La Brat

by Ashe Barker

  She lay under him, bucking against his weight, her expression furious. “Let me go, you vicious bastard. I hate you. You can go fuck yourself.”

  “I’m beginning to think it may come to that, love. I’ll let you go, but no more throwing punches. Right?”

  “Lâches-moi. Je te deteste.”

  “Evidently. Okay. You can get up.” He released his grip on her wrists and levered himself from her, paying close attention to those lethal feet of hers.

  As soon as she was free, she scrambled to her feet, breathing heavily. She fixed her eyes on the cane, lying underneath the table now.

  “Oh no, don’t even think about it.” His tone was low, ominous and sufficiently commanding to get her attention. She seemed to abandon her plans to resume her assault on him with his own cane and started to back away instead.

  “Eugenie, we need to talk about this, about what just happened.”

  “I do not want to talk to you. I never want to see you again. You are cruel, and…and a bully. I loathe you.”

  “Genie, sit down, please.”

  “No. No. No! I am leaving. Now. You cannot stop me.”

  “Honey, you’re free to go, though I think you should stay. At least until you feel more calm.”

  “Bâtard!” She turned on her heel and flung herself toward the door.

  Aaron made no move to stop her.

  She clattered upstairs to emerge a couple of minutes later with her bag. Aaron was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when she came down. Eugenie barged past him without a word, heading for the front door.

  “Genie, please.” Aaron knew their relationship lay in tatters. There would be no coming back from this. Even so, he would have preferred her not to leave in this mood. Short of manhandling her to the floor again, though, the choice wasn’t his. She flounced out of his house, slamming the door behind her. A few seconds later, her car roared from his driveway.

  That was the last time he saw her.

  Chapter Seven

  Now

  Back in her apartment, Eugenie lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. She’d arrived home around midmorning the day after her interview, and had gone straight to bed. She’d managed a couple of hours sleep on the Eurostar crossing, but was still exhausted. Now, it was late afternoon. She was awake, more or less, and felt utterly miserable. The loss of the shining opportunity at TFS Paris was painful, intensely so, almost like a bereavement. Her entire glittering future canceled. She knew she should never have allowed her imagination such free rein, should never have fallen into the trap of actually envisaging herself in Paris, working in those elegant surroundings.

  She should not have let herself dream. And she should definitely never have let herself believe, not for one moment, that the dream could become real.

  Except it had. Almost. She knew in her heart that she’d nailed it. She’d been sure, quietly confident as the interview drew to a close, that they were likely to offer her the job. Her efforts had been worthwhile, she’d done the work and the prize was hers—until she had turned and seen Aaron Praed standing behind her. Her nemesis.

  As she lay there, contemplating the pattern on her wallpaper, she remembered her sheer terror as she had faced him across his dining room three years earlier, her eyes drawn to the cane he’d apparently intended to use on her. His handsome features had been so calm, so implacable as she’d pleaded with him.

  But he had been so merciless, intent on meting out the punishment he’d decided on. She vaguely recalled that he’d offered her the chance to use her safe word, and she was not entirely sure why she hadn’t taken him up on that. He would not have forced her. Nothing ever happened in a BDSM context that the submissive did not consent to. She knew that, had known it then, but somehow none of that had registered.

  She’d been scared, rigid with fear, then furious. She had been enraged by his arrogance, his sheer bloody-minded conviction that he was right and that he was entitled to punish her as he saw fit. The precious law he worked for would have been far less harsh—a fine and a couple of points on her license at the most. But no, he was judge, jury and fucking executioner.

  She had been confused too. She had thought she’d known the rules, understood their deal, but apparently not. He’d continued to punish her, first by banishing her to the spare room then with his cane. It had been relentless, never-ending. It had seemed to her she could do nothing right, could find no way to atone for her mistakes. Or that’s how she had seen it then.

  Not now. If she was entirely honest, she knew he had been right. His actions that weekend were stern but not disproportionate. Such a pity she hadn’t seen it that way at the time.

  As she’d bent over his dining table, her bottom bared for the caning, she had been overtaken by what she might now describe as some sort of red mist, a sense of righteous anger, bitterness at his intransigent attitude and an overwhelming urge to retaliate. Some sort of temporary insanity had taken over and she had struck him in anger, several times. First with the cane, then, when he’d disarmed her, with her fists and feet as she fought him. He’d overpowered her with ridiculous ease, which had enraged her even more. She had felt impotent, vulnerable, a coward, afraid. All of those things had bubbled and boiled within her, until they’d erupted in that burst of white-hot fury that had resulted in her striking out at her Dom as she had.

  She had fled his house, sobbing as she’d driven away, whether from rage or grief, she had no idea even now. She’d gotten as far as the end of his road before she’d stopped and curled up in her seat to let her emotions flow freely. She’d wept for what had seemed like hours, but in reality, it must have been a few minutes. Eventually, her face a red, blotchy mess, she’d managed to drive herself home. Once there, she’d locked herself in and turned off her phone. Three days later, when she’d returned to work and had had no option but to switch it back on, she’d found she had three missed calls from Aaron. He’d left two voicemail messages, each one asking if she was all right and to please call him. She’d deleted the messages, and his number for good measure.

