the tomato.

“So,” said Jason. “I’ve considered your request to add the series of flips to the finale.”

“And?” She looked up from the lettuce and knew he was going to tell her no. “I can do it,” she said. “I used to do flips on top of my three brothers in a stack. Boom, boom, boom.” She used her hands to illustrate the concept. “They never dropped me. Never.”

“Somehow I believe that.”

“So why?” She shoveled the lettuce into her mouth, then reassembled her sandwich and took a bite. “I like the challenge,” she said after she swallowed. “I want it to be hard every night.”

“I know you like things to be
hard every night
,” Jason said, with a bit less patience in his tone. “But you can’t incorporate skills into the act that can’t be replicated every show, day after day. Every skill in the act should have a one-hundred-percent likelihood of perfect execution.”

“I could do it perfectly one hundred percent of the time.”

“Valentina.”

“I could! It’s the speed. It’s easier to balance moving fast than moving slow—”

“Valentina, enough.” He brushed a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “Look, the answer is no. If I didn’t tell you no now, then Genevieve would tell you no when she saw the flips. And if she didn’t say no, then Lemaitre would.”

Just hearing his name made Valentina go tense. She took another bite of her sandwich, her throat suddenly tight and itchy. “I’m just trying to be myself,” she said. “I came to Cirque du Monde to be an artist, to express my—my—” She waved a hand. “Whatever it’s called. My vision.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it’s so.” She glanced up to find him staring at her with one eyebrow raised. “You know, when you look at me like that, I want to throw my plate at your face.”

“I wouldn’t do that. Your Master wouldn’t be happy.”

“He’s not here right now.”

“But you’re his slave, aren’t you? You’re supposed to behave in ways he finds pleasing, whether or not he’s here.”

She looked around the cafeteria, like he might be watching from a corner somewhere. Yes, she’d been learning—via some very painful lectures and punishments—that her Master’s will trumped everything where she was concerned. She pushed down uneasy feelings and forced a smile, giving Jason a flirtatious look. “You wouldn’t tell on me, would you?”

“I would tell on you in a heartbeat, especially if you threw a plate at my face. Maybe I’ll go tell on you right now for threatening me.”

“No!” She reached out and grabbed his hand before she realized he was joking. Oh shit. Now he looked perturbed.

“What’s he been doing to you?” Jason asked. “You’re not yourself today. Honestly, you haven’t been yourself in a while. Where’s the Valentina that showed up here last fall ready to conquer the world?”

“You won’t let me conquer the world. You won’t even let me put fun stuff in the act, because it can’t be
replicated
.” She said the last word in a sing-song mocking tone.

“Let’s forget about the fun stuff in your act because it’s not happening, and that’s not what I want to talk about.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “What’s going on with you and Lemaitre?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why the fuck are you putting yourself through this? I told you, you aren’t a good match. He’s not Lugo in the showers, Valentina. He’s not Adei. He’s not even me. He can be a brutal, unfeeling Master and he’s not one to fall in love with his slaves. If you think you’ll be different, that you’ll somehow get through to his heart, you’re in for a disappointment.”

She stared at the table. “I don’t want to get through to his heart.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve been in love with him since the first week.” He took her hand hard, the way she’d taken his hand when she thought he was going to tell on her. “I love the way you fall in love with everyone and everything. I do. I love your recklessness and intensity. They’re wonderful qualities.”

“They’re terrible qualities,” she said, grabbing her hand away. “You complain about them all the time. Mr. Lemaitre is going to help me be a better person. More focused. More self-disciplined.”

“He’s going to help you be a better sex slave, okay? Period. That’s it.”

She shook her head. That wasn’t true. Mr. Lemaitre had told her he would change her, that he would make her better and stronger. “You don’t understand. You haven’t been there for our conversations.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re having lots of conversations,” said Jason, rolling his eyes. “I know the kind of conversations Lemaitre likes to have with his slaves. They involve lots of lubricant.”

