Master's Flame (Cirque Masters 3)

“You shouldn’t be here, Miss Sancia. Do you have any idea what goes on inside?” He nodded toward the door as his slaves stripped out of their form-fitting fetish wear.

Her eyes skimmed their way. It was difficult for a normal person to ignore the sight of their nude bodies, much less this sex-crazed woman. “I know what goes on, monsieur,” she said. “I’ve heard.”

“What have you heard?”

“That there is dominance and submission. That you have slaves. I know about the lifestyle, of course.”

Off course. “What do you know?” he challenged. “Have you ever dominated anyone?”

Her eyes strayed again to his slaves, the two men waiting for orders with a servility so natural it seemed inborn. “I’m not dominant. I’m a submissive, like them.”

He respected people’s self-identification in all things, but in this case, he couldn’t keep a straight face. “Does it come easily to you? Submission?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it,” she admitted after a moment. “But I don’t like easy things, and I think I’d enjoy being overpowered if someone could actually do it.”

This, he could believe. People submitted for many reasons, all of them fascinating, all of them deeply personal. If she liked the challenge of submission, she would enjoy watching him play with his slaves. He took in her skimpy, sexy outfit, his eyes catching on the lines of the black garter belt set off by her pale skin. Such clothing was power, protection. Distraction in her case, with every curve emphasized and on display. “You must undress if you want to come in. No clothing is permitted within my inner sanctum.”

He didn’t expect Valentina to balk at the regulation, and she didn’t. She undressed until she stood before him as proudly naked as his slaves, her acrobat’s body a wonder to behold. Next to his broad, muscular playthings, she appeared an ultra-feminine pillar of eroticism. Her small, firm breasts jutted forward, tipped by taut nipples. At a signal, his pets collected her clothing, folding and stacking it neatly next to theirs. Another gesture and the men knelt, heads bowed, one at either side of him.

Valentina looked impressed. She regarded their naked splendor hungrily, the little nympho. He cleared his throat to get her attention. “What draws you to power exchange?” he asked. “Only enjoyment? Only sex?”

“I know there’s more to it than that. I know there must be trust, and negotiating, and safewords.”

“Safewords?” He gave a tight smile. “There is nothing safe about words. Something to remember if you ever give your body over to a dominant’s will.”

“I don’t care about being safe.” Her fingers twisted together in the intensity of her confession. “I want pain and surrender. I want to be subdued, pushed to my limits. Forced to obey.”

“Do you?” How he wished to reach out and touch her. You will harm this one, his conscience whispered. If she does not destroy you first.

The warnings blared in his brain each time he thought about taking what she so blatantly offered. He must turn her off. He looked away, feigning disinterest in her body, in her submission. He undressed in silence, giving each article of clothing to his fastidious pets to put away. Valentina made no attempt to disguise her curiosity. He would have been disappointed if she did. Her eyes caressed every part of his body, lingering on his thickening cock. He enjoyed her admiration but seduction wasn’t the point of this interlude.

What is the point, Michel? Besides lying to yourself?

With great effort, he silenced his misgivings and led La Vampa into his most sacred space.

The “Back Room” as it was called, was of stone and concrete. It was smaller, quieter, but no less depraved than the rest of the club. Chains hung from wood beams in the ceiling, and racks, benches, a cage, and a sex swing decorated the stark space. In the corner, a large chair dominated a raised platform. It was his chair, the throne from which he surveyed his kingdom of kink. Sometimes, at his invitation, this space was filled with a hundred people. Today, it held only him, his slaves, and her.

Valentina drew a deep breath beside him. “It’s so beautiful.”

Odd. He had never considered it beautiful. Dark, forbidding, even claustrophobic, but beautiful?

“Look around if you like,” he said, because he could tell she wanted to. With a soft sigh she left him, circling the perimeter of the room. She studied everything, touching and tracing, making exclamations of delight. His slaves remained motionless, one at either side of him, awaiting instructions. They were much better trained than Valentina. For all her claims of submissive tendencies, she had no training at all. And it must stay that way. Do not imagine her kneeling down, conquered. Do not imagine her whimpering at your feet.

