CollarMeinParis

by Sidney Bristol

  “I feel bad for how hard we were on you last year.”

  Clay slanted his gaze toward his brother-in-law. His reception hadn’t been warm and fuzzy, but he’d understood then that some things were worth fighting for. Bianca was one of them. “Don’t worry about it. If I had a sister, I’d be just as protective of her.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. We didn’t know anything about you. Bianca barely mentioned she was dating anyone, but she hardly ever says anything so it shouldn’t have surprised us.”

  He snorted. Bianca? Quiet? In comparison to the cacophony of brotherly love, maybe. Still, he didn’t miss the odd twinge in Jason’s voice. He didn’t have a frame of reference to gauge how difficult it would be for a loved one to keep anything from him, except Bianca. Because of the nature of their relationship, if she chose to keep a secret she had that right, but he wouldn’t like it either.

  “I get it,” he said after a moment.

  “Where the hell are we going?” Jason groused.

  Clay slid his hand into his pocket before he remembered the lack of his phone. This was going to be a serious problem. He had a habit of checking it for everything.

  “No idea.” But he did enjoy watching the sway of Bianca’s ass in a slim black skirt and knee-high boots. The last time she’d worn them had been to their BDSM club, and his testicles ached in remembered pain from the ball-busting she’d administered.

  “Amy and I were talking about taking a cruise vacation next year. It’s not a family thing, but you two should think about joining us.”

  He glanced at Jason, surprised by the offer. “That would be cool. Let me talk it over with B.”

  “Come on, slowpokes,” Michael bellowed. The other two couples had outpaced them by a good thirty yards.

  There was less foot traffic and almost no cars going by. If Kevin weren’t acting as if he knew exactly where they were going, Clay might be tempted to turn around and find the subway station.

  He watched as Kevin and Michael paused at a doorway. A few people clustered around the dim glow seeping from the entrance. Their dark clothing and abbreviated hemlines made him think perhaps they were running off the beaten path and into his territory. Bianca glanced over her shoulder, the same suspicion on her face.

  “What the heck is this place?” Jason muttered.

  Clay kept his thoughts to himself as they passed through the doors into a foyer where an attendant sat behind bars taking money and stamping hands. The first two couples were already stamped and waiting. Kevin and his wife stood entwined and snickering at a man wearing pleather pants and toying with the collar around a woman’s neck. While in his opinion the young Dom and sub appeared to be playing it up for their audience, it merely confirmed Clay’s suspicions that they were not where he wanted to be with his in-laws.

  “Kevin, what is this place?” Bianca asked, wrinkling her nose as if she were an innocent.

  Kevin kissed his wife’s neck loudly. “It’s a club. What does it look like?”

  Jason and Amy hung to one side of the ticket booth, unease creasing their faces. Bianca half turned to him, her face serene. He dug out the cash and stepped up to the booth.

  “Excuse me, what is this place?”

  “Night club.” The woman enunciated each word, and still it was hard to understand her.

  “All right. Two please.” He held up his thumb and index finger.

  She took the money and stamped both their hands. Mentally he scrambled to recall in what areas of Paris the two well-known BDSM clubs were located. To the best of his memory they were not anywhere near them, but he could be wrong. Though from what he did understand, there was an almost fanatical dress code that required both a membership and fetish wear for admittance. And they were walking through the doors in plain clothes.

  “Clay?” Bianca’s voice was almost lost amidst the pulsing music.

  He quickly scanned the club, noticing a fair number of people clothed in some manner of fetish-appropriate clothing and others dressed simply for dancing. Scantily clad men and women writhed in cages and on a stage across the dance floor a man was using a felt whip on a nearly nude woman.

  The tension didn’t leave his shoulders, but it appeared to be some kind of alternative night club where vanilla could flirt with kink.

  He placed his hand on the small of Bianca’s back and kissed the crown of her head. He’d love nothing more than to submit to her here, but not with her brothers watching.

  The group retreated to the bar where they spent a good deal of time ordering drinks before finding enough chairs to seat all of them.

  “This is so weird,” Bianca muttered to him as she sank into her chair.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “God, look at those freaks,” Michael said loudly, not even trying to be discreet.

  “What the hell is wrong with them?” Jennifer’s lip curled with disgust.

  Clay glanced over his shoulder to where another Dom was running a cane over his sub’s shoulders, caressing her with the implement of her future pain. Bianca had a similar cane that left welts six inches long if she hit just right. Sometimes she’d use it on him as hard as she could on Friday, and he’d still feel them on Monday at work. Guess that made him a freak.

  What would her brothers say if they knew their sister was like that man?

  He glanced at Bianca and found her watching him. Though her expression was guarded, he knew her well enough to feel the restless energy radiating off her. She didn’t like being here, and he couldn’t say he was fond of it either.

  Chapter Six

  Bianca grabbed Clay’s hand and pulled him out of his chair. She couldn’t take any more of the snotty remarks from her siblings. If they sat there any longer she was going to say something both she and her husband would regret.

  “Come on, let’s dance.”

