A bathroom, another bedroom. “Keep going,” he said. “You’ll know my room when you find it.”
She gave a little sob and scurried back out to the main room. A door beside the kitchen opened into a hall and mudroom which led to the back door. She tried to think about architecture and where his bedroom might be hiding, since all the ground floor space seemed accounted for. She scurried down the hall—spank, spank, spank!—to find a narrow door tucked in the back. She opened it and found an equally narrow flight of stairs.
She sat back on her heels and gave him a pleading look. If she crawled all the way up those stairs, getting whacked the whole way, and didn’t find his bedroom at the top, she couldn’t handle it.
“What did I tell you? I said to crawl, not sit.” He pushed down her shoulders with one hand, and lifted her ass with the other. “I said to find my bedroom.” He punctuated every other word with a crisp stroke of the belt. Sara cringed, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t cry out.
“I’m sorry, Master. Is it upstairs?”
“You’ll have to crawl up and see.”
She ducked her head and started up the stairs. Between her burning ass, the narrow walls, the darkness, and her clumsy cringing, she could barely crawl, but she couldn’t stop because he was coming behind her. Whack! “Please,” she cried halfway up. “Please, Master.”
“Hush.”
When she got to the top she let out another cry, this time a cry of relief. Jason flicked on a light and she crawled into the room that was unmistakably his. The bed was polished brass, a poster bed with countless attachment points hidden in the design. The headboard was padded with black leather, the footboard padded leather as well, perfect bending-over height. There was other furniture she took in with a glance. Chests, a desk, a sofa near the window that looked fortuitously padded as well. She waited on the floor at his feet, aware that she’d been too loud and too slow, and not very slavelike in her crawling. Her ass throbbed all over. She wanted to rub and soothe it but she kept her hands clenched beside her.
“Sit up. Arch your back. Spread your legs,” he said, exasperated. “I shouldn’t have to say it every time.”
She quickly assumed the pose he’d prodded her into downstairs.
“Look at me.”
Gah, yes, she was supposed to look at him. She wanted to look at him, but in some way she was afraid to, because he had so much power in these games, and she had none. Her ass ached, prickly warm against her feet. She spread her legs wide, knowing he’d see her wet pussy lips, her engorged clit.
“What did I tell you?” he asked, his hands on his hips. “What did I say about being quiet? Even up here, they can hear you through the air ducts.”
She blinked up at him, trying not to fixate on his thrusting, bobbing cock. “I’m sorry, Master. It hurt.”
“Yes, I intended it to hurt, and I intended you to be quiet. Maybe we need to put something in that mouth.” He sauntered over to his nightstand. By the time he returned, he was wearing a rubber. “Kneel up and open your lips.”
She did as he asked, but even full height, on her knees, he had to bend to her a little. “Shorty,” he murmured, not unkindly, and then he put his thumbs in her mouth and opened her lips even wider, and thrust inside. He’d done this to her before, at the hotel. Like so many things he did, she found it both horrible and exciting. She choked, gagging on latex and solid flesh.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she gasped, pulling back for air.
“No talking,” he replied, and then he was moving inside her again, easing past her lips and prodding the back of her throat. She gagged again, but not so badly this time. Be his slave. Bring him pleasure. She tried to withstand his deepening thrusts but she couldn’t breathe, and every other stroke, she gagged. She brought her hands up to stop him.
“No, don’t do that.” He took her hands and forced them behind her back. “Leave them there.”
“Yes, Master,” she sobbed past the massive erection in her mouth. But as soon as he started thrusting again she instinctively brought her hands up. If only he’d let her control the depth of his entry!
He made an angry sound and picked up the belt. She flinched as he gave her a couple good wallops on her sore backside, but somehow managed not to cry out. “Put your hands behind you,” he ordered. She obeyed, shuddering as he wrapped the belt around her wrists and then around her waist. “That will hold them until you get better at self control. Or deep throating. Or both.”