He let her explore the room as she liked, but when she would have reached to grab a flogger off his wall, he made a sound that arrested her and she moved away. Her eyes were huge, bright with curiosity. She made her way to his large chair, the deep, embossed leather chair that no one ever dared sit in, and made herself at home in the seat. What must his slaves think? But they were not allowed to judge or react, or do anything but obey his orders.

He crossed to her and held out a hand, pointing with his other to a place on the floor. “I sit in the chair, my dear. You may sit here. Do not move a millimeter without my permission, do you understand?”

Valentina settled beside him without argument, hugging her knees to her chest. She showed no reserve or alarm. Somehow he wanted to change that. How could she be so glib here in his dreaded dungeon room with two of the most masochistic slaves he’d ever owned?

“Soixante-neuf,” he commanded, gesturing between them. “Make it beautiful for our guest.”

The young men fell into one another’s arms, so eager to please. Even so, he was about to let them go, release them from their servitude to Le Maître. He would have to stop thinking about them as the pets, the boys, the slaves, and let them return to being the strong and intelligent human beings they were. He tilted his head to the side as they wound themselves into a grasping sixty-nine position. He would miss them, but they would have each other, along with a great deal of erotic memories.

Beside him, Valentina gawked. She was no sexual innocent. He could only believe her intense regard was due to their handsomeness, their grunting avidity. After some time, she looked up at him. “Why don’t they come?” she asked. “Their cocks seem about to burst.”

“They only come if I allow it. Otherwise, they are punished. In this room, they obey me in all things. They’ll fuck me if I ask them to, or fuck you if I demand it, however and wherever you like, even though they are both homosexual. They do as they are told.”

“Oh.” Her breathless oh sounded like a question.

“Is there something else you’d like to ask?”

He expected her to request a Maxim and Leo sandwich, but instea

d her brows drew together. “What do they get from all this? I mean, if you deny their pleasure?”

Michel shrugged. “They get pleasure from suffering, and from pleasing me.”

“What happens if they refuse to do as you ask?”

“They’re punished.”

“Punished how? If you are already hurting them?”

Her barrage of questions both amused and annoyed him. “They are punished in various ways,” he said, waving a hand toward the wall of implements. “Harsh punishments, because they’re masochists. They get pleasure from being hurt and humiliated. The trick is to be cruel in a way that excites them.”

She eyed their red, thrusting cocks. “So they feel pleasure and pain at the same time?”

“Precisely. How quickly you learn. In addition to not letting them come, perhaps I will force them to make us come while they remain unsatisfied. What do you think?”

She looked impressed. “I think you’re very good at being cruel.”

She was starting to get the idea. He turned to the two men, still hard, burning with lust. Grasping for control. Objectification had always been their favorite kink. “Stand up. Let her look at you.” He reached down and stroked Valentina’s soft red hair. “Choose the one you like most, dear.”

She looked taken aback. “But if they’re gay—”

“Choose.”

“Well…which one is least gay?”

He laughed, and noted that even Leo’s lips twitched in the hint of a smile. “They are both exceedingly gay. Which one’s cock do you find most pleasing?”

She looked at his own lap, at his increasingly stiff rod, then back up to meet his gaze. “Yours.”

“I see the concept of obedience escapes you. I asked you to choose one of my slaves for your sexual pleasure. If you won’t do it, I will.”

Now his authority—and displeasure—was focused on her. She shivered. “If it pleases you, yes. You choose for me.”

What a submissive thing to say. Perhaps, despite her bold personality, a submissive spark curled inside her, waiting to be fanned into flame. He didn’t need any more reasons to want her, not as he tried to keep her at arm’s length. This little display on the rigors of slavery didn’t seem to be putting her off at all.