Bad Girl (Les Pétales)

by Samuels, Kailee

  I peeked open to find handshakes and shoulder pats for the use of his girl. I was fired up, covered in come, and desperately wanting to find the ground. He showed them to the door and rather violently pulled the curtains closed. They were gone, and I was alone with the monster Jake proved to be.

  “You are such a good girl when you want to be,” he complimented, running his finger through the come on my cheek. “But sometimes, you are nothing but a bad little bitch.”

  Flipping my body over, Jake tore his belt from his pants. I should’ve known it was going to be bad. My need to fight over the most basic of principles—do this—warranted every lash I was about to receive. He didn’t hold back striking the very leather which kept his pants secured to his body. There was something so poignant about that to me, and there still is. I found it a crowning achievement to have earned the reward of his belt. He owned me, but I kept him. It was the first time he ever whipped me with a belt. And it wouldn’t be the last.

  “Touch your pussy means touch your pussy.”

  I relented. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Next time, you will listen the first time,” Jake reprimanded, tossing the belt and sliding my body over the desk. Bent over the wood with my arms extended onto the desk, he kicked my feet apart and wiped the come from my skin only to slather it in my ass crack. It was an offensive move as tears stung my eyes. Setting his cock at my opening, he thrust hard and sunk into my ass using another man’s come as lube.

  With a new low of degradation, I cried. Dampening the slick wood beneath my flesh, I added to the slide with every pound and felt every remarkable one. “I love fucking you,” he confessed as I tried not to spit up. “And your ass is so fucking beautiful on my dick, Anna.”

  I didn’t need to hear his pretty little sentiments as he successively elaborated on his lesson of listening. I learned that day to take in every syllable and not to question his authority.

  Touch your pussy meant touch your pussy.

  Beneath his thrusts, I whispered, “I love you, Sir.”

  “I know.”

  And he did, but Jake was never easy on me. Our love didn't haunt him in the same way I was; his embrace of my love came directly as a result of my ability to listen. If I didn’t listen, then I didn’t love him. It was that simple.

  From behind me, he grunted and came hard in my ass with his hands clenched to my hips. I knew I would have fingerprints from the fucking and bruising from the belt. We were pleasure; we were pain.

  After his recovery, he sat me on the edge of the desk and removed the heavy iron shackles from my wrists. Rubbing the swollen flesh, he caught my angry stare and spread my legs on either side of the desk. “Touch your pussy.”

  I didn’t dare refuse as my aching hand dropped between my legs. My clit was ripe as I dipped my fingers into the dew and soared them round and round the hard nub. Despite all of the emotional torment, my body was turned on. Jake’s happiness and contentment depended on my ability to pleasure myself.

  He would take care of the pain, but none of it was easy.

  Loving Jake was never smooth. He was complicated and fucked up, but I promised to stand by his side through heaven or hell. Sometimes I think he craved my bad girl as much as my good girl, but we didn’t always align with which was coming to see him. I wouldn’t call him strict, but if I disobeyed, he proved unrelenting.

  With my fingers moving faster and faster, I brought myself to orgasm as I rocked against the desk. With a cigarette in his mouth, he immediately asked, “How do you feel, Anna?”

  I yearned to say something smart like your well-used whore, but instead, I opted for a more appropriate description, “Like your naughty sex slave.”

  His smile erupted with a low chuckle. “You will listen from now on.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But I make no promises.”

  “You enjoyed it.”

  Pulling off his shirt, he handed it to me, and I wiped the spunk from my skin. “I don’t know if enjoy is the right word. I understand it was probably good for my submissive.”

  “If you for one second thought that I would’ve let them fuck you…”

  “I didn’t,” I interrupted as he filled the space between us with smoke. “You wouldn’t allow it.”

  He breathed and stepped closer, edging between my legs. “I won’t permit your disobedience either, Anna. And those fellows offended your sense of common decency. I made my point.”

  “I hate you sometimes,” I confessed in his arms. “I hate you because no amount of frivolous show can keep you from seeing the real me. You know what makes me tick and I hate that.”

  He smirked and ran his finger beneath my chin. “Is seeing the real you such a bad thing?”

  “It is when I have spent my whole life hiding from the truth.”

  “And what is the truth, Anna?”

  His words coursed over me like jagged branches, full of gnarly thorns, as he forced my self-examination. “The truth is I like being used and pampered.”

  “It doesn’t define us or even your submission,” he tenderly said as I lowered my head in shame. I had played the men in Vegas not only because I could, but because I enjoyed it. I relished in the sex and flourished under their watch. It was only when Angelo crossed the line that I began to question my motivations and who I was. “These are elements of you, baby. What offended you most was their unkempt presence.”

  “And that right there—you know me too well.”

  “I know you have standards, and they were a punishment appropriate for your actions. You will remember to listen now,” he said with a smile. “Although you still may not because you like finding trouble.”

  “I liked being whipped by your belt,” I confided, biting my lip. “I liked it a lot.”

  Looking away, he almost blushed. I brought my hands to his cheeks and his mouth to mine as we passionately kissed. My hand dropped to his dick and stroked him erect. “Make love to me, Jake.”

