Protege

by Lydia Michaels

  She nodded, but still looked upset.

  “Did your parents spank you?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  It didn’t make sense. Everything about her paperwork pointed to a distaste for violence, yet she was drawn to the act of spanking. He frowned. “Did a foster parent perhaps?”

  She shivered, her eyes taking on a vacant glaze as she frowned. He imagined that her memories of childhood, having spent it in so many different homes, were a bit jumbled.

  “Collette?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Was it a means to an end for her? A necessary step in the healing process? A way to take accountability for her behavior? He wanted to know the root of her need, but he also wanted to know the gain.

  Her body began to tremble and he worried she was tearing herself up on the inside while he wasted time trying to comprehend this desire for corporal punishment.

  He gently touched her arm. “Come lie across my lap.”

  Taking a seat in the chair, he moved the ottoman out of the way and directed her to his lap. Her trembling stopped as her body folded over his legs.

  His palm dragged slowly over her behind, treading lightly over one cheek, his nails scraping deliciously against the slap mark on the other. Strange that her body did not quiver once with arousal, yet in bed she could find release from a good swat. He briefly ran his touch between her legs. Dry.

  “I’ll give you five and then that will be the end of this. You’ll accept my decision, as your body’s already suffered enough today.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Sir, not mon Monsieur. The French term was coined in a moment of confusion, an endearment he cherished from her lips. Yet addressing him as Sir was reserved for general purposes. This was not an intimate moment for her, but personal nonetheless. He wondered if she’d separated the disciplinarian from the lover for a reason.

  His palm came down quick, starting with the cheek he’d already marked. He did another and she gasped. The third was on the unmarked cheek, as was the fourth. His chest ached as he prepared for the fifth. Deep down he felt this punishment was undeserved, yet he sensed her need and struggled to fulfill it. It would be totally different had this been an erotic exercise.

  The fifth slap came quick and hard on her left buttock. She broke into a sob as her shoulders shook. Carefully, he pulled her to his chest and held her. “I have you. It’s over now. I have you.”

  She curled into him, soft mews slipping from her throat as though trying to hold them in.

  “You may cry, Collette. I won’t let go.”

  Her fingers tightened on his arm as she pressed her face into the curve of his shoulder and broke. His mind was troubled as he held her, his hand slowly stroking down her spine and rocking her gently. She cried for the better half of an hour and when she finished, she shivered and sniffled every now and again.

  He regretted his earlier decision that they sleep apart, but he supposed that made it a fair punishment, being that he should suffer too. Luckily, they still had a few hours left before that time came. As it was, he couldn’t let her go. Not in this state.

  She fell asleep in his arms and Jude considered taking a nap in the chair, but he didn’t want to drift and unintentionally loosen his hold, so he carefully moved her to his bed. In true Collette form, she didn’t flinch. He never saw a woman sleep so soundly in his life.

  When he was certain she wouldn’t be waking anytime soon, he went downstairs and called Ezra, hoping to get his opinion on the spanking situation.

  “You’re sure she wasn’t aroused?”

  “Positive.”

  “Maybe it’s arousing her in a different way.”

  “It doesn’t feel healthy, Ezra. I’ve delivered enough floggings in my life to know when someone’s reaching a subspace. There isn’t the same pivotal switch with this.”

  “Yet she didn’t want you to spank her the first time.”

  He was beginning to wonder if that was a mistake. “No, but then she came to me and offered the paddle.”

  “I don’t know, Jude. Maybe take her to visit Damien and Sadie and see how she reacts to them.”

  He groaned inwardly. “I’ve never been a sadist.”

  “I know. I also know how you treated Brys when he came to pick her up—as you requested. She’s pushing you out of character—not that that’s necessarily a bad thing to a degree, but we’re worried. She’s not yours to keep, Jude.”

  “I understand that, but she didn’t want to go to him. It’s complicated, but I know for a fact it was better that I let her stay here.”

  “Has she told you she loves you again?”

  “No. Not since that day.”

  “That doesn’t mean she’s stopped believing she does.”

  He sighed. “Did you not love Lynette?”

  Lynette was Ezra’s first friend on the scene. She was a dominatrix who could get the best of them to bow. Kneeling was something extremely difficult for men like him, but a necessary experience in order to fully respect the gift of submission. Ezra was her sub for almost a year before he confessed a need to be in charge. It was then he fell in love with her niece, Lea.

  “That was a different kind of love,” Ezra argued.

  “But still labeled as love.”

  Since the day Jude decided it was best she stay, his mind stopped working within timelines and questionnaires. He simply wanted her to stay and found it highly effective to be with her under that assumption. Not banking on an end cleared up a lot of the bullshit that had been clouding his judgment.

  He could explain that to Ezra now, but something told him it wasn’t the right time. His instinct told him protecting her meant protecting the delicate affection they shared until the time was right to make a move. Though he didn’t have a crystal ball, he knew he wouldn’t accept her moving on easily—if that was what she truly wanted.

  That was what everything came down to—what Collette wanted. Her needs would always come before his.

  “You have roughly a week left with her, Jude. I think it’s smart to start preparing her for that.”

