by Lila Dubois
A gentle squeeze and the nerve endings on her scalp prickled with awareness. She let go of the what-ifs, shedding them the way she’d shed the robe, until she was on her knees, ready and willing to submit.
“Comment puis-je vous servir?” she asked formally.
How may I serve you?
Solomon’s thumb slid across her lower lip, and she opened her mouth, ready and more than willing to accept his cock in her mouth and down her throat.
He stepped back, breaking contact. “It’s time for your punishment.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Facedown over the spanking bench.”
A shiver of anticipation worked its way down her spine as she stood, her gaze submissively lowered. “Yes, Master.”
“And, Vivienne?”
She paused, waiting patiently.
“I’m not going to go easy on you.”
This time the shiver wasn’t just anticipation, but fear.
Chapter 9
Meanwhile, in Paris
* * *
Christiana leaned her head onto James’s shoulder as they sat on the tiny balcony looking out over the Seine. The surface of the water was dark blue except for where the many lights of Paris—streaks of white, yellow, and red—were reflected.
“I keep thinking about Solomon and Vivienne,” she said.
“Still worried about them?” James asked.
“You didn’t see her.” Christiana raised her head, and James felt the loss of contact keenly. He was aware that he loved Christiana more than he thought he could ever love another. And perhaps that love made him foolish, even simplistic.
The vague disquiet that the loss of contact had brought him was dispelled when she slid her hand into his, lacing their fingers together.
“She was heartbroken,” Christiana insisted, “and he left her—still in bondage—with a big hook up her butt!”
“Poor form,” James said. If he’d known what was happening, he would have confronted Solomon.
It wasn’t the first time that they discussed Solomon and Vivienne, nor, he thought, would it be the last.
“And he was heartbroken too. I could see it in his eyes that morning at the hotel.”
“Given the fact that they were once engaged, and that their break was incredibly acrimonious, I’d be surprised if they were heartbroken. Heartbreak implies love. Vivienne and Solomon stopped loving each other a long time ago.”
Christiana turned to him. “Are you saying that if something happened and we broke up today, you’d stop loving me?”
“That isn’t going to happen.”
“But if it did?”
“It won’t.”
“But if it did? Love, real love, is hard to get over.”
Before Christiana, he wouldn’t have agreed. Now James was forced to concede the point. “True. But love turns to hate.”
Christiana sat back, seeming to consider that. “Also true. If we broke up because you cheated on me, I would hate you so much.”
“I would never do that.”
“I know.” Her eyes were soft as she looked at him, and it was reassuring to see the same things he felt reflected back in her expression. That loving look melted to one of consideration. “But you said that they didn’t break up because of an affair or anything like that. It was some business thing?”
“As far as I know, yes. They had just gotten engaged before she was named CEO of CRD Beauvalot. Less than a year later, the relationship ended. He moved back to the States before buying his island in the Bahamas.”
“So if they broke up because of her job, then it’s possible that they really do still love each other, right?”
James stared at Christiana, a bit disconcerted. “Possible, yes.”
“And Vivienne’s cousin said they still love each other.”
“He said Vivienne still loves Solomon.”
Christiana pushed to her feet, pacing back and forth on the tiny balcony. It was so narrow that the long skirt she wore brushed his knees every time she went past. James loved the way she moved, graceful yet economical. With purpose.
Paris was rapidly becoming one of their favorite destinations. It would always hold a special place in his heart because it was in Paris that he decided to go after Christiana, to stop letting fear and his own failure in past relationships prevent him from finding happiness with the woman he’d fallen in love with. Paris was also the place where Christiana had come looking for him after deciding the exact same thing. He’d walked out, ready to go to the airport and fly to San Francisco only to find her waiting for him on the Paris street.
Maybe he’d buy them a place here in Paris, not that they hadn’t enjoyed staying in various hotels in order to explore different parts of the city. As much as he’d love to surprise her, buying real estate for a structural engineer had proved to be a foolish task. Forgoing a surprise, he’d have a local real estate agent gather a few listings and then they’d go look at them so she could peer at the walls, crawl into attics, and reminisce on possible previous remodels.
