Master's Flame (Cirque Masters)

by Joseph, Annabel

  Oh. Fuck.

  Sometimes he let her come as much as she wanted. Sometimes he didn’t let her come at all. And sometimes, like now, he let her come, but only while she was enduring some capricious and unavoidable form of pain. He’d explained it to her once...something about conditioning, and equating pain with pleasure. She wondered if she’d ever enjoy sex again without having evil things done to her.

  The vibrating toy inside her did its job. Within a few minutes she was squirming on the dildo in her ass, aching to climax. She didn’t have to tell him because he knew everything about her body and her sexuality by now. But of course he wanted her to tell him, because that was tantamount to asking him to hurt her.

  She looked over at him. “Master...”

  “You’re almost there?”

  “Yes, Master,” she whimpered, bracing.

  He brought the cane down across her spread thighs in a white hot streak. She gave an agonized cry, clenching her fists at her sides. The orgasm that had hovered so close fled in the panicked processing of the cane stroke. When she’d regained her composure she stared at him, tears in her eyes. The egg buzzed on. Her asshole clenched on the dildo holding her to the chair, so she couldn’t even shimmy away when he hurt her.

  Now the throbbing, pinkening cane track added to the mixture of discomfort and excitement she felt. Her nipples ached to be tormented. He’d conditioned her so well to pain that she craved it. She squirmed in the chair, not even trying to distract herself from another rising climax. Either way it was going to come as she suffered the scrutiny of his cool blue gaze. His cock grew so stiff she wondered if he pulsed like she did, if his blood beat in his veins just like hers.

  “Master, I’m about to come again.”

  She screamed as he hit her thighs with the cane, then fell silent, sucking in breath through her teeth.

  “Do you want to come, Valentina?”

  His voice was so calm, so measured. She gazed up at him, fighting to be his slave, fighting to accept these things he did to her. “Yes, Master, I want to come very much.”

  “It comes at a price, doesn’t it? Your pleasure? Who do you serve?”

  “I serve you, Master.”

  “Do you enjoy it when I hurt you?”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, and she wasn’t lying. Every time he dealt her pain, her body’s reactions amped up. “Please let me come. Please.” She stared at his cock. When he moved forward, offering it, she took it in her mouth. Oh God, now she was really going to come. She felt filled, air tight in every hole as he drove toward the back of her throat. Her ass clenched, her pussy buzzed, her mouth and nose were filled with the delicious scent of her Master. She moaned around his hardness a moment later. He knew exactly what she meant to say.

  He pulled away and caned her on the thighs but it was too late...his encompassing possession had stolen her control. He drove back into her mouth, fucking her face as she shuddered through an orgasm of astounding power. She could barely breathe but she wasn’t sure she cared. He withdrew from her mouth and left her slumped there as he returned the cane to the wall. She watched as he walked away, ogled his tight ass and all the masculine curves of his body.

  He returned with a small tin of oval, potent breath mints, and popped one into her mouth. She understood by now this meant she was to rim her Master’s asshole. He turned around and she parted his muscular cheeks in the manner he’d taught her, and went to work. Her Master had demonstrated this technique on her own asshole so she knew exactly what it felt like, the extra sensation created by the mint’s spiciness. He’d shown her exactly what he desired, using her body as a model. Now she’d become skilled at manipulating the mint on her tongue to bring him maximum pleasure as she caressed his puckered hole.

  She had never, ever rimmed a man before she met her Master, had never wanted to, but now she didn’t mind doing it because his groans and growls affected her so powerfully. Her pussy was so wet she had to squeeze it to keep the buzzing egg inside. Even though she’d come just a few minutes ago, she wanted to come again. She started wiggling and humming against his asshole.

  “No,” he said. “Don’t come.”

  At her moan of disappointment, he stepped away and went for the nipple clamps. She shook her head, like that might actually deter him. He only smiled and attached a painful clip to each nipple. These were the clover clamps, the ones that felt too horrible to turn her on. He gave the chain a little tug.

  “Open your mouth.”

  When she did, he put in another breath mint. The first was almost gone. It took three mints all together before he gasped and reached a climax. He caught the semen in his hand and turned to rub it over her belly and chest. The resulting movement and pull of the clamps hurt enough to wash away any remaining pangs of arousal.

  “Good girl,” he said, his eyes sex-hazy and warm. She felt a thrill through all the pain, the same thrill she felt every time she assisted him to one of his shuddering orgasms. It gave her warring feelings of submission and power, to affect her Master that way. For a while he knelt, looking at her, massaging her chest, and then he seemed to snap from faraway reveries and return.

  He went from lazily satisfied to businesslike, a transformation she dreaded. As he took off her clamps, took out the egg, untied her legs, lifted her from the chair, she stared into his face wishing for some spark of connection, some sign that he felt the same deep longing she felt.

  But no. Nothing.

  Three more nights after tonight. It wasn’t long enough to make him fall in love with her. It wasn’t long enough to make him see that they belonged together, damn it. She wished she could be his forever because his power soothed and comforted her, and made her crave him day and night.

