Master's Flame (5 page)

Unfortunately, he already felt singed.

“Speaking of the Citadel,” said Jason, “Sara and I are planning to go next Saturday. If you want to...you know...not go that night. And the week after that, we’re meeting friends there Wednesday and Friday, and we’ll probably go Saturday since Theo and Kelsey will be in town.”

Despite his desire to know nothing about his daughter’s sex life, Michel had come to realize that Theo, Kelsey, Jason, and Sara were very likely a swinging quad. His lips tightened. “You and Sara stay very busy these days.”

“She enjoys it,” said Jason. “Do you want me to keep her away?”

“It’s either that, or I’m barred from my own club.” He said it with humor, but he felt prickly. What had become of his control? Since Sara, and now Valentina, he found his life taking twists and turns he hadn’t foreseen.

“This is what happens when you bring your secret daughter to Paris after twenty-two years,” said Jason. “She probably got her kinky genes from you.”

“I’d prefer not to think about that.” He rubbed his eyes, then drained the last of his drink. “But I suppose I owe the two of you some space. I’m happy that she’s happy. That you’re happy.”

“And you’re happy,” Jason pointed out.

Yes, Michel was happy to have gained a daughter, but with her as part of the community, he didn’t feel as much at ease in his carnal pursuits. He was famous for his dreaded back room, his carefully selected slaves, his depravity. All of it was legend. All of it was widely discussed, and until now, it hadn’t mattered. He looked sideways at Jason. “Does it bother Sara that I’m so...public in my play?”

“I don’t know,” Jason said, but he knew the man was hedging. Of course it bothered her. Now they were scheduling their nights at the Citadel to avoid running into him.

“Maybe it’s time I retired from the back rooms,” Michel said, trying to sound as if it were no great thing. “Retired from the Citadel altogether.”

“You don’t have to do that. We can work things out.”

“I’m a father now, you remember. My daughter’s happiness is more important than mine.”

Jason scrutinized him. How annoying, this grim-faced concern. Michel could play the martyr if he wished. He truly valued Sara’s happiness over his own. His paternal devotion had surprised no one more than himself, but it would mean changes. Sacrifices.

“Just warn me whenever you and Sara will be at the Citadel,” Michel said, turning away in dismissal. He needed some time alone.

“What about Valentina?” Jason asked.

“What about her? Find the men she needs for her act. Men of strong constitution, without girlfriends or wives. Work up something new, something more practical, and let me see the preliminaries in a few weeks. I trust you, you’re an excellent director.” As an afterthought, he added, “If possible, keep her out of my hair.”

“And the back rooms?”

Michel tried hard not to imagine Valentina in cuffs and chains, begging for his mercy. “If she likes she can visit the other back rooms, but I’m not inviting her into mine.”

Jason hesitated at the door. “Is she worth all this, Michel?”

All this.
The risk to the performers she worked with? To poor Adei, who still pined for her? Or did Jason speak of the danger to him, the danger to his sanity? The risk that he’d pursue her against all caution and reason, enveloping both of them in flames?

“I don’t know,” Michel said. “I’m not sure if she’s worth it. It’s too early to say.”

Michel should have returned to Brussels that evening rather than stay in Paris. He should have, but he did not. He most certainly should not have decided to make an appearance at the Citadel just after one in the morning, not in his present mood.

The erotic playspace was his creation, his escape, his legacy, and his joy. He’d wanted to take fantasy and decadence and make it real. With the circus he came close. With the Citadel, he hit the mark square in the center. For years now, he had scened and fucked alongside his more adventurous employees, taken the most tantalizing ones under his wing when it amused him and played with them until he grew tired of them. He favored boys for sadism and girls for sex. It was strenuous work, being one of his pets. He was sorely tempted to make a pet of Valentina. She fit his prototype: beautiful, reckless, and utterly uninhibited.

No, Michel. Think. It would not be wise.