“James, are you spending money?” Christiana asked.
“What?”
“That’s your spending money face.”
“I do not have a spending money face.”
“You do, and that’s it.”
“I was thinking we should buy a place in Paris.”
Christiana stopped pacing, her expression softening. “I would love that.”
He patted his lap and she came, perching on his thighs and leaning into him. James was, for the moment, content to hold her. They’d made thorough love only hours before, and thanks to last week’s Orchid Club event, the memory of some very intense BDSM sessions were fresh in both their minds.
He’d thought the subject of Solomon and Vivienne was closed, but Christiana wasn’t done. “I think we should do something to help them,” she said. “And then we should buy real estate.”
“Do something to help…Solomon?”
“And Vivienne.”
“Do what, precisely?” James asked her, bemused.
“I don’t know.” They sat in silence for a moment. They were silent, but the city wasn’t. Paris, like London, New York, and a dozen other major urban centers around the world, never slept.
“I just feel like if we could lock the two of them in a room together, make them talk about their issues, maybe they could figure it out.”
“You mean get back together?”
“Yes. Maybe. Or decide they hate each other.” Christiana twisted on his lap to look at James. “I know what it’s like to want something, someone, but be scared. To love them but be worried that you’re bad for each other.”
James pulled her in for a kiss. It was slow and gentle, and when it ended Christiana rested her head on his shoulder.
“I know it’s stupid and I should stay out of their business,” she whispered. “But I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t decided to be brave and take a risk.”
“I maintain that loving one another isn’t a risk.” That statement flew in the face of everything he’d believed before meeting and falling for Christiana.
She stared at him, but rather than rebut, ignored his statement. “What if we had both stayed away for years? I don’t think I would have stopped loving you; I would have just missed you every day. It would’ve made me crazy.”
“Well, Solomon certainly isn’t the picture of mental health.”
Christiana must’ve sensed that she’d gotten through to him, and now rather than simply engaging in the conversation because she wanted to talk about it, he too was considering the matter of whether or not they should intervene in Solomon and Vivienne’s relationship. As a rule, he thought getting in the middle of someone else’s affairs was poor form. However, without Solomon’s help he wouldn’t be here with Christiana.
“Perhaps we should help…” James said slowly.
Christiana grinned. “Yes! Do you think we could like trick them into meeting and th
en force them to talk to each other?”
“Perhaps, but imprisoning them, even temporarily, without carefully arranging it so their disappearances are explained, is risky.”
“I’m not saying imprison them! Good grief. I meant like invite them both to meet us, but they’re secretly actually meeting each other. I think they could work it out in say, four or five hours.” Christiana considered the timing, her shoulders slumping. “Okay, maybe ten hours. Just one day. We lure them to some little B&B outside the city with no cell service. Surely if they go off the grid for a day, that won’t be long enough for anyone to freak out.”
“Solomon Carter and Vivienne Deschamps disappearing, even if it was only for the day, could cause an international incident, possibly negatively affect the valuation of their respective companies, which in turn would cause shock waves that would ripple through the world financial sector.”
“Well, when you put it like that, anything sounds bad…”
James laughed. Christiana sighed with disappointment and reached out to pour him a fresh glass of the lovely Château Rossolina Deschamps burgundy they’d been drinking. The bottle was empty, so she rose and went inside to find a fresh one. James followed her in, watching the way the swaying skirt accentuated her hips.
But he was still thinking about her proposal. Arrange a meeting. Force them to talk. No, not force, no one could force two people to talk through their issues. But given time and the right set of circumstances…
The logistics were challenging. Solomon lived most of the time on a private island and worked from there with monthly site visits to either Mendocino or another country where RedBall had business. James knew less about Vivienne’s schedule, but an educated guess was that she was physically present at the company offices most days and worked seven days a week. Even a single day of unscheduled disappearance would raise alarms and trigger a domino effect with long-reaching consequences. It would be a disaster, unless…
James sat at the small desk in their suite, brow furrowed as he ran through the logistics. Christiana watched him closely. She silently set a fresh glass of wine at his elbow.
