Bound in Blue (3 page)

“I’m turning you down because you’re
leaving.” To her horror, she felt tears glossing over her eyes.
That was all she needed, to start bawling in front of him.

“I’m not leaving yet.” His fingers trailed
over her jaw line. “I have three days. Maybe four.”

“One night,” she heard herself say. “One
time.”

Really, Sara?
After all that, she was
going to give in? But the pull…the pull was so strong.

He let go of her face and touched her arm.
“If you like, it can just be a scene. No sex. It can be anything
you want it to be.”

She gave a short, fluttery laugh. “No
sex?”

“Or sex. Lots of sex. Either way.”

She hugged her bag closer. “This is a
horrible idea.”

“We’ll probably have a horrible time, but as
you said, it’s just one night.”

She ignored his teasing, his beguiling smile,
and spoke with intensity. “I meant what I said. One night, because
you’re leaving and I don’t want to get attached to you only to say
goodbye. I don’t want you trying to talk me into anything else. Not
two nights. Not three nights. One night together. That’s all.”

“Okay. One night.”

“You promise? Say it to me. ‘
I won’t try
to talk you into anything else
.’” She stared at him so he would
understand how serious she was.

“One night,” he said after a moment. “I won’t
try to talk you into anything else.” Again, the teasing edges of
his mouth turned up. “You’re awfully demanding for a slave
type.”

“I’m not making demands. I’m
negotiating.”

He threw his head back and laughed. It was
such a rich, surprising sound that she couldn’t hold back an
answering smile. She hadn’t smiled in so long.

One night. She’d earned it this last couple
years. She would deal with the loss of him later. She told herself
it was better than dealing with the loss of him now.

He slid a hand around her waist and placed
another on her neck. He squeezed, not hard, but hard enough to make
her tremble. “Do you like it rough or gentle, Sara? Playful or
intense?”

She should lie and say gentle. Playful. He
was a stranger, someone she hadn’t known a couple hours ago.

But he would know if she lied. He stared at
her as if he was analyzing every feature, every whisper of emotion
on her face. In the end she gave him truth, because they only had
this one time. “I like it intense, Master. I like it to hurt.” His
fingers tightened against her pulse, prompting deeper confessions.
“I like it to feel real.”

His lips closed a moment, then opened. She
could feel his cock against her front, a large, hard warning of
things to come.
What are you getting yourself into? He’s a huge
guy. He could take you somewhere and beat you to death.

But he wouldn’t. She knew with some inborn,
animal sense that this man preferred to nurture, not destroy. She
could see in his eyes that he understood her—and even better, that
he knew how to meet her needs. “Where can I get something hurty in
this city?” he asked. “A whip? A cane? I find myself suddenly in
need of one.”

She shivered, holding his gaze for long
seconds. “There’s a shop around the corner.”

What are you doing, Sara?

But it was out of her hands now. It was
force, magnetism drawing them together. Push and pull.

At the sex shop, Jason selected a slim rattan
cane from a corner case, and a pair of wide leather cuffs. With
Sara there to haggle for him, he avoided paying a tourist tax. Even
better, he found the items to be of exceptional quality. The cuffs
weren’t pleather, but real, fur-lined leather in caramel brown. As
for the cane, rattan was rattan, but it was finely turned and
polished. Sara swallowed hard when he picked it out. The shopkeeper
slid the items into a discreet black bag Jason carried under his
arm until they could hail a cab.

Now he faced her across a quiet, dim hotel
room, raging with lust for her. What had become of his
self-discipline? His control?
One night.
He had one night
and he wanted to make it good for her, make it a night she’d
remember her entire life.

“Undress,” he said, pitching his voice low
and firm.

She complied at once, slipping gracefully
into her role. No bratting, thank God. No nonsense, no games. She
stopped when she stood in her lingerie from the club, her pretty
bra and garter skirt. “Do you want me to leave these on?” she
asked.

“What did I tell you?”

Jason wasn’t a yeller. He wasn’t a scolder.
He said it to her matter-of-factly. It was his gaze that made her
cringe and blush.

“You said to undress, Master,” she said,
bowing her head.

