Bound in Blue (10 page)

“Please,” she squeaked. “This dress isn’t
mine.”

He slowed, letting out a breath. “Tomorrow,
then, we’ll go shopping for dresses I can rip off you.”

She showed him the hidden zipper on the side
and he helped her shimmy out of it. The bra and panties came next,
pretty but practical undergarments that had been waiting in her
room the night she arrived at Cirque. “If they’re not what you
like, I’ll get others,” she said. “Whatever pleases you.”

He silenced her with a fingertip to her lips.
“I like nakedness. I want nothing between you and me. I like naked
slaves.”

Naked
slaves
. Plural. She wouldn’t be
his first slave, nor probably his last. He might have other slaves
here in Paris, women he used for his pleasure. She couldn’t be
upset about that. He hadn’t known she existed a month ago. A week
ago. She shook her head, willing those thoughts away. She had to
stay in the moment, available to serve her Master. He twisted his
fingers in her hair and wrenched her head back. She shuddered,
staring up into his burning gaze.

“Undress me,” he said through bared
teeth.

It was an order, taut and firm. Her fingers
trembled as she hurried to obey. She pulled off his sweater,
revealing a finely tailored, expertly starched button-up shirt. Oh
no, buttons. She undid them as best she could while he kissed her
and pinched her nipples. Beneath the fabric of his shirt lay an
undershirt, and beneath that, a sculpted wall of abs that bunched
as she touched them.

“Keep going,” he said. “Naughty, distractible
girl.”

He pushed her hands down to his belt and she
unclasped the woven leather. It was supple and soft, and it gave
her feelings only a slave-type person would understand. How old had
she been when she started reacting to things like belts and canes
inappropriately? When she dawdled over it, daydreaming, Jason drew
it from the loops himself and doubled it over in his hand. “You
really are distractible. Keep going.”

He did the slightest flick of the belt
against his thigh and her heart rate doubled. She started on his
pants, undoing the button and easing down the zipper. “Do you want
me to hang them up?” she asked.

“I want you to fucking take them off.”

He was getting impatient. When she slid them
down he kicked them away and she was left with the mouth-watering
sight of his hard cock outlined by his tight boxer briefs. The
sight of his huge manhood created powerful feelings of submission
inside her. She wanted to touch it, lick it, worship it on her
knees.

“Be careful,” he said with a knowing glint in
his eyes. “You got in trouble for taking without asking
before.”

Sara licked her lips. Maybe not the best time
to remind her of their first sizzling encounter. She was dying of
arousal. Was that possible? She was pretty sure it was. She slipped
her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and removed
them carefully, respectfully, so she couldn’t be accused of “taking
without asking.” She placed them by his pants, and then sat back on
her ankles and went still, because she wouldn’t do anything without
his permission. He’d told her he liked control, and she really,
really liked to be controlled.

“Look at me.” She felt the belt nudge under
her chin and she tilted her head up to see all six-feet-plus of her
lover towering over her, strong and tan, as finely wrought as a
statue. “Open your legs,” he said. “Straighten your back.”

She obeyed, trying not to flinch as he traced
her shoulders and breasts with his doubled-over belt. Oh, those
fingers. They were wrapped around the buckle, clenching it,
beautiful and broad knuckled. She had a thing for hands and
fingers, maybe because she was a trapezist and locating and
grabbing fingers was integral to her continued existence.

“Focus,” he said, tapping lightly at one of
her nipples. “Eyes on Master.”

Her gaze flew to his and he nodded in
approval. “Listen, little girl. This is an old building with very
thin walls. No matter what we do, you have to be quiet. Do you
understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now, I want you to go to my bedroom. I want
you to crawl there on your hands and knees.”

She started to obey, then realized she had no
idea where his bedroom was. “Which way, Master?”

“You have to find it.”

Ohhh. A game. She could crawl around on her
knees for an eternity if he enjoyed it. But then, she’d forgotten
about the belt.

Whack!

It caught her right under her ass cheeks, a
hot slap of fire. She cried out more from the surprise than the
pain of it, and he whacked her again. This time it was painful.

“Hush,” he said. “I told you to be quiet. Be
a good slave girl and go to my bedroom.”

She set off in the crawling version of a run.
It would be a lot easier to be a “good slave girl” if she knew
where she was going, and if he wasn’t following her around with a
whippy belt. His place was huge, unfamiliar, and there seemed to be
doors looming in every direction. She didn’t think his bedroom
would be near the kitchen, so she went toward the other side of the
house. She found a coat room first, and received a resounding smack
for her trouble. She swallowed her yelp of pain and shut the door
and went to the next one. A bedroom, but it was sparsely furnished,
with a small bed. Definitely not his. But she was in the location
of the bedrooms, thank God. The belt kept falling, hard smacks
interspersed with lighter ones, her burning ass a moving target for
his game.

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.”

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.