  “You know I cannot tell you no,” he teased, pulling my butt to the edge of the desk. “May I put my dick inside of you, Anna?”

  “Yes,” I begged, starving for his love.

  I understood we had just come from an intense scene, but there was fucking, and there was loving. I needed the latter. I wanted my man, not my Dom. And as he thrust slowly into me, all of the questions surrounding our relationship clarified. He loved me. He would always love me. It didn’t matter if it were two gardeners or a room of Dominants, Jake cherished me.

  We found a beautiful balance between the two—the lovers and the practitioners of our fetish. It was hard to do but entirely possible. Knowing when to fight as lovers and love as Master and slave. A delicate balance, neither of us were always successful at, but we worked the issues without escaping from them. Denial was only good for one thing. And neither of us were very fond of the self-harm it brought.

  What I didn’t realize at the time when I had my introspection going on was that Jake did the same. It would be years before I understood, he wasn’t perfect. For many years, he was perfect in my eyes, but not in his. He was learning about himself just as much as I was, but in growing together, we became one.

  We were beauty.

  We were magic.

  We were unstoppable.

  Little Butterfly

  CHAPTER 12

  With Jake exclusively training me, I became spoiled. Even Manley said I conformed too much. At the time, I wasn't sure what that meant, but I didn't think showing him love was ever a problem.

  In retrospect, I got it loud and clear. Manley didn't want me ever bending over backwards for someone undeserving, not that Jake was, but she didn’t want my behavior with him to lap to another Dom. I considered her warning and realized the subliminal message she passed to me. With only two Doms on the premises, her words clarified.

  Sir Dane was not Sir Jake.

  I spent years in Vegas learning that not all mob bosses were the same, so I didn’t think every Dominant would be either. I
loved Luca in ways I couldn’t explain, but I didn’t care if I ever saw Angelo again. No two men were alike was the underlying meaning. She was worried I would become so tied around being a good submissive that I would forget to care for myself first and foremost.

  With the event on the horizon, I also understood there would be strangers I didn’t know. Some might love me; some might want to hurt me.

  I needed to be careful.

  Jake’s punishment for the forest stunt was a daily occurrence. I think he used his anger about it to push me further. And nothing fired him up more than when I was irresponsible with myself, such as I had been that night.

  In the dungeon, I learned formal positions and endured nightly rounds of his sadistic pleasure. He loved strict, rigid riding crops, so much so that if he used his favorite one too much, he went to town and purchased a new one.

  His whip skills were impressive, but he fully admitted he received little benefit from the act. We played some with clothespins, clips, and violet rays, but they did little for me. I preferred paddling to my buttocks and haunches more than anything else.

  We talked. We communicated. We listened. We learned.

  And we both loved restraint.

  “We’re trying something different tonight,” Jake muttered as we walked through the circus of fetish fun. We were holding hands as we made our way to the back corner and the old, heavy rack, which for the most part seemed unused. He held my hand as I stepped up on to the leather-clad foot pads. He fastened the cuffs to my feet, but lifting, he swished his tongue between my slit. My hand fell to his hair fast, and with a mischievous smirk, he scolded, “No, no…”

  He tightened the wrist cuffs around me. Sitting across from me in a chair, he gloated. Under the restraints, I couldn’t move as his gaze intimidated me. My skin was on fire.

  Hot. Burning. Desire.

  Smiling, I gushed, “What?”

  “Are you ready for the party?”

  “Probably not,” I admitted. The door between the waiting area and the dungeon opened and closed, but I couldn’t see who it was from the equipment in the middle of the room. My voice wavered, “Jake…”

  “Calm down.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Wilma Manley. “Good evening!”

  “Hello, Wil,” Jake said, standing up and kissing her cheek. His demeanor with her was remarkably pleasant, almost chipper. “Would you like my sub?”

  “I would.”

  “Miss Ford,” she said with a smile. “I have been asked to come back home, but I wanted to give you something before I left.”

  She held out her wretched ruler and my eyes watered up. “When are you leaving?”

  “Early tomorrow morning.”

  I glanced at Jake’s expression. He already knew, and I was hurt he hadn’t said anything to me. “… You’re giving me your ruler?”

  “Yes, Anna,” she softly replied as the back of her hand stroked my cheek. “Until a permanent spot for headmistress is found, you are keeping L’Académie on schedule. All of my notes are in the office. I apologize for leaving so suddenly. The staff will be coming over the next week. Don’t let these boys bully you into thinking things don’t need to happen on time. There is a distinct difference between Dominant and ignorance. You’ll need to balance out your duties between the office and the dungeon. Don’t confuse the two, either one of you. And Jake will listen to you when you are in the office. ”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said with a devious grin. “I will mind the interim mistress.”

  “And I will leave my ruler with your Master for your future use, Anna.”

  I blinked at the term—Master—I had never considered calling Jake anything other than Sir. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  “You’re welcome, Anna,” she replied, kissing my cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”

  She hugged Jake and left. Her departure saddened me. “Why didn’t you tell me she was leaving?”

  “The mother of one of her students passed away this morning,” he said, tilting his head at me. “Did you think I wouldn’t tell you?”