  No wonder he made her sleep in a cage. If not, she would never have left him alone. She would have followed him from room to room, a nuisance of a pet, touching him, begging for attention, curling at his feet wherever he sat. And at night, she would have cuddled in his arms and clung to him, drowning in the scent and feel of him. She wanted his warmth so badly. She wished she could sleep next to him just once.

  Later, when he drew the bars of her cage closed and locked her in for the night, she took long slow breaths to calm herself.

  Inside, though, she wanted to scream.

  Chapter Fourteen: That's It

  Michel had dinner with his daughter every Saturday night. It didn’t matter if he was busy, or she was busy, they made time for it. He’d been absent from her life for twenty-two years and this was one way he tried to make up for it. Over dinner, he listened to all her week’s news, mainly a thousand and one ideas about her upcoming wedding to Jason and a thousand and one requests for his opinions on the reception afterward.

  Michel finally reached over and took her hand. “Don’t ask what I want. The reception is for you and Jason. It should be everything you want. I’ll go along with whatever you decide.”

  “But...” Her blue eyes clouded a little. “Don’t you have an opinion? Don’t you care?”

  “Of course I care. How could you suggest I don’t?” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “If you want to have a May wedding and a party afterward at my Marseille villa, let’s do it. It’s beautiful there. It might be chilly at night though. You could wait until summer to get married...or fall...”

  “We don’t want to wait until fall, daddy.”

  She wanted his opinion, but only so far as it supported what she’d already decided. Brides were delightful to deal with, especially when they were your only child and you couldn’t really get flustered with them.

  “If you wait until fall,” he said, “the show will already be well into production and everything will be settled down.”

  “And I’ll have to find someone to stand in for my act. No. It’s better to do it before the premiere, don’t you think?”

  Michel sighed. She was so young to be getting married. When he was her age, he was still traveling the world, busking, learning about circus. At twenty-two, he�
��d accidentally knocked up Sara’s mother, then left her like the heartless man he was. So many heartless people in the world. So many ways for a vulnerable young woman to be hurt. He wanted to plead with Sara to wait, wait another year, another five years.

  But putting it off wasn’t going to change anything. Sara adored Jason beyond any reasonable measure, and Michel knew Jason adored her just as much. Michel tried to be happy for them, but he held so much distrust of love and commitment. His mother had murdered his father, for God’s sake. Love had driven them to violence so many times. If Jason ever hurt Sara...

  “Daddy, what’s the matter?”

  He forced a smile and poured her some more wine. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing is the matter.”

  She drew in a breath and let it out in that impatient, endearing way she had. “Jason and I have been going over the guest list for the wedding. We’re wondering if we should invite Valentina.”

  “That depends on whether you want someone seducing the male guests in a back room while you’re making your toasts.”

  “Daddy, I’m serious.”

  “Okay, then. No. I wouldn’t invite Valentina. We’re only going to remain...involved...for a few more days.”

  Two days to be exact.

  He felt angry at the thought. Some part of him was virulently angry about having to give her up. Not angry enough to ask her to continue as his slave, because that would cause all kinds of other uncomfortable feelings, like the feeling of not being able to let her go.

  Sara studied him with far too much acuity. “I hope you weren’t too hard on her about that fall. Bad days happen to everyone.”

  “I wasn’t too hard on her.” Well, tying her to the dildo chair for an hour while he edged her and caned her across the thighs wasn’t really so bad, compared to some of the things he’d done. “I don’t punish people for honest mistakes,” he added. I punish them for scaring me half out of my mind.

  “You were horrible to her at the hospital,” Sara said.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You were.” She paused a moment, chewing. “You yelled at her and scowled and stomped around like a hornet.”

  “A hornet, Sara?”

  “Yes, a hornet. Or whatever. Something angry and stinging. And I know why.”

  He reached for his wineglass, fortifying himself with a large swig. “It’s difficult enough that we must arrange space for one another at the same fetish club. Please, can we not discuss my private life?”

  “You and Valentina aren’t private. Everyone at Cirque knows what’s going on with the two of you. I know more than anyone, because I’ve been in her place.”

  He choked. “You certainly have not.”

  Her delicate skin deepened in a blush. “I mean that you loved me and you wouldn’t admit it, and you hid your feelings from me. Now you’re doing the same thing to Valentina and I think it’s really sad. I mean, do you have any idea how painful that was for me, your rejection?”

  “I have some idea.” His chest ached a little, the way it always did when he remembered that time in their relationship. “I said I was sorry.”

  “And I forgave you. We’re fine now. But what about Valentina?”

  “What about her?” His voice sounded too defensive, even to his own ears. “Honestly, this is none of your affair.”

  “It is my affair. Families look after each other. Families want each other to be happy.”

  “Sara—”

  “And here I am planning a wedding to celebrate love, and I see you with this girl who you obviously have feelings for, and I see how she’s changing you. I see the way you look at her, like you’ve never looked at anyone else. You’re smiling more, you’re laughing more, you’re frowning more. You’re doing everything more. You’re falling for her and I think that’s a wonderful thing.”

  “Sara,” he said more sharply, holding up a hand. “When you’re in love, you tend to see love everywhere. But I assure you, Valentina and I are not in love. I’m not falling for her and we don’t have a future together. I could explain it to you in greater detail, but I would find it terribly awkward and so would you.”