  A week later, she’d bitterly regretted her decision. As her temper had cooled, and the shock of what had happened in his dining room receded, she’d begun to realize that she missed Aaron.

  Emotionally, physically, intellectually—she’d loved his company and finding herself alone was like having a limb missing. He might scare her, but shit—he excited her too. As Eugenie began to view the incident more rationally, she’d overreacted. And how.

  Eugenie couldn’t explain, even to herself, why she hadn’t safe worded when he’d given her that chance.

  They would have talked, compromised. Or maybe Aaron could have convinced her to go through with it. He might have been able to find the words to boost her confidence enough to be able to accept his discipline.

  Her instincts had screamed at her to apologize, to ask if he’d let her try again. It would involve groveling and that ten strokes of his cane would no doubt multiply. She hadn’t cared. She’d do whatever was needed to get him back.

  Deleting his number had felt good at the time but it meant she hadn’t been able call him, or send a text. She’d known where he’d lived, though, and in desperation, she’d gone to his house. He hadn’t been there so she’d pushed a note through his letterbox. She’d written that she was sorry and wanted to meet him to talk things through.

  Three hours later, her phone had pinged with a text from Aaron.

  Thanks for your note. Glad you’re calmer now and OK. Not sure it would be a good idea to meet, though. We clearly have different needs. Be happy, and good luck for the future.

  Eugenie had stared at the screen. She hadn’t been able to believe it—he was dumping her. The polite finality of his text had chilled her. It had left no room for negotiation. Different needs? What the fuck did that mean? She’d texted him back.

  Please, Aaron. Sir. I am sorry. Please let me have a chance to explain.

  I’m sorry too, but no.

  She�
�d left it a few days before trying to contact Aaron again. The outcome had been the same. He did not want to meet her, and neither was he interested in her explanations or apologies. He’d wished her well and advised her to think carefully before embarking on another D/s relationship. She needed to be sure this was really the lifestyle for her.

  It was this final piece of unwanted advice that had set Eugenie on the self-destructive course that resulted in La Brat. She’d applied for membership of every fetish or BDSM club within a hundred miles of Newcastle, not all of them especially salubrious, but she didn’t care. She’d known Aaron was likely to avoid The Basement, as he might expect to run into her there, and clearly, this was not on his agenda.

  But he was a Dom, and Eugenie reckoned he had to go somewhere. He’d be out there, active in the fetish scene, and sooner or later, she’d meet him again. This time, she’d make sure he had no illusions about what he’d given up, what he was missing. She’d be the sexiest, most desirable submissive on the scene.

  And she’d make sure he knew she could have been his. He’d be left under no illusion about what he was missing, what he’d thrown away when he refused to give her a second chance.

  Most weekends she’d haunted kinky clubs, parties, munches. She’d widened her networks and played with any Dom who had invited her. She had not been short on offers. At least, not at first. She hadn’t set out looking for a replacement for Aaron, or not consciously. Even so, she’d compared every other Dom she’d scened with to him and they had all come up wanting. Too harsh, too soft, the wrong voice, the wrong physique. She’d been looking for her idea of the perfect Dom, and that was Aaron Praed. Others were pale imitations.

  Her quest had become more desperate. She’d tested her Dominant partners, acting up to provoke them, to manipulate them into punishing her. She had been looking for someone who could affect her as deeply as Aaron had, a Dom who could bend her will and gain her unfailing obedience. So she’d disobeyed to force their hands. She was the ‘make me’ girl. She’d earned herself punishment spankings, paddlings, even on one occasion a public caning.

  She couldn’t believe she’d done that. The one thing that had so freaked her out when Aaron had been about to do it, she’d eventually submitted to in full view of dozens more kinksters. It had hurt like fuck, but she’d weathered it.

  None of the Doms she’d tried out had impressed her, and it hadn’t been long before she’d stopped impressing them. She still got her kink, but increasingly at the impersonal hands of a house Dom or dungeon master.

  She was unfulfilled, at last realizing what she needed and craved wasn’t the sex, or the play. It was the D/s relationship itself. She desired the intimacy, the trust, the permanency of a real connection with another person. She wanted a Master. She’d had one, but had thrown it away.

  Maybe she’d been too young when she and Aaron had gotten together, certainly too inexperienced. And now it was too late. Despite her frantic searching, it seemed he was nowhere on the scene, and her reputation as La Brat had pretty much destroyed any chance she might have had of truly connecting again.

  Basically, she was stuffed—until Paris—and now that dream was wrecked too.

  * * * *

  Eugenie got up at around six in the early evening. She wandered into her living room then switched on the news while she fixed herself something to eat. She ate with her microwaved meal-for-one balanced on her knee in front of the television, and started to plan the rest of her life.

