Bound in Blue

by Annabel Joseph

“Horny, kinky men like you.”

  Jason pursed his lips. “I only went there to relax, to loosen up as you told me to, but then shit started happening. They tried to get me drunk, tried to take advantage of the stupid American, but Sara wouldn’t let them. To make a long story short, I got kicked out and she got fired.”

  “Then what?” Lemaitre asked.

  Jason held up a hand. “Look, I swear to God. I didn’t know she was part of the act I was scouting, and she didn’t know I was with Cirque du Monde.”

  His voice turned a shade icier. “You slept with her.”

  “We were both freaked out by what happened. She was upset.”

  “So you lured her back to your hotel room and soothed her, is that it? Such a heroic, selfless act.”

  “You told me I worked too hard, remember? You told me to ‘enjoy the local pleasures.’”

  “I didn’t mean her!”

  Jason paused, grasping for calm. “You know I wouldn’t have done it if knew who she was. We didn’t find out any of that until the next day. Then her partner shut down the pitch about Cirque and wouldn’t let her speak, so she came to my hotel again. Only to talk with me about coming to Paris.”

  “So you didn’t sleep with her the second night?”

  Jason pressed his fingers against his eyes. “I tried not to.”

  “But you did,” Lemaitre snapped.

  “Is it your business? It was private. Consensual.”

  “It’s my business because she’s my performer now. She shouldn’t have been compelled—”

  “I did not compel her. It happened.”

  “And it seems to keep happening, considering the fact that she’s upstairs.”

  Jason sensed great fury beneath his boss’s bitten-off words. Which made no sense, because Lemaitre slept with the talent all the time. He made them into his devoted sex slaves, for God’s sake. Perhaps he was angry to learn that Sara had to support herself in Mongolia waitressing at a sex club, but circus wasn’t always a lucrative career.

  “You can’t blame her,” Jason said, heading back to the kitchen. “You can’t hold it against her. She’s here now, ready to work. That should be all that matters.”

  “Do you think I’d hold it against her? Really, do you?” He followed that question with a string of French expletives that made Jason’s ears burn.

  “She’s sleeping,” he reminded him. “Keep it down. Do you want some coffee?”

  “I want to speak to her.”

  “No, you’ll embarrass her. You’ll scare her. If you don’t trust everything I’ve said, then fire me. I don’t want to work for someone who thinks I’m a liar.”

  “I don’t think you’re a liar. But I find you something of an opportunist.”

  Jason ground his teeth at that dig. “There was a mutual attraction.”

  “Imagine her being attracted to an important, attractive Cirque du Monde director who’s offering her a new career.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “How was it, Jason?” He leaned forward, wagging a finger. “Once you knew she was a talent prospect, you should have gone out of your way to re-orient your relationship into a professional one.”

  “I tried. Honestly, I tried but—”

  “But you preferred to keep fucking her.”

  “Everything between us has involved mutual consent.”

  “Jason?” The soft question arrested their rising voices. Sara stood by the door to the back hallway, clad in a blanket and his wrinkled button-up shirt. So much for his obedient slave.

  “Sara, go back upstairs,” he said in a firm voice.

  She turned to Lemaitre. “You can’t fire him. This isn’t his fault. Last night he told me that we should take things slow, but I didn’t want to.”

  Jason rubbed his forehead, stifling a groan. The last thing he wanted was for Sara to debase herself pleading on his behalf. Lemaitre turned to face her, his expression one of uncharacteristic gravity. “My deepest concern is for your well-being. While you’re with the Cirque, you’re under my protection.”

  Sara blinked at him. “You don’t have to protect me from Jason. I want to be with him. I promise we’ll be…discreet.”

  Lemaitre gave her one of his patented glowering looks. “This isn’t a matter of discretion, my dear. It’s a matter of professional behavior. Jason was sent to Mongolia to scout you, not seduce you.”

  “He didn’t seduce me. It wasn’t like that. Things just happened.”

  “Things just happened doesn’t make it right,” he said, his voice sharpening.