“Did I instruct you to leave anything
on?”

“No, Master.”

“Does that answer your question?”

There, that was a good beginning. Establish
authority and strict boundaries. Instill a little fear. It was his
own playbook, one he’d developed over years in the lifestyle. He
was a hardass. She might as well know.

She peeled off her lingerie, eyeing the cane
as he tested it in his hands. The hotel room was large but austere.
Not very classy, but his soft-voiced slave girl lent a sensual
beauty to the stark space. When she stood before him, vulnerable
and naked, he laid the cane on the bed and approached her. He loved
being clothed when his slaves were naked…a delicious imbalance of
power. He stroked her cheek, brushed a hand over her soft black
locks. Only then did he shed his suit jacket, tossing it over the
back of a chair. His tie came next, then he started flicking open
buttons.

“I want to touch you,” she said in the barest
whisper as he shrugged off his shirt.

He didn’t answer, only pulled her close
against his front, so he could feel the press of her firm breasts
and the hardness of her nipples. As he did so, he drew her hands
behind her back and held them there for ten seconds. Fifteen maybe.
Just enough to make her shake, and then he let them go. “You can
touch me if you like. For a moment. Then I’m going to be doing the
touching.”

She reached out to him, gingerly at first.
She stroked his chest and shoulders, and his abs, down to the
waistband of his jeans. She wasn’t only touching him, although that
would have been stimulant enough. She was
admiring
him. His
cock pulsed and his muscles jumped to life under her hands. He was
stiff and sore from a fourteen-hour plane trip, so her squeezing,
massaging exploration felt like heaven. He groaned and flexed as
she applied pressure in all the right spots. Every so often she
made little approving sounds, as she outlined his abs or measured
the width of his shoulders with her palms.

When she caressed lower, holding his gaze, he
let her undo his belt, flick open the button of his pants and draw
down the zipper. She slipped a hand inside his boxer briefs,
peeking up at him from beneath her lashes. His cock bucked against
her fingers and his whole body tensed. The way she explored him,
like he was some wonderland she’d discovered…

Next thing he knew, she was falling to her
knees, tugging down his waistband. He arrested her wrists with a
sharp sound. “Naughty girl. Slaves don’t take whatever they want.
Not my slaves, anyway.”

She stared at him a moment, then crumpled
into a ball, pressing her forehead to the back of his hand.
“Master, I’m so sorry. I beg your forgiveness. How forward I’ve
been!”

Jason loved begging, especially from naked,
pretty girls. He let her go on for a while, about what a shamed,
worthless slave she was, about how she ought to be punished, and
then he grasped a handful of her hair. She looked up at him, real
anguish in her features. Ah, she was so good at this. His fist
tightened and curled into the silken strands.

“Of course I’ll punish you. That’s how you
learn, yes?”

“Yes, Master.”

He heard true submission, true feeling in her
response, even though they both knew he wasn’t really her Master.
She was trying so hard to make this good for him, and he was bound
and determined to do the same. He went for the cuffs, buckling them
around her wrists with a grim, stern expression.

“You need control, yes?” he asked. “You need
to be put in your place.”

“Yes, Master.”

He clipped the cuffs together in front of
her, then held them in one hand. “You’re very quick with the
Yes, Master
s. I hope you mean them.”

“I do,” she cried. “I want to serve you.”

Goddamn her, his cock was about to explode.
His fingers tightened around her bound wrists. “Let’s see if that’s
really true.”

He guided her, face down, to the carpeted
floor, until she was propped on her elbows and knees, then he
placed a hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her lower. He
said “Stay,” and then he grasped and lifted her hips.

What a view. This was worth it, all that
begging, all that pleading and fighting for his needs. She was
smooth all over, delicate and feminine. He couldn’t resist
assessing her as a scout, a coach. She had a beautiful,
proportionate body and long smooth muscles that hinted at hidden
strength. At his lightest guiding touch, she arched her back and
pressed her knees together, her forehead resting on the floor and
her bound hands curled into fists above her head.

“I want you to stay this way,” he warned. “No
matter what I do to you.”