  “I own a calendar. I’m aware of the dates.” Every second felt like precious gold slipping through his fingers. “But first I have to get to the bottom of this. I can’t qualify the behavior without knowing the root.” He needed to know her. All of her.

  “Take her to see Damien and Sadie. They’re in Fernweh right now, just back from Germany. I’m sure they’d be more than happy to assist.”

  ***

  Time was moving too fast, Collette thought as she helped Sadie with the dishes. They were once again having dinner at one of Jude’s friends’ homes, but this time Jude explained they would be staying later. She wasn’t sure what was coming, but felt the heated tension in the room between their hosts.

  Sadie was a very tall, willowy creature with fine bone structure and short pixie-like gray hair. Her hair did not denote her age; its coloring was a natural paling of time, Collette was sure. She estimated Sadie was likely in her midforties. She wore no makeup and her clothing was plain. The only accessory Collette noted was a thin collar around her neck, daintier than the one Lea wore.

  Damien, on the other hand, was very formal. He wore a suit while Jude had only dressed in jeans and a T-shirt for dinner. Damien’s shoes were Armani. His hair was thick, black, and long, but of the most beautiful sheen she’d ever seen. He seemed taller than he actually was and Collette had trouble looking him in the eye.

  “Are you excited for tonight?”

  Collette dried the silverware as Sadie washed the last dish. “I’m not really sure what’s on the schedule. Jude likes to surprise me.”

  She smiled. “Then I won’t spoil it for you.”

  After the kitchen and dining room were clean, Collette followed Sadie through the house. “Where did they go?�
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  Sadie grinned. “They’re waiting in the Great Room.”

  Outside the room, Sadie paused and opened a small closet. Collette nervously looked around when the other woman suddenly started removing her clothes. She folded them into a perfect square and retrieved a long leather strap, holding it reverently on her opened palms.

  “You should probably go to your man, now,” Sadie said.

  Collette was eager to get back to Jude and nodded. Just as she was walking into the Great Room—great didn’t seem an adequate term for such grand windows and thick trim—her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen.

  Come to me.

  Her heart raced with desire to do just that, a gentle pull at her loins to find him. She loved when he sent texts like that, clear and direct, so easy to achieve.

  His eyes found hers and pulled her in, tracking her every move and making it difficult to look away and note the furniture around the room. When she reached him she folded to her knees.

  His hand, so gentle and reassuring, grazed her jaw. “Beautiful peach. Tonight I think I’d like to hold you. Slide your panties out from under your dress and give them to me.”

  Anticipation filled her chest as she rose. Glancing around—what the fuck?

  Her eyes went wide as she stared at the wall of weapons and froze.

  “Collette?”

  It took manually forcing her muscles to move for her to turn back to Jude.

  “Is everything okay?”

  She swallowed thickly. Don’t you see it? Her tongue was filling her mouth, heavy and awkward, and her lips were numb. When she finally forced the words out, they came in a wheeze. “What are we doing here?”

  He gave her a level stare, the sort that expressed his need for her to trust him. “Watching. Only watching.”

  Watching what? Who? Why? She didn’t want to watch. All of those heavily braided tools and metal things—she knew they were supposed to be sexual—but to her they weren’t. She used to hate flipping through the channels and accidentally stumbling across a medical procedure. She’d rather watch open-heart surgery at the moment than see a live showing of those tools in action.

  Disappointment filled her, not disappointment in herself, but in the possibility that Jude might be trying to tell her something. Did he want her to participate in something with things like that? The sudden urge to cry, not weep, but actually cry like a petulant child came over her out of nowhere.

  Her head shook. “No.”

  His brow slowly arched as if warning her to rephrase her word choice. She wasn’t telling him no, she was begging the forces of nature and whatever god listened to make this go away, to not let this happen. She liked how gentle he was. She didn’t want him to have a taste for darker tendencies, desires she couldn’t satisfy.

  “Remove your panties and sit down, Collette. Damien’s eager to begin.”

  Trembling, she reached under her flared skirt and slid her panties down her thighs. Folding them twice, she handed them to him, and he placed them in his pocket.

  As she fit herself on his lap, her back to his chest and shoulder, his arms came around her front and her nerves slightly settled. But there was no tempering the worry in the front of her mind that he was trying to achieve something by being here.

  His breath whispered over her ear as his voice pitched soft and low. “While you observe them, I’ll be observing you. That’s all this is, peach.”

  His hand slid under her skirt as his knees hooked between hers and dragged them apart. His fingers dragged softly over her skin as he whispered in her ear again.

  “Now, you will be very quiet as we have the privilege of watching Damien and Sadie. We’re not here to judge, only to learn. Damien’s an experienced sadist and Sadie has been his masochistic sub for almost a decade. Watching them scene, the way they communicate flawlessly with their eyes, it’s like watching two lovers reconnect after a lifetime at war and finding reason to hope again.”

  Sadie walked out to the open area before the wall of torture devices and lowered herself to the floor. Her palms never dropped below her shoulders as she held her arms extended with the long strap folded in two.

