Protege (13 page)

Gravel crunched under their feet as they made their way across the drive. She shivered as the shadow of the château fell over them. He glanced at her. “Cold?”

“No, just a chill.” As he held the door he released her hand, and she was sad to let the intimate connection go. “Thank you for showing me around.”

He nodded. “I have some work to do. I think lunch on the veranda would be nice.”

That was her cue. Nodding, she smiled, wishing for an excuse to stay in his presence a moment longer. “Any special requests?”

“Lea usually cooks Italian, so something light would be appropriate.”

“Yes, Sir.” She turned and he caught her wrist. He'd done that a couple of times and she wasn't sure what the expectant look in his eyes implied, because it wasn't always sexual, but it was definitely intimate. On impulse, she lifted up on her toes and pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw.

His thumb rubbed over her wrist and he let her go. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the office.

The materials at her disposal added to how grounded Fernweh made her feel. Every opportunity to meet his needs left her with a sense of self so different from the drifting life she'd been leading. She hadn't had the urge to hide a single time since arriving. It was as though feeling needed somehow pulled her out of her shell and dissolved some of her fears.

For lunch she prepared a Cobb salad with a batch of sweet tea. It was absurd how much joy she derived from setting an outdoor table with linen napkins and dishes different from the ones they used at breakfast. So far she'd counted three hutches full of china.

During lunch, Jude comfortably eased his posture on a patio chair. In the direct sunlight the red highlights hidden in his dark hair were particularly beautiful. The only drawback was his sunglasses hid his eyes. They were his most expressive trait.

“At three o'clock we'll use the gym. After that, I want you to shower and meet me in the room behind the library.”

“Where's the gym?”

He pointed across the lawn. “In that building there. There's a dressing room where you'll find the proper attire.”

Ah, pants.
“And what's behind the library?”

“That's where I'm going to wax your pussy.”

She choked on a sip of tea and placed her glass on the table, the ice rattling. “Wouldn't a salon be better for that?”

“Why would I give someone else the pleasure? My pussy. My job.”

She laughed, but her face remained unmoved and devoid of sensation.

“I suspect you've never been waxed before, Brazilian or otherwise.”

“Using a razor makes me nervous. Hot wax terrifies me.”

He wiped his mouth. “Lunch was delicious. You're quite the little chef, Collette.” Folding his napkin on his plate, he said, “There was nothing on your application about a fear of wax.”

“I didn't know slathering it on my genitals was in my future.”

He stood. “Now, that's just mean. You haven't even seen my skill with hot wax. I do
not
slather.” His mouth curled in a wicked grin. “I do love the sound of tearing back the cloth, though, that sharp moment of heat and slight pain tingling under your delicate flesh as the blood rises to the surface in a sweet blush. Such a pretty sight.”

She stared at him and whispered, “You're a sadist.”

“Hardly. I'll introduce you to Damien and you'll see the difference,” he teased. She at least hoped he was teasing.

“No, thank you.”

He smirked. “I'll meet you in the gym in an hour. Thank you for lunch, peach.”

“You're welcome.”
Please don't hurt my lady parts.

By definition, an erotic fantasy was anything that stirred a person's sexuality. Fantasy had always been a fascination of Jude's since he was a pubescent, horny preteen. While imagining the breasts of a peer had been entertaining, there was nothing equivalent to catching a peek down his teacher's blouse and masturbating to that image. The taboo spoke to him and carried an erotic potency other fantasies did not.

That was how he discovered he was a voyeur. Initially, he lacked the label, not knowing the terminology or even the wisdom that other people had the same curious obsessions, enough people for the proclivity to have a title.

His first visit to a strip club was interesting, but not what he hoped it would be. Watching a woman voluntarily perform was always pleasant, but not to the degree observing a woman in private was, especially when she was a touch uncomfortable.

However, he was loath to see a woman suffer a sense of danger. The appeal was in watching a female slowly become aroused, that subtle change of voice and skin tone as her body shifted and heated. He could watch that dance forever.

As a college student, he learned that sexual fantasies were a universal phenomenon and immediately changed his major to business with a minor in human sexuality. Realizing the limits of higher education, he conducted his own research, venturing to uncountable hidden places, some enlightening and some regretful. It was during those years that he met Ezra.

Together, they compiled countless hours of research, fucked and plucked everything that consented, and took an extreme interest in the variation of personal sexuality paralleled with an overwhelming desire for acceptance. People ultimately wanted to find a partner to share sexual exploits and counter their needs. For every Dom there should be a submissive and for every sadist there should be a masochist and so on.

After their senior year, they spent the summer abroad and, while passing through Germany, they first heard the term
Fernweh
. There was no English translation for the term, but its meaning was everything they'd been trying to convey during their early twenties.

