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“Mr. Lemaitre is coming. He’s five minutes away.”
Valentina gawked. “What does that mean? What must I do?”
“He wants you waiting in the living room.” He held up his phone, pointing to a text in French. Mr. Lemaitre couldn’t have texted her? He was her Master, after all. But no, he had to text this stranger so the man could give her orders. It annoyed her, mostly because her mind was about to snap from boredom. She stomped to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, fingercombed her hair and put on a little lip gloss. She turned to check out her cuts. Healing quickly...the cream he’d applied must have helped. Out in the living room she flung herself sideways on the couch and frowned at Galvin. “Can I sit down while I’m waiting here?”
“You can,” he said with a small incline of his head. “But you’d better be on your feet when he comes through that door.”
Something about the way he said it cut through her bored irritation and started a little thump of arousal in her clit. You’d better be on your feet. She was Mr. Lemaitre’s slave, here to serve him from the moment he got home.
Well, at least it would give her something to do.
The door opened a moment later. Valentina leaped up, struck, as always, by the sight of Mr. Lemaitre. Tall, elegant, in a fine wool coat that hugged his shoulders. He didn’t look at her right away, although she was sure he knew she was there. Instead he greeted Galvin, shrugging out of his coat. He took off his jacket next, and handed them both to the younger man, who carried them out of the room. Only then did he turn his gaze to her. “How are you, Valentina?” he asked.
“I’m bored.”
His lips curved in a hint of a smile. “I don’t doubt it. You might have worked today if you’d made better choices last night. You were missed by your colleagues. Jason in particular asked about you.”
“What did you tell him?”
His smile faded. “The truth. That you’ve bargained away your freedom for the next month in a regrettable act of foolishness.” His gaze flicked toward the kitchen. “You’ve become acquainted with Galvin?”
“He’s been staring at me all day,” she sniffed. “Lurking around. I think he wants me.”
“He’s gay, my dear.” Mr. Lemaitre tugged at the knot of his tie. “I wouldn’t have left him alone with you otherwise. He would have spent all day fucking you rather than watching you.” As he pulled off his tie, Galvin drifted back in and lifted it from his fingers. She watched him leave again, feeling piqued.
“I don’t need a babysitter, you know.”
Mr. Lemaitre stopped in the act of unbuttoning his top button. “Do you think I would leave you here to your own devices?”
“Why not? What would I have done?” The man’s house was so empty and boring, she couldn’t have found many ways to get into trouble.
He flipped through some mail on the table by the door. “While you belong to me, I’ll want to know everything you do. It arouses me to monitor and control you. I pay Galvin to keep my home, and as a bonus, he serves as my eyes and ears. Get used to it.”
“Why don’t you use slaves for your housekeeping chores?”
He threw down the stack of mail and turned to her with an annoyed expression. “Because most of them are useless at housework. They do shoddy jobs only to be punished. It’s tiresome, just like your unending questions. Come here.”
She crossed to him, unsure if he was going to embrace her or slap her. What he did was turn her around to look at her back. He said a few words in French, words she recognized as expletives. “Still not healed enough to beat you as I would like. But you could bear a spanking.”
Before she could process his words, he dragged her toward the couch. With an efficient grace, he pulled her down over his lap. Okay, a spanking wouldn’t be that bad, surely. If she could survive a whip...
Whap! The first smack sounded obscenely loud echoing off the bare walls. And oh, it was way worse than she thought. Whap, whap, whap. His hand rained down in an unending barrage of crisp, sharp slaps to her ass cheeks. Her determination to remain still, to bear it with dignity, soon flew out the window. She wiggled and arched against his strong thighs and the smooth, fine fabric of his pants. “Ow, Master... Please.”
He stopped, rubbing his palm over her heated ass cheeks. “‘Please?’ We’re only getting started. You need this, my dear—I find it a tried-and-true method for silencing questions. There’s only one thing you need to know here. I will rule and you will submit. When I am anywhere near you, your entire concentration will be focused on what I want, what I need. When you annoy or question me, you will be punished and instructed how better to behave to my liking. This will be lesson number one, to be followed by others.”