Even in the darkness of the club, through the smoke and noise, he could pick out
La Vampa
from his vantage point near the bar. She wore a black push-up bra and a matching garter skirt and stockings, her red hair pulled back in a careless twist as she danced, grinding her hips against a female friend. She was normally pale but the club’s lights made her look even paler. She looked like an otherworldly creature brought to life.

He turned away, scolding himself for his fanciful musings. He needed sex, that was all. Sex to soothe and distract him, and fortify him for the near future when his daughter’s presence would force him to leave these games behind.

His St. Petersburg boys were there, fine, blond, strong Russian submissives waiting to be beckoned. They could satisfy him expertly, take his full length down their throats and then prostrate themselves for his whip or flogger. They lived for pain, for subjugation. Unfortunately, he was in too unusual a mood to risk playing with them. His eyes roved, weighing his options. There were three or four women he could take to the back room, even a lesbian couple who enjoyed submitting to him together.

He could take Valentina, if he wished.

That was the worst part...he could do it. She wanted him, and Jason wasn’t here to stop him. There was no one to guilt him or hold him accountable. He could take her back and play with her, and discover just how she felt about his stringent brand of mastery. As he stared at her, thinking dark thoughts, he realized his two blond slaves had worked themselves across the room to her vicinity. He frowned as Maxim and Leonid started to flirt with her. The two of them had less-than-zero interest in women, but they would have noticed their Master’s interest in her.

He disliked acts of initiative in his slaves.

He ordered another drink and watched the three of them dance together. He’d been distancing himself from his Russian slaves lately. Were they trying to attract him again by seducing his newest obsession? Were they being petty and flagrant in order to get his attention? Were they acting out in hopes of being punished? Valentina allowed them to fawn all over her, a blissful smile on her face. He couldn’t blame her for enjoying their attentions. Both men were extremely skilled with their hands. He could tell she didn’t know who they were or the significance of their horny little tryst in the center of the dance floor, but others did. Furtive glances fixed on him, then flitted away.

Very well. She ought to know who she was dealing with. He finished his drink and beckoned his slaves to head for the back room, knowing Valentina would follow. If Jason were here, he would have run over and dragged her out of the Citadel by her ear. But Michel had no intention of playing with the young woman, only letting her watch. Surely that would cause no harm, and hopefully it would strike some healthy fear into her soul. Fear of him.

Soon the four of them were gathered in the small anteroom outside his private dungeon. He gave her a look both fond and reproachful.

“You shouldn’t be here, Miss Sancia. Do you have any idea what goes on inside?” He nodded toward the door as his slaves stripped out of their form-fitting fetish wear.

Her eyes skimmed their way. It was difficult for a normal person to ignore the sight of their nude bodies, much less this sex-crazed woman. “I know what goes on,
monsieur
,” she said. “I’ve heard.”

“What have you heard?”

“That there is dominance and submission. That you have slaves. I know about the lifestyle, of course.”

Off course.
“What do you know?” he challenged. “Have you ever dominated anyone?”

Her eyes strayed again to his slaves, the two men waiting for orders with a servility so natural it seemed inborn. “I’m not dominant. I’m a submissive, like them.”

He respected people’s self-identification in all things, but in this case, he couldn’t keep a straight face. “Does it come easily to you? Submission?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it,” she admitted after a moment. “But I don’t like easy things, and I think I’d enjoy being overpowered if someone could actually do it.”

This, he could believe. People submitted for many reasons, all of them fascinating, all of them deeply personal. If she liked the challenge of submission, she would enjoy watching him play with his slaves. He took in her skimpy, sexy outfit, his eyes catching on the lines of the black garter belt set off by her pale skin. Such clothing was power, protection. Distraction in her case, with every curve emphasized and on display. “You must undress if you want to come in. No clothing is permitted within my inner sanctum.”

He didn’t expect Valentina to balk at the regulation, and she didn’t. She undressed until she stood before him as proudly naked as his slaves, her acrobat’s body a wonder to behold. Next to his broad, muscular playthings, she appeared an ultra-feminine pillar of eroticism. Her small, firm breasts jutted forward, tipped by taut nipples. At a signal, his pets collected her clothing, folding and stacking it neatly next to theirs. Another gesture and the men knelt, heads bowed, one at either side of him.

