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.