  Clay’s brows rose but he followed her lead out onto the dance floor. The people closed around them, cutting them off from her family. He pulled her back against his chest and swayed. He’d shuffle one leg and then the other, not quite coordinated enough to manage moving in time to the music. Though he tried, there was no hiding his inability to dance.

  Still, she put her hands over his and ground her ass against the erection that had been teasing the front of his jeans all night. She closed her eyes and allowed the music to roll through her. The bass was so loud it vibrated her chest, speaking a rhythm to her body.

  She twined her arms up over her head and stroked the back of Clay’s neck. He dropped his mouth to her shoulder and kissed the sweet spot. The mood of the club mixed with the music was sensual. She twisted in his arms and slid against him.

  Bianca cupped Clay’s ass and found the head of the plug through his jeans. He jerked against her, squeezing her tighter to his chest and faltering in his shuffle and bob form of dance. Moving her finger around the circular top, she wiggled it and smothered her grin in his shirt. No one else in the crowd knew what was going on. They were just another couple dancing. Someone jostled her from behind and she gripped him harder, shoving the plug in a little deeper. Clay’s hands dug into her shoulders and he groaned into her ear.

  They’d moved to the edge of the dance floor in the shuffle. She glanced at the tables her siblings had occupied but they were gone. It didn’t bother her that they’d left them to dance, she loved her brothers but they could be a little much.

  She went up on tiptoe and leaned against Clay. “I want to see if that Dom is around and if he’s going to do any caning.”

  They needed to make use of any time alone they could get, after all. The opportunity was too good to pass up.

  Clay nodded, probably already jealous of the female sub they’d seen earlier who would be receiving the caning.

  Hand-in-hand, they investigated the back regions of the club. Decorative screens and a few oddly hung curtains gave the area a secluded, private feel. A lounge area was set up and, in the midst of the casual décor, the female sub from earlier lay over a small, circu
lar table. The back of her dress swooped low enough to expose most of her spine and ribs. She had a thin frame, the kind one would expect on a runway model. It made Bianca want to feed the woman a cheeseburger and fries. An extra-large combo. Pink marks decorated her alabaster flesh, indications they were late to the show.

  It was clear from the audience that there was at least some interest in BDSM among the crowd. Perhaps this wasn’t a club that catered to the lifestyle, but permitted it on the fringes. Regardless, she was interested to see her first French Dom in action.

  The man moved around the woman, touching her with the cane. He ran the end along her spine, over the fleshiest part of her waist and up through her loose hair. The sub shivered, but otherwise held perfectly still.

  The Dom glanced up and their gazes locked. Bianca wondered what kind of man he would be. She knew the reputation of French Dommes was that they tended to be cool and distant. What was this man?

  Physically he wasn’t imposing. Of average height and refined features, it was the way he carried himself around the woman that set him apart. Sometimes she envied men of his ilk, the way they easily gained the deference owed to a Dominant because what else could they be? Her height worked against her, as if a short woman couldn’t be a Mistress. It was fucked up and she was admittedly guilty of being a little touchy about it.

  The Dom paused a few feet away from the sub’s hip and brought the cane down across her shoulders. The crowd hissed and gasped, but the sub didn’t utter a word. He began working the woman over, and the longer he played with her the more she began to move and make faint noises. Bianca couldn’t find anything to fault with the man’s technique, he was perfectly in charge, but it didn’t change the fact that she wanted to be using the cane.

  After a marathon session with the sub, the Dom draped his coat around the submissive and pulled the woman to her feet. They exchanged a few words before he directed her to sit in an armchair that had been too close to the action for a casual observer.

  Clay was a tense presence at her shoulder. Her toying with the plug and them watching the caning would no doubt have him wound up.

  The Dom turned a circle, surveying the audience with a cocky air Bianca could appreciate. He pivoted and stopped directly across from her with the table between them and held the business end of the cane out to her.

  Did he think she was a sub?

  “Voulez-vous un tour?”

  She shook her head. “Je ne parle pas français.”

  “English?” he replied easily, as if he spoke the language often enough.

  “Yes.”

  Though she couldn’t see Clay, she was aware of the way he went very still behind her.

  “Would you like to take a turn?” He gestured to the table.

  “No, I’m afraid I prefer the other side of things.”

  His brows lifted. “Oh I see. Would you like to pick a victim and demonstrate? I love a woman who can wield a cane.”

  She couldn’t decide whether he was being friendly or smarmy, regardless, she wanted a turn and he was offering. Glancing at Clay, she jerked her head toward the table. A slow smile spread across his face and lust burned in his gaze. He shed his jacket and t-shirt, dropping them at the feet of the female sub for lack of a better place to stow his clothing.

  While Clay settled himself eagerly in place, she circled around to face the Dom. She couldn’t have picked a better outfit. She loved the boots and skirt paired together. For once she’d found items off the rack that didn’t make her look as if she were a child playing dress-up, which at barely five feet was an accomplishment. Though the Dom didn’t smile, there was a friendliness in the almost turn of his lips and in his gaze.

  He offered her the tool. “I’m interested to see how an American handles the cane.”

  “My sub is fond of it.”

  He quirked a brow at her. “I’m more interested in how you handle it.”