“I’ll get better, Master. I promise.”
Now that her hands were out of commission, she realized she was crying, really crying, and she had no way to wipe away her tears. Jason took her chin in his fingers and used his other hand to brush the head of his cock over her lips. She wished they didn’t have to use condoms. She wished she could satisfy him the way he wanted. Someday she’d be able to.
“Calm down,” he said, wiping away a tear. “Nothing good comes of panicking. You must know that from trapeze.”
“Yes, Master. I just...I want to do it right. I want to please you.”
“Then let’s practice. But you have to stay calm. I won’t hurt you and I won’t kill you. I won’t suffocate you. Your job is to open to me, to open your body for my cock, wherever I want to put it. You understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“And to never push me away. You don’t decide where my cock goes, do you?”
“No, Master.”
He let go of her face and she opened her mouth. “Calm, calm, calm,” he said as he pressed between her lips. “Good girl.”
She found it much easier to take him deep when she relaxed. When she gagged, he rubbed her shoulder until she composed herself, and then he pressed forward a bit more. And she could do it. He was right, there wasn’t any need to panic. He pressed into her five, six, seven more times and each time it was a little less scary, even if she coughed and drooled all over her chest.
“I know, baby, it’s awful,” he said as he swiped away her trails of saliva. He tipped her head back while his cock was buried deep, and asked, “Can you be quiet now?”
She nodded since she couldn’t talk.
“We’ll see,” he replied, which sounded ominous. He withdrew from her mouth and she knelt where she was, gasping for breath, enjoying the feeling of having her airway back. Jason crossed the room and got something from a drawer, something jingly and metallic. Nipple clamps. Although she quailed inside, she resumed the position he preferred, legs spread, back arched.
He knelt down in front of her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Do you know, you arched your back more when you saw the clamps? I like that about you.”
She stared into his gorgeous eyes. “I’m scared, though.”
“You like being scared, don’t you? Are you okay? Your wrists? Your arms going numb? You want a safe word?”
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “I trust you.”
“Trapezists. Reckless to the core.” He flicked the first clamp open and closed, then traced it around her nipple’s taut point. “Remember. Silence.”
“Yes, Master.” She gritted her teeth and braced.
“Look at me while I put them on.”
“Yes, Master.” She studied his dusky eyelashes, his sculptured jaw line. When the pain bloomed, his gaze met hers and she could see him basking in her anguish.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked. “I don’t know why I like to hurt you so much. Perhaps because you bear it for me. For my pleasure.”
Her eyes flickered with tears, not from the pain of the other clamp—although that hurt like crazy—but from the realization that he knew her so well. This odd connection between them, this understanding, it went deeper than she’d realized at first. When their eyes locked again, she could see he felt the same. How? Why? How long? She didn’t know, but in this moment, she would have given him anything he asked.
“Come on,” he said, twitching the chain between the clamps. “Over to the bed.”
&n
bsp; It was hard to rise with her nipples tugged painfully and her hands cinched behind her back, but she managed as best she could. He led her across the room as if the chain was a leash, and each time he tweaked it the pain in her nipples sharpened, but she didn’t make a sound. He sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her astride his lap, his sheathed erection jutting up between the two of them. “Do you want my cock inside you, baby? Are you turned on?” He reached between her legs to grope her. She was so wet, she could hear the sound of his fingers parting her. She wanted him so badly, she would have fought through a dozen brick walls to get to him. But he was here, right here.
He eased back across the starched, down-filled white comforter, pulling her with him. His hair obscured his features as he leaned forward to grasp her hips, and then he lowered her onto his thick cock. As wet as she was, it was still a slow process to take him all the way inside. She felt impaled, helpless.
He jerked the nipple clamps. “What a view. Move on me. Ride me.” He flicked the chain like it was a horse’s reins and she rode him as best she could without her arms to help. His head fell back and he spread out his arms, flexing his muscles. He looked like an angel...and a devil. She squeezed on him and he bucked his hips up against her clit.