Valentina looked impressed. She regarded their naked splendor hungrily, the little nympho. He cleared his throat to get her attention. “What draws you to power exchange?” he asked. “Only enjoyment? Only sex?”

“I know there’s more to it than that. I know there must be trust, and negotiating, and safewords.”

“Safewords?” He gave a tight smile. “There is nothing safe about words. Something to remember if you ever give your body over to a dominant’s will.”

“I don’t care about being safe.” Her fingers twisted together in the intensity of her confession. “I want pain and surrender. I want to be subdued, pushed to my limits. Forced to obey.”

“Do you?” How he wished to reach out and touch her.
You will harm this one
, his conscience whispered.
If she does not destroy you first.

The warnings blared in his brain each time he thought about taking what she so blatantly offered. He must turn her off. He looked away, feigning disinterest in her body, in her submission. He undressed in silence, giving each article of clothing to his fastidious pets to put away. Valentina made no attempt to disguise her curiosity. He would have been disappointed if she did. Her eyes caressed every part of his body, lingering on his thickening cock. He enjoyed her admiration but seduction wasn’t the point of this interlude.

What is the point, Michel? Besides lying to yourself?

With great effort, he silenced his misgivings and led
La Vampa
into his most sacred space.

The “Back Room” as it was called, was of stone and concrete. It was smaller, quieter, but no less depraved than the rest of the club. Chains hung from wood beams in the ceiling, and racks, benches, a cage, and a sex swing decorated the stark space. In the corner, a large chair dominated a raised platform. It was his chair, the throne from which he surveyed his kingdom of kink. Sometimes, at his invitation, this space was filled with a hundred people. Today, it held only him, his slaves, and her.

Valentina drew a deep breath beside him. “It’s so beautiful.”

Odd. He had never considered it beautiful. Dark, forbidding, even claustrophobic, but beautiful?

“Look around if you like,” he said, because he could tell she wanted to. With a soft sigh she left him, circling the perimeter of the room. She studied everything, touching and tracing, making exclamations of delight. His slaves remained motionless, one at either side of him, awaiting instructions. They were much better trained than Valentina. For all her claims of submissive tendencies, she had no training at all.
And it must stay that way. Do not imagine her kneeling down, conquered. Do not imagine her whimpering at your feet.

He let her explore the room as she liked, but when she would have reached to grab a flogger off his wall, he made a sound that arrested her and she moved away. Her eyes were huge, bright with curiosity. She made her way to his large chair, the deep, embossed leather chair that no one ever dared sit in, and made herself at home in the seat. What must his slaves think? But they were not allowed to judge or react, or do anything but obey his orders.

He crossed to her and held out a hand, pointing with his other to a place on the floor. “I sit in the chair, my dear. You may sit here. Do not move a millimeter without my permission, do you understand?”

Valentina settled beside him without argument, hugging her knees to her chest. She showed no reserve or alarm. Somehow he wanted to change that. How could she be so glib here in his dreaded dungeon room with two of the most masochistic slaves he’d ever owned?

“
Soixante-neuf
,” he commanded, gesturing between them. “Make it beautiful for our guest.”

The young men fell into one another’s arms, so eager to please. Even so, he was about to let them go, release them from their servitude to
Le Maître
. He would have to stop thinking about them as the pets, the boys, the slaves, and let them return to being the strong and intelligent human beings they were. He tilted his head to the side as they wound themselves into a grasping sixty-nine position. He would miss them, but they would have each other, along with a great deal of erotic memories.

Beside him, Valentina gawked. She was no sexual innocent. He could only believe her intense regard was due to their handsomeness, their grunting avidity. After some time, she looked up at him. “Why don’t they come?” she asked. “Their cocks seem about to burst.”

“They only come if I allow it. Otherwise, they are punished. In this room, they obey me in all things. They’ll fuck me if I ask them to, or fuck you if I demand it, however and wherever you like, even though they are both homosexual. They do as they are told.”