Fernweh was a longing, a sense of homesickness that pulled and caused a yearning inside someone for something they had yet to discover. It was the simple draw to something more and the instinct that, whatever
more
was, it had to exist, because they
felt
it. Fernweh drove people to search out the unnamable thing they yearned for. And so their business was born.

They'd met enough eclectic people over the years to build a small clientele. After years on the BDSM scene, many of their initial clients expressed disillusionment with life. Sexual release was one thing, but the desire for love and companionship never disappeared.

Their first marriage took place between a mistress they connected with in Minneapolis and a delicate male sub they found in Prague. The couple had just celebrated their tenth anniversary.

In the passing years, he'd seen it all. The scope of his personal preferences had been narrowed to a very manageable list that didn't often bend. First and foremost, he required absolute surrender and trust, something he once could parallel. Such trust with Collette was not necessary, as he was merely providing her with a service. However, that didn't mean he couldn't take pleasure in the task.

Which brought him to their present situation. Jude forced his smirk into a straight line and entered the room, which had been designed to mimic the look of a clinic; the walls were faded mauve and the counters were immaculate and white. Drawers held various tools from speculums to piercing guns. He wouldn't be using anything so invasive today, but he would be enjoying himself.

“How are you, peach?”

She eyed him with cautious reserve as he shut the door: wearing only a white cotton robe, her feet dangling over the edge of the exam table, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “I'm wondering what sort of man has a room like this in his house.”

He grinned. “A meticulous one. Lie back.”

She eased back slowly, her motions jagged and her hands slightly trembling. “Good girl.” He pulled the metal stirrups from the side of the table and guided her heels into the cradles. “Place your feet here. Relax.”

Her soft exhale whispered past her lips as her eyes screwed shut. The wax had been warming for several hours and was the perfect consistency. He took his time selecting various sizes of fabric strips. “Are you nervous?”

“Wouldn't you be?”

He chuckled. “Oh, I don't know. Sometimes a little heat can be fun. There's nothing to fear.”

“This room is intimidating.”

Flipping on a bright overhead light, he rolled the stool to the foot of the table. “Are you comfortable?”

“I'm on an exam table. What do you think?”

He straddled the stool and sat. “I think you should watch your attitude, peach. Scoot forward.” With her knees buckled as they were, he could see her bare ass. “A little more.”

She scooted forward again. At this pace they'd be there for days. “Let me help you.” He adjusted the stirrups, spreading her thighs wide and raising the suspension height.

“Oh God.”

“There we go.” He took a moment to study her anatomy. Her flesh was pale pink with a dusting of hair over her labia. Very natural. Very pretty. “Are you aroused, Collette? I'll clean you up before we begin.”

Leaning forward, he dragged his tongue through her folds and savored her taste. “Mmm. Very sweet. A true Georgia peach.”

“Oh God.” It seemed to be the only thing she was capable of saying at the moment.

Slowly, he stood. “Try to breathe regularly.” He inserted a finger, slipping easily to his knuckle. “Yes, you seem very aroused by this. Do you typically enjoy being examined, Ms. Banks?” He slowly withdrew and added another finger. “I like having you open like this. I could probably fit quite a few fingers in your tight little pussy.”

“Sir . . .”

“Yes?” He inserted a third, the most he would fit without additional lubrication.

She breathed raggedly. “I thought I was getting waxed.”

“Yes, well, you are. But your body's mine at the moment and I decided we'd do this first. Untie your robe, please, and pull it open so I can see your breasts.”

Her hands trembled as she untied the garment. The lapels draped to the side, unveiling her full breasts. Her nipples were slightly erect. “How well do you know your anatomy, peach?” His fingers slowly caressed her, his knuckles slicking with her generous arousal.

“Fairly well, I think.”

“You think? Let's have a little pop quiz.”

She mumbled something under her breath.

“Pardon?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He grinned, and slid his fingers deep. “Very good, peach. Tell me, where is my hand?”

Her eyes opened wide. “I think it's in my throat.”

Chuckling, he continued to stroke in and out of her. “Am I too deep?”

Her chest lifted as her breath became more labored. “No.” She didn't sound too sure, but he admired her determination to accept his touch.

“Never forget you have a safe word, Collette.”

“I know.”

It was important to remind her she wouldn't be penalized for evoking her safe word, should she need a break. He liked testing her limits, but didn't want to overwhelm her in a frightening way.

“Answer my question. Where am I touching you?”

“My vagina.”

“Say
pussy
.” He wanted to push her, see which words made her blush.

“Pussy.”

“Use it in a sentence.” His fingers continued to probe.

“Your fingers are in my pussy.” Interesting. No inflection.

“How deep do you think my fingers can go in your cunt, peach?” There it was. Her cheeks tinged with a deep crimson blush. Like most women, she flinched at the word, but it seemed almost an afterthought, as her initial reflex was to blush.

“I'm not sure they can fit much deeper.”

He tsked. “Nonsense. The female anatomy has an incredible ability to stretch. Think of childbirth.”