“Oh, God,” he sighed. “You feel wonderful.”
He started working her hips in a circle, manipulating her so that even though she was on top, she had no control. He filled her again and again, tweaking the nipple clamps when her moans got too loud. It was so hard to be quiet. With the pain she could concentrate, call on her self-discipline to help her, but in this pleasure, she was losing all control.
“Oh, it feels...so...good...”
Undressing him, scurrying to find his bedroom, taking his cock deep in her throat, all of that was foreplay, all of it culminating in this, the joining of their straining bodies. She wanted to come but she was afraid to come because she might turn inside out, just as he’d warned. She felt inside out already, like everything inside her was bared to his gaze.
Her cries got louder the closer she got to orgasm. If she could have, she would have muffled them with her hands, but they were trapped behind her back by his belt. She rode his cock faster and faster, seeking fulfillment or pain, whatever he wanted, because that’s what she wanted. She arched toward him when he pulled the clamps, offering her torment for his pleasure.
With a rough movement, he tumbled her sideways, still fucking her. He hit her clit with every stroke then, excruciating pleasure building to a peak. “Oh God, oh God!” She was getting really loud now but she couldn’t help it. She was too far gone to obey. He pressed a hand over her mouth, then took off the nipple clamps one after the other so sensation flooded back into her breasts.
That was the end of it for her. Every nerve in her body fired a delicious release. Her limbs trembled uncontrollably as she gasped against his palm. He pounded into her, driving her into the bed, filling her with his power and his raw sexuality. Her angel, her devil, her tormentor, her savior, her guide, her teacher. Her lover.
Her Master.
* * * * *
Jason drifted, basking in her, inhaling her flowery, feminine scent.
He moved his hand so she could draw breath again, and stared down at her flickering eyelids. She was either resting, sleeping, or passed out. “Sara,” he whispered, and her eyes came open.
“Yes, Master?” she asked, even though she looked exhausted. So submissive, so willing. Such a treasure. There were two kinds of “slave” girls. The first only pretended to serve, while balking at anything they didn’t want to do, anything that didn’t bring them pleasure. The second kind truly believed in serving, in giving themselves up to Master’s will. The first kind didn’t last long in the kink scene at the Cirque, even the drop-dead gorgeous ones. The second kind...well. D-types fought over them.
No one’s getting you, he thought, staring down at her. No one but me.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
He chuckled, softening his expression, and got up to throw away his condom. “I was just thinking that I need a cage for you. Somewhere to keep you so you can never get away, and so no one else can ever steal you.”
She laughed, a cute, nervous laugh that told him she wasn’t entirely sure he was joking.
“I like cages,” he clarified, returning to the bed, “but I won’t ever put you in one without your permission. Well, without your consent.”
“Aren’t permission and consent the same thing?”
Jason sprawled beside her and unbuckled the belt binding her hands. “They’re kind of the same thing, but kind of not. I don’t like to ask women for permission to do the things I do to them, but I like to have their consent. Does that make sense?”
She stretched her arms and rubbed her wrists. Jason checked them to be sure there weren’t any abrasions. When he finished he brought them to his lips. “Did you like what we just did, or was it too hard for you?”
She squirmed under his regard. “Well…did you like it?”
“I didn’t ask if I liked it. I asked if you liked it. And tell the truth.” He brushed a finger across her lips. “Never lie to Master.”
She was quiet for a long time, so long he got nervous. Then she said, “I liked everything about today. Going to Cirque du Monde, meeting Theo and Mr. Lemaitre, going to the show, going for drinks with you. And coming here to your place...I liked that most of all. But I’m afraid.” Her smile faded and her eyes went dark. “I’m afraid I’ll wake up and find it’s all been a dream.”
“It’s not a dream.”
Tension wrinkled her brow. “If Mr. Lemaitre finds out we’re doing this, will he fire me?”