  Her gaze narrowed. In all truth, she had nothing to prove to this stranger and even less to gain by trying. If he was trying to play a game, well, she wasn’t playing. All that mattered now was Clay. She mentally shrugged off his words and turned to the delightful sight of her husband on his knees and ready for punishment.

  She rested the business end of the cane between his shoulders and circled his prone form. The feel of power, control and a godlike complex swamped her. Clay promised to do whatever she asked of him, but she always wondered if this time would be different. Could she push him too far?

  The muscles across his back rippled and the tiny scars on his left shoulder danced. She hated those marks. Another Domme had put those on him. They were a reminder of his life when nothing had been within his control. He’d changed so much from the submissive she’d taken under her protection. He said she saved him. She merely gave him the environment to heal. She’d never intended to fall for the man he’d become, but when he’d been able to make the choice whom he gifted his submission to, she was grateful every day he handed that power to her.

  She decided what he could and could not take.

  That was the beauty of what they did. The give and take, the gift and power of it all.

  She brought the cane down hard below his shoulder blades. His arms buckled, he was unprepared for a hard blow first. She’d been too regular, easing him into the rhythm lately. Not tonight.

  Clay grunted and blinked back the moisture in his eyes as another hard lash of the cane licked his skin. He burned and ached. The sensations from every kiss of the cane radiated through his body, down to his very toes and up to the crown of his head. His cock was hard, the zipper threatening to take a layer of skin off his flesh.

  Nails dug into his shoulder and hauled him up to his feet. Bianca laid her hand over his heart, feeling his pulse. He tingled from head to toe, he—wanted.

  She lifted up on her toes, dug a hand into his hair and kissed him deeply, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and owning every bit of him. The cane was gone, probably back to its owner, leaving her free to touch him. Adrenaline and lust pounded through his veins. The club had not appeared so bright, the sounds so clear before this moment.

  “What the fuck?”

  He staggered back as hands jerked him away from Bianca. He flailed, tripping over something, and whirled to stay on his feet.

  “Jason—no!”

  Clay twisted and broke from the grasp that held him.

  His brother-in-law stood between him and his wife. His Mistress. She was his.

  “Clay, stop.” Bianca flung out her hand toward him and stepped around her brother. People scrambled back but stayed close enough they could watch the scene unfolding. “Fuck. Jason, calm your ass down.”

  “He was going to beat you.” Jason’s face was flushed red and a vein bulged from his forehead.

  “He was not.”

  Jason’s body tensed, his shoulders hunching forward as if he were preparing to charge. She shoved him back before he had the chance to get any closer to Clay.

  “Honey, calm down.” Amy shoved through the growing crowd and rushed to her husband’s side.

  “Then what the fuck is this?” He gestured to where the French Dom stood, shielding another submissive tied over a side table.

  The emotional buildup of the scene evaporated and his dick practically withered. This was not supposed to happen. The adrenaline turned to ice in his veins, chilling him to the bone.

  Bianca glanced at him, her gaze wide. For once, she didn’t know what to do. He could see it in her eyes, and he couldn’t blame her. There was no good way to handle this.

  He leveled Jason with a stare. “That was a caning. I did not cane Bianca, she caned me.”

  Jason studied him then Bianca as if he’d never seen them before. And maybe he’d never opened his eyes and got to know the real B. From what he’d seen, they all charged over her.

  “What does that even mean?” Amy’s brow creased and she glanced from her husband to Bianca.

  Bianca scrubbed a hand across her face.
“It means that Clay and I have a relationship that’s kinkier than an average person is comfortable with.”

  “He tells you what to do?” Jason asked.

  Bianca put her hands on her hips. “No, I tell him what to do.”

  * * * * *

  Bianca sat across from her brother at yet another café. She was five seconds from shattering into pieces. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with a family member. Ever.

  The waiter brought drinks and finger foods she’d ordered out of desperation, then left them to their own devices.

  Clay held her hand under the table, his thumb rubbing a path along her palm. She appreciated his silent comfort, but it wasn’t helping.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jason growled. Of her three brothers, she secretly loved Jason the most. He was the most easygoing and had made time to play with her as a kid. When the other children were mean to her, it was Jason who cheered her up. He was the last person she wanted to have this conversation with. Michael or Kevin she could handle being distanced from. The danger of losing her close relationship with Jason killed her.

  Amy sat by his side, darting worried glances at the three of them, but otherwise a silent observer.

  Bianca and Clay hadn’t had a single moment alone so she could find her center. She was wobbling. What did she tell them? The truth wasn’t just hers to share.

  “Bianca, what the hell is going on?” Jason kept glancing at Clay as if he expected him to whip out a gun or something. Clay didn’t deserve that kind of villainy.

  “Shut up, Jason. It’s none of your business,” she blurted.

  Jason sat back in his chair, staring at her with that same strange expression. As if someone had taken over his sister.

  “B.” Clay kissed the back of her hand and turned to her brother. “What’s going on is you’re asking her to talk about our personal life, and it’s not easy to talk about to someone who might misinterpret what she says.”

  Damn, when he was reasonable and levelheaded, her husband was hot. She stared at him, wishing she could read his mind. He turned toward her and shrugged.