Valentina put down her sandwich. “You don’t understand anything. You think you know everything about me and Mr. Lemaitre, but you don’t.”

“I know enough. I warned you off him weeks ago, Valentina. I’m worried about the two of you together because I don’t think your personalities mesh.”

She took small sips of water, refusing to look at him.

“Hm, no comment,” he said after a moment. “Listen, if the reality isn’t what you thought it would be—”

She covered her ears. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

“Valentina.”

She shook her head. “Why are you doing this? I’m a grown woman. I can do as I like.”

“Not for the next twenty-five days, you can’t.”

“I want this. I want to tough it out, okay? He won’t hurt me.”

“If I thought he would hurt you, really hurt you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He sighed and ate the last of his sandwich. “I’m just telling you that if you ever want out, you can get out. He won’t fire you. He won’t send you away. There are ways to keep the two of you separate, if that’s what you’re worried about. In the end, it’s a game. It’s supposed to be fun. If it’s not fun, if it becomes too much for you, tell him. If you can’t tell him, tell me.”

She knew he meant to help but he had no idea about her feelings. This wasn’t a game to her, not in the slightest.

“I heard you were a hard Master too,” she said, purposely keeping her voice low. “I see how you control Sara.”

“There’s a big difference. I love Sara.”

Yes, and Mr. Lemaitre didn’t love her. Could he emphasize it again? Ten, twenty more times before she escaped this lunch from hell?

“I need to go to the gym,” she said. “I haven’t worked out in three days.”

“Go then. But don’t forget what I said.” He pointed a finger at her. “You’re destined for great things, Valentina Sancia. I don’t want to see any more ropes around your pretty little neck.”

By the end of the first week, they’d settled into a daily routine—of her Master’s making, of course. Day followed day, regimented and predictable. There were never any breaks.

Valentina awakened every morning to the sound of him unlocking her cage. Sometimes he’d get under the covers with her, and draw her face down to his cock. Other times he’d kneel over her and force himself down her throat, or order her out of bed and onto her knees to serve him. No matter what mood he arrived in, every morning was the same. A huge cock shoved between her lips.

It was easier to deal with once he stopped using condoms. She hated the taste of latex but she loved the taste of her Master, especially when she was sleepy and warm and just coming out of sexually charged dreams. When he came in her mouth she would swallow it, sinking into subspace as his container, his object. She felt utterly enslaved to his will.

After that he went to work and she had a small measure of freedom, since her practices didn’t start until ten. She was allowed whatever she liked for breakfast, as long as she ate something healthy and as long as she ate it naked—her Master continued to forbid the use of clothing inside the house. Galvin cooked delicious breakfasts for her most days, omelets or waffles or crepes, not even seeming to notice her nudity. He was gay after all, in a relationship with a lover who called and texted during the day, and doubtless welcomed him home at night.

Galvin left right after he cleaned up the kitchen from dinner. Sometimes she’d watch him go with the wild idea of running after him, running to freedom, running to her private apartment where she could do whatever she liked whenever she wanted, without anyone holding her down or hurting her, or invading her body in one hole after the other. Mr. Lemaitre would look over at her and she’d know he knew what she was thinking, because he’d get that little smile that wasn’t a smile.

You wanted this. You chose this, crazy girl.

After she ate breakfast every day, she showered and dressed in her practice clothes, and Galvin drove her to the huge headquarters building. By that time her Master was usually knee-deep in meetings or business, and she was forbidden to visit his office unless he summoned her. Which he often did. Sometimes an assistant came to get her and sometimes he’d show up himself, somber and formidable in his perfect suits and fancy Italian shoes.

He’d beckon her from across the gym or the practice facility, and she’d have to readjust herself from artist and performer to slave. And of course, everyone knew what he had come for. Everyone knew why he wanted her, and everyone would watch her cross to him and follow behind him to his office. Inside, she’d be shoved under his desk to perform a blow job, or thrown over the top, her legs pulled wide as he undid his fly and shoved inside her. If she wasn’t wet, that was her problem.