“I'd rather not.”

He grinned, finding her honesty amusing. “Fair enough.” He twisted his wrist and pressed into the soft inner tissue, stroking several nerves. Her chest lifted as her spine extended. “And what do we call this area I'm touching?”

Her voice was a soft rasp. “I think that's my G-spot.”

“Very good.” He removed his fingers and she exhaled.

After washing his hands, he uncapped a bottle of lubricant and returned to the stool. Lowering the seat so her opening was at eye level, he slid his middle finger into her back entrance and she gasped. “Sweet Jesus!”

“Where is my finger now?”

“In my ass,” she growled. “I can't say I appreciate it there.”

“What if I do this?” His right index finger slid into her pussy, pressing down on the thin wall of muscle where his other finger rested on the other side.

Her body went still. A small shiver had her legs trembling, a good sign. He tickled her clit and she moaned. “Sometime in the next month you'll know what it is to have two cocks inside you, peach. Perhaps that's something you should think about in order to prepare. There are many options a man can choose regarding female anatomy.”

He removed both fingers and again washed his hands, then quickly cleaned her up. Collecting the trimming shears from the tray, he warned, “I have scissors. Stay very still.”

Her entire body froze. Combing through the soft patch of hair at her mons, he pulled and clipped away most of it, but left enough length for his task. Using a soft brush, he cleaned away the trimmings. “Very good. We're ready for wax.”

“Jude?”

He paused. “Yes, Collette.”

She took a moment to respond. “I've never done this before.”

“I know, sweetheart. You're doing a beautiful job. We're almost finished.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. After testing the temperature of the wax, he pulled the tray closer and applied a small smear at the delta of her sex. He worked quickly, knowing hesitation would only require more application and a longer time being tender afterward.

When the first strip ripped away she cursed. “Holy fucking Hades!”

He didn't allow her much time for her to process as he rapidly applied the next smear of wax and pressed a strip of fabric over her skin. She gasped with the second pull.

Adjusting the stirrups, he guided her heels closer to her ass and pressed her knees down, opening her gate. Stretching her lips tight, he stripped away the last of her hair. “Almost finished. How are you holding up, peach?”

She whimpered.

He covered her taint and quickly ripped the fabric away to the sound of her shriek. Reaching for the cooling oil, he rubbed a generous dollop over her tenderized flesh. “There. That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“No comment,” she said through gritted teeth.

He admired his work. Beautiful. Clearing away his supplies, he left her there for a moment to adjust. Once everything was tidied up, he leaned over and teased her nipple. Her lashes lifted. “You'll enjoy being waxed, Collette. Once the sting wears off, it's quite pleasant.”

She remained silent.

His hand slid down her belly and she sucked in a breath as he grazed her clit. “Last question. What am I touching?”

“My clitoris.”

“Very good.” With an extremely gentle touch, he strummed the tiny bud. “I look forward to spending some time here, but I think your body needs to recover.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Sliding his hand over her knee, he cupped her heel and lifted it out of the stirrup. Repeating the process with her other foot, he gently took her arm. “You may sit up. You did very well.”

She eased upward, her hair a bit more wild than usual and her eyes wide with knowledge of new experiences. When she didn't rush to close her robe, he inwardly grinned. Stepping forward, he slipped his hand under the lapel and cupped her breast. He massaged gently as he whispered into her ear.

“You've pleased me once again, peach. You should be proud of how well you're doing. Tonight we'll have dinner with friends and I'll introduce you to the others.”

Her nipple beaded against his palm and his body hardened. Visions of her deep-throating him flooded his mind. The sudden urge to kiss her took hold and he pulled his hand away, taking a step back, the unintentional thought coming without relevant purpose. He should be thinking in terms of objectives, not his personal desires. “You should get ready for the evening. Wear a dress, no panties.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He missed hearing his name on her lips, but perhaps the formality was better. When they'd worked out earlier, he found it difficult not to watch her, a strange urge to flirt with her like he was a goddamn kid. He was there to teach her and prepare her. Nothing more.

Part of him wished she would act out so he could move things along. Without just cause, he couldn't provide certain experiences. Some of her objectives were not his favorite as far as D/s activities went, and he'd prefer to check them off her list sooner rather than later. The anticipation of tasks he personally found unpleasant was irritating, but so long as she submitted and abided his rules, the waiting would continue.

Did she have to be so damn . . . perfect? He cleared his throat and took another step back, the room suddenly shrinking. No one was perfect. He was simply out of practice and forgetting the joy of a submissive. She wasn't any different from the others. Although she did seem more obedient and loyal than some women from his past.

It was in everyone's best interest for him to remain detached. Sooner or later an annoying habit of hers would present and his objective would once again be impersonal. A job that needed to be done. “Go to your room and get ready.”

Her brow creased for a split second and she slid off the table, closing the robe. “Yes, Sir.”