In answer, she uncurled her fists and spread
her fingers wide against the rough carpet. Lovely, obedient girl.
He went to the bed to pick up the cane, letting her worry and shake
for a bit. They’d done no bargaining, no real negotiating aside
from her insistence that they play only this one night. How
trusting she was to follow him here and let him bind her hands. To
let him use a cane on her. He wanted to punish her for her
recklessness more than anything.

“Please, Master,” she said in a trembling
voice as he took up a position behind her. Did she mean
Please,
Master, don’t hurt me
? Or
Please, Master, just get it over
with
? Or did she really love the cane?

“Did you mean what you said earlier, slave
girl? About liking pain?” He asked not only for safety’s sake, but
because she fascinated him and he wanted to know.

She didn’t even hesitate. “If you wish to
punish me, Master, then I wish to be hurt.”

He traced the tip of the cane up one
quivering thigh and down the other. “Stop with the role-playing for
a second. Answer me honestly. How hard can I go?”

She turned her head back toward him, thinking
a moment. “Hard enough to make it feel real.”

His already-engorged cock swelled even hotter
with pleasure. “Eyes down then. Be still. I’m going to make it feel
real for you.”

“Thank you, Master,” he heard her whisper as
he drew back his arm to land the first stroke. He loved these kinds
of games, loved to see her body jolt and the pink cane stripe bloom
and deepen on her skin. He hadn’t started with an awful stroke, no,
but it wasn’t a warm-up either. She yelped and squeezed her legs
together, her little ass cheeks clenching and unclenching. It made
a lovely target for the second stroke. Jason was an experienced
D-type—he knew canes hurt like hell—but he’d also come to
understand that some women needed pain to arouse them, to open them
up.

He watched his reckless slave girl, looking
for signs that the pain was right. On the third stroke she made a
pleading sound and drew her spread fingers into fists. On the
fourth stroke she cried out, but then she arched her back higher,
as if to offer herself for more. Oh, beautiful. So beautiful. He
gave her one more stroke in that graceful position and then
paused.

“Spread your legs.”

She looked back at him, blinking. He wouldn’t
repeat himself, because he knew she’d heard him the first time.
“Are we a naughty slave girl or a good slave girl?” he asked. “Show
me.”

Slowly, she lowered her head and inched her
legs apart.

“Wider. I want your knees two feet apart and
I want your ass in the air. I want to see everything, clit, pussy
lips, asshole.”

He was mindfucking her a little. Trying to
scare her. Trying to make it feel
real
. She complied with a
lovely mien of dread, offering her body to him in the requested
explicit pose. He took a moment to sit on the bed and admire the
picture. Her bare pussy glistened, her engorged clit peeking from
between the folds. Her little asshole spasmed with fear or
nervousness. Caning a woman wasn’t strenuous but she was putting a
huge strain on his cock. He stood and moved behind her. Again, her
fingers curled into fists above her head, but she didn’t cringe,
didn’t cower. Maybe she whimpered, just a little bit.

Music to his ears.

He enjoyed playing like this, pushing her
boundaries, keeping her in the dark about how many strokes she’d
get, or how hard they’d become. Right now, she was scared of
getting caned on her sensitive center. The prospect was tempting.
He slid the tip of the cane along her labia to tease over the bud
of her clit. She made a sound somewhere between terror and bliss,
lifting her hips for more at the same time she shuddered with
misery.

It was so hard not to drop to his knees and
thrust into her and fuck her across the floor, but it wasn’t time
for that yet, not for either of them. Again, he slid the cane over
her gleaming slit until she dipped and danced to feel the pleasure
of its touch.

“Keep your legs open,” he said. “Arch that
back and offer yourself to me like a good slave.”

She complied with another nut-clenching
whimper. Blood swarmed in his pelvis, arousal building to a fever
pitch. He drew back his arm and saw her tensing. Waiting.

Yes, this one enjoyed pain.

* * * * *

Sara drew in a deep breath and held it,
bracing for God knew what. That was the scary thing about giving a
complete stranger control over your body. She’d never done anything
like this before, but then, she’d never met a man like Jason
before, who was kind and protective and stern, and breathtakingly
handsome all at once.