  Her body folded into a child’s pose and those palms remained extended. It had to hurt. The muscles in her narrow back showed with knots of tension as she waited. There was no music, no talking, just them on a chair in the corner, watching, as Sadie bowed.

  Jude’s fingers continued to drift up her leg as they waited. His hand followed the crease of her thigh and hip until it rested over her sex. He left it there, just holding her, and she didn’t know why. It felt nice, his hand possessively cupping her delicate folds. But her mind was too worried about what would happen in this room to focus on much more beyond Sadie’s willowy form.

  The door opened and closed and Collette’s breath hitched as Damien stepped into the room. Jude had warned her not to judge, but it was difficult. She was quickly settling on not liking Damien, despite his hospitality and pleasant manners at dinner.

  He walked to the stage—it wasn’t actually a stage, but it might as well have been. It was impossible to look anywhere else, much like it was impossible to ignore the presence of a man like Damien.

  Jude wasn’t like that. He was quiet and gentle, yet demanding and threatening in a subtle way, perhaps more threatening than Damien because it took a lot to get him heated.

  Damien stood in front of Sadie and said something Collette couldn’t make out. The woman slowly rose and presented the long strap. Damien took the strap, gave it a testing tug, and then let it unravel. Collette’s eyes stopped blinking. Not a strap, a leash.

  Holding the fastening of the leash, he walked behind his wife and grabbed a handful of her hair, jerking her head back. Collette gasped and Jude gave a warning squeeze to her hip. “Try to stay quiet, peach,” he murmured.

  Damien attached the leash to Sadie’s collar and gave it a sharp tug, dragging her to her hands and knees. He walked along the wall, Sadie trailing behind in a crawl, as he perused the items on the wall.

  Collette’s dislike for the man grew, as she felt humiliated for his poor wife. No judging. She tried to not to form opinions, but it was impossible. She didn’t like the sight of a woman—the man’s wife—being led around like a dog.

  Her brow furrowed as he selected various items from the wall, showing them to Sadie and sometimes brushing them across her cheek in a way that gave Collette the chills. He laid them out with care on a long wooden slab of a table that looked like it belonged in the basement of a sixteenth-century castle.

  Her stomach twisted as the moment built. She was certain he would use one of those tools soon. It was outside her comprehension how someone could derive pleasure from being whipped. Good for them if they could, but whenever she was struck, it hurt. However, she’d never been whipped and . . . She was really judging them harshly.

  Forcing out a cleansing breath, she shook off her reservations and tried to watch with an open mind.

  “Peach, you need to open your eyes to see.”

  Damn it.

  Okay, she was watching—eyes open this time—without reservations or judgment. Sadie obviously was here of her own free will, and Jude had made it perfectly clear that no one entered Fernweh without a safe word.

  The leash was tugged and Sadie rose to her feet, her grace a testament to years of practice. Damien turned her to the wall and clamped her limbs in place, leaving her plastered there like a starfish.

  He returned to the table and slowly cuffed the sleeves of his dress shirt. When he returned to his wife, a sort of whip—Collette didn’t know the names—dangled at his side.

  “That’s a flogger,” Jude whispered. “He’ll use it to sensitize her first. He knows exactly where to strike and the right amount of pressure to achieve the desired effect.”

  Which was . . . ?

  Damien wh
ispered something in his wife’s ear and she hummed and mumbled something back. Then it began. The whooshing flicks of the flogger filled the silence as Sadie’s gentle moans told of the pleasure she was receiving.

  Collette frowned. He was brushing the tassels against his wife’s flesh as much as he was flicking them. A soft pattern slowly rose over Sadie’s skin, but he didn’t appear to be striking her hard at all. Maybe she could try something like this if that was what Jude wanted. But no leash. She couldn’t do the leash. Different strokes for different folks.

  When Sadie’s back, thighs, and shoulders were a rosy feathering of pink, he returned to the table. Jude’s fingers probed at Collette’s sex, catching her off guard. He didn’t go deep, probably because she was in such deep concentration she was bone dry.

  Damien removed the bindings and shoved his wife to her knees, her back now against the wall. He quickly wrapped her wrists with rope and pulled them high overhead.

  Jude’s finger slid deeper. “You like seeing her tied up?”

  Perhaps she did. There was something about being restrained, something about the rope that excited her in a way the cuffs against the wall did not.

  His thumb stroked her clit as they watched. Damien pulled a hook down and tied the other end of the rope so Sadie’s arms would stay suspended.

  Her breasts appeared flat as the muscles of her arms pulled, and then Damien withdrew his erection from his pants. Collette intended to look away, but a second later the flash of hard flesh disappeared in his wife’s mouth.

  His palms flattened on the walls as his hips thrust fast—too fast. How was Sadie breathing? All Collette could hear were the slurping, gagging sounds of the woman choking on his cock. It was too much and she couldn’t find the evidence of the love she’d glimpsed earlier.

  Turning her face into Jude’s chest she looked away. “He’s so rough with her,” she whispered.

  His fingers brushed over her folds, her arousal a forgotten memory. “She enjoys it that way. He does it for her, not to harm her. It’s how she finds release.”