Jason kissed the lines away and rolled onto his back. “No, he’ll fire me. But if I begged hard enough he’d probably hire me back. Lemaitre understands passion, sweet pea. I’ll give the man that.”
“You’ll give him...a sweet pea?”
“No, I called you a sweet pea. It’s a kind of flower. And when I said I’ll give the man that... Look, never mind. Don’t worry about anything.” He brushed back a lock of her dark hair. “You look tired. How about a shower?”
“Mm. Probably. I drooled on myself.”
“Which was ball-numbingly hot.”
“Ball-numbingly hot?”
“Very, very hot,” he amended. “You’ll never understand how hot. But it’s late and you’re probably still fighting jet lag.”
They showered together in his chipped, claw-footed tub, and then he toweled her off, thinking how lovely she was. Lovely hips, lovely breasts, lovely exotic features and a stunning smile. Twenty-two. A mere baby. He was twelve years older. Twelve years older. He would master her as long as she wanted to be mastered, but if she decided she wanted someone younger, someone closer to her age, he’d let her go.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, touching his face. “You’re frowning.”
He forced a smile. “Just afraid I’ll wake up and find it’s all been a dream.” He took her to his bed, naked, the way a slave ought to be, and stayed up long after her eyes closed, watching her lashes flutter against her cheek.
Chapter Six: Stay
Jason woke in the morning to the sound of pounding. The front door? Sara sighed and stirred beside him.
“Don’t get up,” he said when her eyes blinked open. “Stay here.”
He threw on sweats and a tee and padded down the stairs, wondering who’d be knocking at eight in the morning. He didn’t have any work appointments until ten. When he flung open the door, Michel Lemaitre pushed Jason aside and strode into his living room. “Sara is missing,” he said. “No one can find her. She hasn’t been back to her dorm all night.”
Well, this was a fucking situation. Lemaitre crossed to the window, his lips compressed in a line.
“She’s not missing,” said Jason. “She’s asleep upstairs.”
Lemaitre turned back to him and stared. He knew this house, because he’d sold it to Jason a few years ago. He kn
ew “upstairs” meant Sara was in his bedroom.
“And why is Sara asleep upstairs?” he asked with a dangerous edge to his voice.
Because I got to her first, you horny lecher. Sara was twelve years younger than him; that meant she was twenty-two years younger than Lemaitre. “Keep your voice down, okay? We were out late. I took her to see Tsilaosa.”
“And then what?”
Jason headed to the kitchen. He needed coffee for this conversation. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“I’m sure I want to know.” Lemaitre’s voice sounded cold as ice. “I don’t know what disturbs me more, that my most rigidly proper director is breaking the rules, or that he’s breaking them with a woman who’s been here for one day. One day, Jason.”
Once Jason had the coffee brewing, he crossed to sit in the chair nearest Lemaitre, considering his options. He could lie to his boss, but lies were hard to keep track of. He could refuse to explain, which would probably cost him his job. Or he could tell the truth, which Lemaitre would eventually figure out anyway.
“Before I say anything, I want your word that you won’t treat Sara any differently after you hear what I say.”
Lemaitre narrowed his eyes. “Dieu, such drama.”
“I want your word.”
He threw up his hands. “Yes, you have my word, although I doubt this is her doing.”
Jason paused, sinking back in his chair. “My first night in Ulaanbaatar, I went downtown to check out a BDSM club. That’s where Sara and I met.”
Lemaitre’s eyes went from narrow to wide. “There’s a BDSM club in Mongolia?”
“Yes, they have them everywhere. You of all people should know,” Jason replied with an edge of sarcasm. “And it wasn’t so much a club as a brothel. You know, girls dancing in cages, and private rooms available for the right price.”
The older man’s jaw worked. “What was Sara doing there?”
“Waiting tables in skimpy lingerie, serving drinks to horny, kinky men.”
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