  Jason made a low warning sound. Lemaitre could rail at him all day, but he wouldn’t let him chew out Sara.

  Lemaitre’s scowl deepened as he lounged back on the couch. “You and Jason will be working together as part of a professional team. Whether ‘things happened’ or not, you both have an obligation to focus on the development of your act. Let me put it this way: I brought you here to grace the stages of Cirque du Monde, not the bedroom of Mr. Beck.”

  Sara straightened her shoulders and stared her imposing boss in the face. “You should have some respect for me as an artist. Do you think I won’t give my all for Cirque du Monde? For my performance? Whether Jason’s in charge of my act, or you, or someone else, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to do my best work, regardless of my personal life.”

  She lifted her chin, as if daring Lemaitre to defy her. She didn’t realize it, but with that brave outburst, she’d earned her boss’s respect. Jason knew him well enough to see the approval in the twitch of his lips, the softening of his stare. “Very well,” he said in a gruff voice. “Your best work? I’m going to hold you to that.” He picked at the tailored cuff of his sleeve. “I apologize for waking you, mademoiselle. It is early. Perhaps you should retire again upstairs.”

  It was an order, not a suggestion, and it meant he wasn’t done hammering Jason yet. Jason walked to Sara and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Bad girl,” he whispered, pulling her close. “I told you to stay in bed.”

  She gave him a look, that look slaves had when they knew they’d fucked up and were very sorry for it. If Lemaitre hadn’t understood how serious their thing was before, he’d know now from the expression on Sara’s face.

  “It’s okay,” he said, tracing a thumb down the curve of her cheek. “We’ll talk about it later. For now, you really need to go upstairs.”

  “Yes, M—” She slid a look at Lemaitre. “Yes, Jason.”

  Sweet, clueless Sara, hiding their dynamic from the outsider. She didn’t realize yet that Lemaitre was the Master of them all. He’d have to explain it soon, so she’d understand the world she’d entered. He turned back to his boss, who regarded him with a shuttered expression.

  “Very nice,” was all he said.

  Jason went on the defensive. “It is very nice. It happened naturally for both of us. You know how rare and special that is.”

  “‘Rare’ and ‘special.’ What a glowing way to look at it.”

  “I’m telling you, from the start, we knew. We sensed this thing between us. Even the first night, we knew something was going on. You don’t understand the pull we feel to each other.”

  Lemaitre stood and stalked to the window, then turned back to him with a scathing look. “No, I don’t understand, because I control my ‘pulls’ when they’re inappropriate. It’s called restraint.”

  “Are you lecturing me about restraint, Michel? Because I don’t think you have any moral high ground to stand on. You sleep with your subordinates all the time.”

  “Perhaps, but it doesn’t ‘just happen.’ I choose my partners with great care. I groom them for weeks, months, years sometimes. You’ve known Sara for what? Three days all together?”

  “Almost a week.”

  Lemaitre’s phone buzzed and he looked down at it. He glanced back at Jason, then out the window again. Struggling. Lemaitre was struggling with something, which almost never happened. Jealousy?

  Michel Lemaitre wanted Sar
a for himself.

  Jason suspected it, dreaded it, and now it seemed obvious. “I won’t say I love her yet,” Jason declared, “because as you said, I just met her. But I’m on the way to loving her. I’d appreciate it if you would respect that.”

  Lemaitre turned to him, stroking his chin. Jason endured his assessing stare, shored up by his convictions. He cared about Sara. He would have lost his job for her. He still might lose his job over her, if Lemaitre couldn’t let the jealousy go.

  “You’re off her act,” Lemaitre finally said. “I’ll oversee it myself with Theo’s help. As for the other, I wish you both the best.” He looked back down at his phone. “A few minutes ago, Sara’s partner arrived at Cirque du Monde headquarters. I see no point in telling her until I’ve met with the young man and learned his intentions.”

  Jason’s head spun from the sudden change of subject. “Baat’s in Paris?”

  “He’s waiting at my office. Keep Sara away from headquarters until I call with news.” He strode to the door, then turned back with his hand on the knob. “Don’t be too hard on her. She only disobeyed out of concern for you.”