  “Oh my,” I gasped, not at the death, but at Manley’s need to be present for her students. As it turned out, she had a heart—an empathetic one at that. “… I have to run this place?”

  “You have to make sure everyone gets where they need to be.”

  Baiting with a bite to my lip, I flirted, “… Do I have to wear clothes?”

  “Only when students start arriving. You’ll need to look official.” He winked. “Maybe I’ll get you a matronly dress, and we can role-play. I’ll paddle the headmistress for her deviant behavior.” After a wink, he kissed me like he loved me. “Now answer my question, Anna. Did you not think I would tell you?”

  “I didn’t understand why she was leaving,” I admitted, glancing up. “And I guess by the look on your face that you already knew. I was jealous. And I admit it.” I glitched in our trust. It wasn’t a punishment worthy infraction, but his sour expression declared a hurt. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’re getting there, baby girl,” he whispered, kissing me again. “We’re getting there.”

  * * *

  Thankfully, Wilma Manley left her office in order with detailed notes. I had to make sure the caterers arrived on time for the gala. The next day, students would start arriving, and I needed to make sure they had everything they needed. The pressure to perform the tasks of the headmistress role were heavy, but I did it with grace and ease. I was a master of juggling organizational skills—just as I had juggled the lovers of my past.

  Flipping through the list of attendees, I noted several names of people I recognized from my days in Las Vegas. None of the mafia bosses were on the list, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Jake routinely liked to bust into my office. I would be knee-deep in phone calls and paperwork when he would appear with flowers, lunch, or sometimes just himself. Courting my girl, Jake played the romance card to great lengths. Often, over the years, I endured the infinite amounts of how men cannot be romantic. It was bullshit—all of it.

  It took hardly anything to be a romantic as the tools were readily available. I found the lack of romance to be lazy, but for those like myself who experienced it—the roses and candy proved worth every penny. I returned the gift with my brand of playful love.

  “Knock knock,” Jake said, peering behind my door. “How is it going?”

  “The party is days away, and I’m frantic,” I admitted, leaning back in the chair. I had taken to wearing loose slacks and blouses, more fitting to the role of a headmistress. Even an interim one needed to look the part. “I’m fairly sure that despite being on the phone all morning with Wil, I will not be ready.”

  Sitting on the edge of my desk, he snickered, “You’ve warmed up to her.”

  I smirked. “I have. We’ve become friends.”

  “Your best friend would like to whisk you away,” he said with a decadent snarl as he extended his hand. “Come on.”

  No matter what was going on, Jake was my Dominant. When he said let's go, he meant it. I swiftly got up from the chair and took his hand.

  The staff had started arriving several days ago to put the finishing details on the manor. Everything needed to be spiffy and shine. We passed by several young women cleaning away on their hands and knees. A great feeling of accomplishment washed over me. At one point, I had scrubbed the toilets and dusted the library. I had paid those dues to those who counted, and now, I was mostly running the backend of the show. It was a fantastic moment of success that I had never experienced.

  With the high I felt, Jake and I stepped outside. His motorcycle was sitting by the door. “Where are we going?”

  “Away.”

  I didn’t argue as I straddled over the seat. His body wedged in front of me as I laced my arms around him. I had learned to trust without question. I had learned to love without bounds. But more important than either of those, I learned patience provided.

  The lovely da
y brimmed with excitement as we drove the backroads all the way to Paris. Although it had been less than a year since our arrival at L’Académie, it felt like decades had passed. People cluttered about the streets as we made our way to a small, out of the way Italian bistro. Jake escorted me to the door, and I furrowed my brow questioningly at the empty tables. “Are they not open?”

  “No,” he assured, smiling as we walked. “They definitely are.”

  From the back corner table, Luca Raniero stood up to greet me. I ran and leaped into his arms. “Luca! What are you doing here?”

  “I was in Rome over the weekend and decided to make a detour to see my favorite girl,” he boasted as tears came to my eyes. I glanced at Jake standing so proud. “Please have a seat. I’ve ordered for us.”

  I eased into the seat by the window as Luca and Jake embraced. In many ways, Luca was such a modern man, but he had a way of keeping with the traditions of old. He kissed Jake’s cheeks on either side and welcomed him to the table.

  “How long will you be here?”

  “Until tomorrow,” he said, pouring the wine. “But this is business.”

  I tilted my head curiously. “I have made some arrangements with a man in Italy. His name is Pietro Veramonte. I’ve promised my son, Cesario, to their youngest daughter, Lucilla, in exchange for shipping of our cargo. The Veramonte family will be overseeing the Raniero expansion in Italy.”

  While I tried not to show any emotion, my stomach churned knowing that two children had their future locked together by the agreement of their fathers. This was how things worked with The Suits. It was nothing new, but I wanted to believe Luca was above it all. He wasn’t. But the one thing that separated Luca Raniero from everyone else was his absolute generosity.

  “How does this pertain to us?”

  “I agreed to go to Italy for not only the Raniero family but for the Gennaro family. The stabilization of our connection in Italy will benefit us both. However, I felt I needed something in return from Giuseppe, so I demanded he cease hunting yourself and Jake.”