Tymber Dalton - Cardinal's Rule

“You sleep on the floor tonight, slave,” he said. “No pillow, no sheets.” He walked over to the A/C unit and turned the temperature down as far as it would go.

It would be a long, cold night.

“Yes, Master.”

Landry sat on the edge of one of the beds and stared at him. “I did more asking around before we left the club. That man wasn’t her boyfriend, he was one of her clients.”

The slave prayed he masked his surprise well enough so it didn’t show.

And his hope. Of course, he knew hope was a stupid emotion to have. He totally belonged to his Master, heart, mind, body, and soul, and she no longer belonged to him.

Still, old habits and feelings died hard.

Landry continued. “Apparently she’s single. One person hinted something very bad happened to her a few years ago but they wouldn’t talk about it. Of course, I couldn’t push them, it would bring suspicion.”

The slave closed his eyes, wishing he didn’t have to sit and listen to this. He’d prefer another vicious beating. At least that pain ended relatively quickly and sent his mind to a beautiful place where he could temporarily abandon thought.

Landry spread his legs and in French ordered, “Come here and suck my cock.”

Obediently, he knelt between Landry’s legs and performed as required, wishing for a little tenderness, even a kind and gentle word, and knowing his Master wasn’t yet ready to allow that.

Landry grabbed his head and forced him to go deep. He swallowed his shaft and waited him out until he finally came.

When Landry finally released him, he pointed to the floor. “Go on. You’re done.”

The slave bowed his head, curled up on his side, and prayed for sleep.

Prayed for forgiveness.

Prayed his Master didn’t force him to face Tilly.

Tuesday afternoon, Tilly parked in the public garage off Ringling in downtown Sarasota and donned her dark, mirrored sunglasses. The café where they would meet had outdoor seating. Despite having to put up with smokers, she wanted to be out in public when talking to this man.

Landry LaCroux. His voice bore the barest trace of an accent, but she couldn’t place what exactly. She suspected French. Not Québécois, but more like a native of France.

When the memory of how she might know that threatened to creep in, she squelched it immediately. Too many old memories had tried to sneak in since seeing Landry’s slave at the club. This happened every once in a while. A song would catch her unprepared and nearly take her knees out. Or watching a movie might bring back a memory and send her to bed crying for the evening.

Fortunately, those weak periods happened with rare frequency lately. The other night at the club was her first lapse in several months.

Maybe I should take that as a good sign.

She arrived nearly half an hour early and brought her Kindle to read. She wanted to control the situation, where they sat, everything. She had the waiter seat her on the far end of the patio where she could watch people walk by on Ringling. Ten minutes later, LaCroux showed up.

Her instincts had been right-on there.

“You are very early, Mistress Cardinal,” he observed as he sat.

“So are you.” She leaned back and studied him. “Tell me, Mr. LaCroux, why does a man such as yourself need any kind of assistance? I saw you playing with your slave the other night. A few minutes of it, at least. You seem to have him well in hand.”

The waiter stepped in to take his order. When he left, LaCroux leaned forward. “Please, you may call me Landry.”

“You may call me Mistress Cardinal. You haven’t answered my question.”

He smiled. Charming, disarming. Handsome and trim. Deep green eyes that could show merriment or murderous intent, she suspected. Brown hair, a little grey around the temples. “Even the most talented dog trainer knows when an animal should be handed over to others with different skill sets, as they say. The wisest trainers don’t risk ruining a dog out of hubris over their own talents.”

That’s it. The nagging question drove her nuts. “Are you from France, Mr. LaCroux?”

He apparently decided not to challenge her on the formality. “Excellent ear, Mistress Cardinal. I was raised in Paris, but I attended university here in the States and decided to remain after I earned my degree. I’ve lived here over twenty years and became a citizen. I have no desire to return to France. To live,” he added. “I do have family there I visit, on occasion. My life is here.”

That handled, she studied him. While she’d worked with gay men before, most of her clients were straight. It was unusual for a gay man to come to her for her services. She’d never had a gay Master approach her about training his slave. It piqued her curiosity. “As I told you the other night, I don’t engage in any sexual services. At all. I run a totally legal business, and I want that made perfectly clear from the start.”

“I would not ask that of you.”

She’d managed to stay off the radar as far as law enforcement was concerned. She never broke her “no sex” rule, and she didn’t advertise. All her clients came through word of mouth referrals, and an opening never remained vacant more than a week or two.

“I take cash only. All fees paid in advance at the beginning of the session. For the first session to evaluate him, one hour, one thousand dollars. After that, sessions are one hour each, three hundred.”

More than she normally asked, but it was an easy way to weed out a poser from the rest. He’d either choke, agree, or negotiate. “Also, you cannot be there after the initial negotiations. That takes about twenty minutes. The only reason I’m letting you be there at all is because he’s your slave and you need to participate in the negotiations.”

“Done.”

She felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. Honestly? She hadn’t expected him to agree, especially to the clause of him not being present. That tweaked her curiosity. “What exactly do you hope to gain from my services?”

“Slave tends to hold back sometimes. Information, emotions, for whatever reason.”

“He lies?”

“No, not lies, per se. Despite my repeated orders to the contrary, he tends to overthink things and not give me all the information I request. Be it sentiment or emotions, I don’t know.”

“What made you decide to hire someone to train him?”

At this, she noticed his face clouded. “I recently discovered accidentally that he withheld some rather important information from me. For years. Had he told me when we got together, I would have made drastically different decisions than I did. You see, we were together for a few years, then we broke up. Most definitely my fault. When we reconciled after being apart for several years, I was willing to do anything for another chance with him. I’d never stopped loving him.”

His gaze dropped to his hands. “The circumstances surrounding our reunion were difficult, to say the least. I willingly heard what he told me rather than digging deeper for the truth. My actions—or rather, my lack of action—unfortunately hurt another without me knowing it at the time, because of that withheld information. I doubt there is any way I can atone for it, or even rectify the situation. I must force slave to see what he has done as a result of his withholding that information. He must face the true consequences of his actions.”

Tilly studied him for a long time without speaking. Her bullshit alarm hadn’t gone off…yet. He still held her curiosity. “Again, I’m not sure what you expect of me .”

“I want him to go through a vicious training regimen with another Top. One who can adequately break through this willful streak of his. Someone who maybe has better perceptions than I do. Perhaps someone who can show him a different point of view than he sees with me. Someone who can help him appreciate the error of his ways.”