  “You know how this works. If we start letting little things go...”

  Lemaitre waved a hand. “Yes. Unhappy slaves. Okay then, give her hell. But remember why she did what she did.”

  Jason saluted his boss and locked the door after he left. What a morning. Baat was here, Jason was no longer working with Sara, and Lemaitre had wished them “the best” in their relationship. Jason needed food, and coffee. Maybe a drink.

  But first he had to discipline a naughty slave who’d really only had his best interests at heart.

  * * * * *

  Sara heard his feet on the stairs. Her heart pounded as she pulled up the covers and feigned sleep. Maybe if he thought she was tired...if she looked especially exhausted...

  She shut her eyes and lay very still. She heard him cross the room, heard the rustle of him taking off his clothes and then his sigh as he walked to her side of the bed.

  I’m sleeping, see? Poor, tired Sara.

  But it was a lie, cowardly avoidance. A good slave owned up to her mistakes. She opened her eyes to find his face inches from hers. She blinked and scooted back as he crawled onto the bed after her. Within seconds, she was pinned underneath him, staring up into his steady gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You told me to stay upstairs.”

  “Yes I did. Very simple directions. It seems you need to be reminded who’s in charge.”

  She didn’t really need to be reminded. He was making it obvious, with his dominant position and his threatening stare.

  “I was afraid,” she said. “I heard Mr. Lemaitre’s voice and I worried he’d fire you.”

  “Those are excuses. I appreciate your concern, but you still disobeyed. Masters like submission and trust, and obedience. Do you know what they don’t like?”

  Sara took a stab at it. “Naughty slaves?”

  He took one of her nipples between thumb and forefinger, pinching in a sharp, burning twist. “Naughty slaves who don’t trust their Masters to handle their own business. My job isn’t your concern. And for the record, I would have given it up for you. If it came to that.”

  “That would have been sad.”

  “You’re about to be sad.” He released her aching nipple. “But that’s how naughty slaves learn.”

  Her heart had been pounding earlier but now it banged in her chest like a fire alarm. Punishments weren’t sexy and fun. Whatever he did was going to hurt, and she suspected someone as meticulous as Jason would make it hurt worse than most.

  “Master...please...”

  “Hush. Turn on your tummy.”

  With a helpless whimper, she complied. She watched with her face half-mashed into the comforter as he crossed to a chest and hauled open a drawer. He took out a thin braided whip, about two feet long, and flexed it between his fingers. Oh, no. Narrow, whippy implements hurt the worst.

  “Reach above you and touch the headboard,” he said as he returned. “Scoot up if you have to. You’re not to move your hands.”

  “Yes, Master.” She trembled, wondering how many strokes he’d give her. Five? Ten? Twenty? Please, not twenty. Well, this is what she got for going downstairs and butting into his business with Mr. Lemaitre. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as he pulled cuffs from beneath the padded footboard and buckled them around her ankles. His bed was so big, she had to spread her legs wide.

  “I know you’re sorry,” he said, checking the tension. “This is to remind you who’s the Master and who’s the slave.”

  He walked around the bed and drew back his arm. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited in dread for the punishment she’d earned. The first slice of the whip was horrible, because there was no warm up, no exciting foreplay to make her want it. Her legs jerked but they couldn’t move more than an inch or two. She clutched at the sheets, then returned her hands to the headboard as he’d instructed her. The next stroke tore a shriek from her throat.

  “Be quiet or I’ll gag you,” he warned. “We talked about the air ducts. I don’t want the police showing up.”

  She buried her face in the sheets, biting down on them to keep from wailing at the next stroke. The pain was fiery, impossibly sharp. Punishing. It was all she could do not to throw her hands back to cover herself. Five, six, seven. Eight. He paused, and Sara felt eight separate, throbbing welts on her ass, laid over the lingering bruises from his belt the night before. She braced for more, but then he moved away, put the whip aside. Thank you, Master.

  “Reach back and part your ass cheeks. Yes, you can let go of the headboard. Reach back and spread them open.”