Her heart fluttered and beat harder at his firm warning...while other parts of her fluttered in a different way. “How many others?” she managed to ask, pressing her legs together.
“As many as it takes, until I’ve molded you into my perfect slave.”
“Or until my time is up,” she said shakily.
“I promise you, I’ll accomplish my aims long before then.”
With those words, he resumed spanking her. His hands were so large, and his arms so powerful. She didn’t think a spanking could hurt worse than being marked with a snake whip, but she was reconsidering that assumption. She cried and fidgeted, wondering if Galvin would come help her if she screamed his name.
No, he wouldn’t.
Her Master tightened his grip on her arm. “Stop pulling away. You must accept whatever I choose to do to you. I own you.” The spanks rose to even greater intensity. “If you can’t remember that, I’ll sodomize you against the wall again, while you stare long and hard at the terms you agreed to. I did warn you before you signed, girl. I did offer you escape.”
Valentina swallowed a sob. Escape? Why would she want escape? His discipline and demands were the necessary antidote to her tormented wildness. Her whole life she had lived for this moment, for the person with the will and stubbornness to subdue her and show her she had no other choice but to shape up. She was wet and hot for him, and anxious to be molded into his vision of the perfect slave. She wanted that. She belonged here with him, even if her ass cheeks stung so bad she could hardly bear it. She stayed as still as she could, surrendering as far as her body would allow. But oh...it hurt like fire, like irons being laid against her skin. Tears squeezed from her eyes and dripped onto the hardwood floor below.
Finally he stopped, and used those big, punishing hands to guide her to her feet in front of him. She felt herself curling in, assuming a defensive posture. “Don’t slouch,” he said. “Stand up tall. Your posture should always be one of presentation. Do you understand what that means?”
She shook her head, wiping away tears.
“Presentation. Display. Display yourself to your Master for his pleasure. Don’t slouch and cower.” As he spoke, he poked and prodded her, straightening her hips and pinching her breasts. Then he held up his hands. “Put your nipples against my palms.”
She had to thrust her breasts out to do so. Apparently it was the effect he sought, because he dropped his hands and said, “Stay. Yes. Just like that.”
Her nipples stung from his pinches, but her face stung worse, from embarrassment. No, not embarrassment. Exposure. She wasn’t in charge of her body anymore...all her limbs and curves were for him. It gave her a frightened, bereft feeling, at the same time it made her desperate to be close to him. He watched her as if waiting to see if she would comment, or question him again. She didn’t.
He pulled her right between his legs, reminding her to maintain her presentation posture. She did her best, holding her spine taut even as her ass throbbed with lingering heat.
“Let’s begin with some words, little slave. Four words, easy to remember.” He grasp
ed her face between his fingers. “I serve you, Master.”
She got lost a moment in his eyes. He had to give her a brisk slap on the cheek to refocus her. “Repeat it. I serve you, Master.”
“I serve you, Master,” she said in a loud, clear voice. It was sinking in, the totality of it. She wasn’t the old Valentina anymore, but someone else, someone he was creating to his specifications.
“Say it again,” he said. “I don’t want you to forget it. I serve you, Master.”
“I serve you, Master.” She flinched as he took one of her nipples between his fingers and pinched it even harder than before. The pain grew in intensity until she quailed away from it. He tsked and cupped her neck.
“Who do you serve?”
She tried to think through the pain he gave her. She’d just learned this! “I serve you, Master,” she finally cried.
“Show me. Don’t flinch when I hurt you. Accept it.”
He pinched her other nipple, so, so much harder than before, and she ground her teeth to stay her pleas of mercy. Her body tensed with the effort to stay still.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, staring into her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Yes, Master,” he corrected, tightening his fingers until she felt hot, aching pain.
“Yes, Master,” she gasped, holding his ice-blue gaze.
“Do you deserve to be hurt?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Why?”
This was the most painful part—understanding why she needed this, and facing the fact that she was so often out of control. Could he train her to be better? To control her temper, her passions, to think before she spoke? She wanted to become worthy of his affection, so his disdainful prompts were a nightmare beyond the pain in her breasts.
“I deserve to be punished because I...I’m bad,” she said.
Something in his eyes flickered. “No. Try again.”