  “It’s not awkward to love someone. It’s wonderful. Magical.”

  You have no idea, he thought. You haven’t seen the faces of love that I’ve seen. Whimsical, guileless Sara had made him into a father at this late stage in his life, and now she wanted him to fall in love too.

  “Why are you fighting it?” she pressed.

  “Why are you pushing it? Valentina would not make a suitable grandmother for your children.”

  “Oh God. First of all, who says Jason and I are going to have kids? And even if we were...if we’re talking about suitable grandparents...” She arched a doubtful brow in his direction.

  He put a hand to his heart. “You wound me.”

  “Well, it’s true. Both of you are a little...different. But the pieces of you fit together just right.”

  “How would you know?” An impatient edge crept into his tone. “How do you know what’s going on between us? It’s not the loving scenario you envision. It was an ill-advised entanglement to begin with, one that will shortly be over. I assure you, we will both be relieved.”

  She started to say something else but he cut her off.

  “While we’re on the subject of grandparents, Sara, perhaps I should tell you why I’ve never talked much about your grand-mere and grand-pere Leveille. Perhaps I should explain where I’m coming from. There’s enough bad blood in this family—”

  His voice cut off as Sara visibly flinched.

  “I didn’t mean your blood,” he said. “You’re the only good thing...the only good thing in my life,” he finished with some difficulty. He took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Can we not talk about this?”

  “You brought it up.” Of course, his daughter would know how to be brutal. “Tell me about my grandparents. Tell me about this bad blood. I’m curious.”

  He needed more wine. Where was the damn waiter? “Have you ever loved someone so much that you wanted to kill them?” He said it softly, because in some way he didn’t want her to hear. “Do you know the feeling of being destroyed by love? Your grandmother—my mother—killed my father, but it could just as easily have gone the other way. That was how they loved each other. And me… Well.” He forced a pained smile. “Thank God you’re so much like your mother. I’m glad about that.”

  “No, I’m just as much like you. You don’t have any bad blood, daddy, if that’s what you’re getting at. So my grandparents were fuck ups. You got away from them. You explored the world and you learned stuff and created a big circus that brightens millions of people’s lives. You’re one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

  A forced laugh joined his forced smile. “That’s not true. Jason’s a great man, but me...” He shook his head. “You’re kind to humor your father.”

  “I’m not humoring you.” Sara pushed away her plate and placed her napkin on the table. “I’m inviting Valentina to the wedding, okay? As for the rest of it, you need to figure it out.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out.”

  She shook her finger at him. “There’s plenty to figure out, but I have faith in you. You’re really smart.”

  He bit his tongue. I love my daughter. I do, even when she’s pummeling me into a heap.

  “Oh, and Jason and I are flying to California in mid-March so I can meet his family. Unless you want to come with us, the Citadel is yours that entire time.”

  “I wish I could come with you, ma chère,” he said, seizing on this new, less threatening turn in the conversation. “Jason’s family is going to love you.”

  No bad blood there, he added silently to himself. He was sure of it, or he’d never let her go.

  Michel took his daughter home shortly afterward. She hugged and kissed him at the door as always, but there was tension between them he didn’t like. Well, brides-to-be were a ball of nerves, weren’t they? And so was he.

&n
bsp; He didn’t want to think about why.

  *** *** ***

  One more day.

  Mr. Lemaitre had warned her at the start that she would regret giving herself over to him. He seemed to believe that returning to her own life and her own control was something Valentina should be happy about. And she was happy, a little. There was some sense of relief that after tonight she wouldn’t have to answer to his whims anymore. She wouldn’t have to submit to his sadistic play times or his huge cock coming at her from every direction. She wouldn’t have to report to his office during the day whenever he had a horny craving for her.

  She also wouldn’t be close to him anymore.

  Not that he had ever let her close. He put her away in a cage every night, but still, she was in his life. She was at his house. She was a room or two away from him even if he never allowed her to cuddle in his arms. She’d been awakened by him every morning and done BDSM scenes with him every night, not just play scenes, but intense, heightened scenes she’d become addicted to.

  Who else would be able to excite her that way? She ticked through the list of men she knew at the Cirque. There were plenty who were strong and attractive, but none of them were Michel Lemaitre. None of them came close.

  Her mind got all caught up when she tried to figure out why he attracted her so much. There were no words to explain it. She had tried to draw pictures of those feelings, pictures of how she felt about him, but she hadn’t had any success at that either. None of them were good enough. Maybe when she returned home she would work some more on her portrait of him, but now that she knew him better, she worried it would be all wrong.

  She didn’t even want to think about going home.

  Her Master had given Galvin their last night off. She wasn’t sure what that meant and she was afraid to ask. Was he going to finish their thirty days with such horrifying activities that he didn’t want anyone else in the house?

  She wasn’t expecting any Valentine’s Day romance, that was for sure. She looked down at her plate, at the meal Mr. Lemaitre had cooked himself. Coq au vin, and it was the best she’d ever tasted. What would she do without him? The idea was so depressing she could barely breathe.