  So Paris wasn’t happening. That was a shame, but it had demonstrated that, Aaron Praed aside, she was capable of getting an interview for a good job and of performing well. Maybe she could win herself a promotion, or there would be other jobs. Not of the Totally Five Star standard probably, but good enough. She began to wonder if there might be recruitment agencies out there, executive headhunters she could register with. Perhaps she should revisit her CV, or look for some training in the hospitality industry. That would enhance her prospects, surely. Oh yes, there was a lot she could do if she set her mind on this. Her future was hers to control and it was time she got on with it.

  She dumped her empty plate by the sink and went to fire up her laptop.

  She had twenty-seven unread emails. Three were from the TFS group. The first of these, which had been waiting for her since ten seventeen that morning, was from Madeleine Lambert. The second was from Elise Rougin, and the third was from Aaron.

  Eugenie knew the protocols. Madame Lambert would be emailing to tell her that she’d been unsuccessful but to thank her for her interest in Totally Five Star Hotels. Madame Rougin would be wanting to offer her the opportunity to seek feedback on her interview performance. God only knew what Aaron wanted. She’d start with Madame Lambert.

  From: Madeleine Lambert

  To: Eugenie d’André

  Date: 27 April 2013

  Subject: Events Coordinator, TFS Paris

  Dear Ms. D’André,

  Thank you for attending the interviews earlier this week in relation to the above post.

  I am pleased to inform you that the panel has instructed me to make you an offer of employment. You will find the principal details attached to this email. Please could you let me know within five working days if you intend to accept this offer? If you have any questions regarding the contractual arrangements, please direct those to me. All other queries can be dealt with by senior staff at TFS Paris.

  I understand that Elise Rougin will be in touch with you to agree on a start date and discuss the induction arrangements.

  Finally, I would like to take this opportunity to welcome you to the Totally Five Star Group.

  Yours sincerely,

  M. Lambert

  Eugenie stared at the screen, rereading the short message three times before its meaning sank in. An offer. They were offering her a job. The job.

  Holy fucking shit!

  She ignored the attachment for now and went straight to Elise Rougin’s message

  From: Elise Rougin

  To: Eugenie d’André

  Date: 27 April 2013

  Subject: The Job

  Dear Eugenie,

  I trust you had a safe and pleasant journey home.

  You have received an email from our HR department confirming our offer of the post. May I just add my congratulations on your stunning performance in the interview, and say what a pleasure it was to meet you yesterday. You were the unanimous choice of the panel. Rarely is any recruitment decision so simple.

  I hope you will accept our offer, and I look forward to welcoming you to our team.

  Some formalities. Your application states that you must give one month’s notice to your current employer. On that basis, and to allow for the necessary exchange of paperwork, contracts, etc., may I suggest we agree a start date five weeks from Monday?

  If you require it TFS Paris can provide accommodation in our staff apartments, or you may prefer to make your own arrangements. Please let me know. Your starting salary and other particulars are in the documentation provided by Madame Lambert. I will be on leave from tomorrow for two weeks, but please don’t hesitate to contact my PA if you need to know anything else.

  Best regards, and once again, welcome to TFS Paris.

  Elise Rougin

  ‘Unanimous choice’. ‘Stunning performance’. ‘Simple decision’. Eugenie replayed the accolades in her head. She knew she’d done well at the interview, but had not expected such lavish praise. And no mention at all of the final couple of minutes when her brain had turned to porridge and she’d stammered like a broken record. And neither, it seemed, had Aaron undermined her efforts with any comments of his own regarding her less than stellar past. Which brought her nicely to his email. She clicked on his name in her inbox.

  From: Aaron Praed

  To: Eugenie

  Date: 27 April 2013

  Subject: Congratulations

  Genie,

  It was lovely to see you again. You looked well.

  I g
ather we are to be colleagues. And neighbors—your office is next door to mine.

  See you in a month or so.

  Aaron

  Christ, not a hint of bitterness, nor any of the acrimony she’d expected from him. Perhaps he was prepared to let bygones be bygones. The office next door—shit!

  The next hour or so she spent in a flurry of activity as she downloaded her proposed contract, the offer letter, her terms and conditions of employment. She read those, found nothing unexpected or untoward, replied to Madeleine Lambert accepting the post, then to Elise Rougin thanking her for her comments and agreeing in principle to the suggested start date, though that would be subject to agreement with her current employer. She would hand in her resignation tomorrow.

  Her final email of the evening was to Aaron. She took much longer to compose it, uncertain what she wanted to say to him. Eventually, she settled on the truth.

  From: Eugenie d’André

  To: Aaron Praed

  Date: 28 April 2013

  Subject: Thank You

  Hi Aaron,

  Thanks for your note, and for the congratulations.

  It was a shock to see you yesterday, I think you know that. I owe you my gratitude, first for not letting me make a bigger fool of myself than I already did, then for not saying anything about what happened between us in the past. You could have ruined my chances of being offered the post and you did not. I do appreciate that. This job means a lot to me. I am so pleased to have been offered this opportunity and I intend to make a success of it.