  Sara hesitated, reluctant and humiliated, and shy.

  “You have three seconds to obey me before I pick up the whip again.”

  She reached back and yanked her ass cheeks apart, wincing as her nails accidentally raked one of the whip marks. She wanted to beg for mercy but she felt too punished and shamed to say anything. And too terrified of what was coming next.

  She felt his weight on the bed beside her. He had a condom and a bottle of lube, and a grim expression on his face. “Do you like anal sex, Sara?”

  She couldn’t process his words for a moment. “Wha— What?”

  “Anal sex. Do you like having your ass fucked? I know you like having it played with,” he said with a ghost of a smile. Yes, he’d played with it that first time, but it had only been his fingers, not his huge cock. “Answer me,” he prompted, “and keep those ass cheeks spread.”

  She stammered as he dripped cold lube into her crack. “I— I like it sometimes. But it usually hurts.”

  “I imagine it does.” He pushed a finger into her, smoothing the lube around her sphincter. She felt close to panic, even though the pain hadn’t started yet. She heard the rattle of the condom wrapper, and felt him shift as he put it on. “Sometimes I’ll make you come when I fuck your ass, but this isn’t one of those times. You understand why.”

  “Yes, Master.” Tears filled her eyes. Fearful tears, penitent tears, maybe even thankful tears. She was too scared to know at the moment.

  He paused with the head of his cock against her tensing hole. Her legs were still bound to the bed, her hands still holding herself open. “Lift your ass up. Offer it to me. My pleasure for your punishment.”

  It was too humiliating to bear, but she did it, and when he pressed the head in she sobbed into the pillow. It hurt. His cock stretched her, unfamiliar fullness that brought a frightening ache. If she’d screamed “Get it out!” the way she wanted to, she knew he would have done it, but she kept the words inside because he was her Master and this was how their world worked. My pleasure for your punishment. She arched her bottom even more. Hurt me, take me, use me. As long as you forgive me afterward and tell me everything’s okay.

  “Good girl,” he sighed as she relaxed into the pain. It hurt the most at the beginning. She knew that. Now he was in and it was o
nly a matter of enduring the fucking part. He held himself above her, thrusting steadily in and out, deeper and deeper each time. From the noises he was making, it felt extremely good on his end. Because of the lubricant, it didn’t feel so bad for her. It was only that it was punishment.

  “Who’s the Master in this relationship?” he asked a few minutes in.

  “You are. Mmph.” He did an especially deep thrust and she bit her lip to keep from crying.

  “And who are you?”

  “I’m your slave, Master. I’m sorry I disobeyed you.”

  “Your disobedience is why you have nine fat inches of cock buried in your asshole, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Are you enjoying this?”

  “No, Master,” she said truthfully. She had no doubt he could make it feel good if he wanted to, but her ass was already sore from the whip and he was fucking her like he was teaching her a lesson, not trying to make her come.

  “Next time Master tells you to stay somewhere, what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to stay,” she sobbed. “I’m going to listen to you, I promise.”

  “I hope so. I hope you’ve learned a lesson.”

  He punctuated each word with a hard thrust and then he jerked his cock out of her. A moment later she felt hot spurts of cum on her back, and on her ass cheeks where she held them open. It seemed like the worst punishment of all, that he didn’t deign to come inside her, but this was one more display of who was the Master and who was the subordinate.

  “Rub it in like a good girl.”

  She didn’t question, just obeyed, releasing her ass cheeks to massage her Master’s cum into her skin. She felt wrung out, exhausted, and yes, punished. Jason got up to throw away the condom, then uncuffed her legs.

  “Don’t move. Just lay there.”

  She rested her hands on the bed and lay very still, and submitted to Jason’s inspection of her body. When he finished, he drew her into his arms and she sobbed against his chest, babbling a mish-mash of apologies. He stroked her hair and wiped away her tears, and then he told her she was forgiven.

  It felt good to be forgiven, but she wasn’t totally at peace. She clung to him, thinking she would never, ever disobey him again, or injure his pride, or overstep her boundaries.