If he were arranging something like this for someone else, he probably would have arranged for the various parties to meet at Solomon’s island, but since it was Solomon himself…
It was then that James remembered the man he’d met at the Orchid Club. The man who had some very interesting proposals for when he hosted. James drummed his fingers on the desk, then reached for his phone.
Sitting on the chaise at the foot of the bed, Christiana watched the man she loved spring into action. She smiled to herself. As crazy as her idea had been, she was sure, just sure, that whatever had happened in Solomon and Vivienne’s past, their differences could be resolved quickly and easily. All they needed was some prompting, and then they would be just as happy and in love as she and James were.
She finished her glass of wine, marveling at exactly how different, how wonderfully different, her life was than what she’d expected.
And how ridiculous rich people were. She blinked in surprise as she listened to James’s half of the conversation. What was a floating dungeon?
Chapter 10
Back on Luca Cay
* * *
Spanking benches came in a wide variety of styles. She would have known that Solomon had designed this one even if it hadn’t been in his private dungeon. The basic spanking bench was simply that—a bench. The next step up was a piece with two platforms, one lower than the other, almost like a picnic table. Knees went on the lower level, and the sub rested their chest or elbows on the upper section.
This spanking bench, like Solomon’s style of domination, was precise, thought out, and just the right amount of terrifying.
Five narrow, padded, wooden supports were mounted horizontally on adjustable posts to a heavy meter-square platform base. The torso support was the longest and also the highest from the ground. The next longest supports—the kneelers—were below and behind the torso rest, and had straps dangling from the undersides that would wrap around calves and ankles. The shortest pieces—where her forearms would rest—were angled, and had upright grips at one end for her to hold on to. Anyone who’d done a lot of spanking, or had been spanked a fair amount, knew something to hold on to made it easier to maintain composure, and also stopped the sub from digging their nails into their palms with enough force to make them bleed.
Vivienne waited obediently at the edge of the wooden base. Solomon paused to look over her naked body, then dropped to one knee and began to adjust the height of the various supports, occasionally looking back at her, assessing her proportions. He raised the torso support one hole, then, to her surprise, adjusted the angle raising the back end. Once she was strapped down, she’d be lying on a slight incline with her head a dozen centimeters lower than her ass.
Solomon finished making adjustments, and used an Allen wrench to tighten the bolts before standing. His expression was remote, and he seemed taller and broader than he had only moments before. She knew him, and yet when he was her Master, there was always a part of him she would never reach. That was the way it was meant to be. His need for control inherently clashed with her need to submit, and so in these moments, when they were stripped bare to the core of their own need, that fundamental difference within was also revealed.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?” he asked.
“No, Master.”
“Then facedown on the spanking bench.”
Vivienne stepped onto the wooden base, the polished wood warmer than the cool tile. Placing her knees on the rearmost supports, she inched forward until her entire shin made contact with the kneelers. Only then did she bend at the waist, laying her torso on the upper section of the spanking bench. At less than a dozen centimeters wide, it did nothing to hide her breasts, which dangled on either side. She adjusted herself until she was comfortable, then carefully positioned her forearms, grabbing onto the handles and making sure her elbows were centered on the padding.
Solomon watched silently as she positioned herself. The only thing the bench didn’t have was a headrest. Sometimes BDSM equipment had those circular padded pieces that were common to massage tables, but this one didn’t. Instead, the torso support ended just below her collarbone. This meant she was responsible for holding her head up, or could alternatively let it dangle down. Experimentally she let her head fall and was able to see back to her own thighs and knees. This also meant she’d be able to see at least some of him when he was behind her.
Vivienne raised her head, tossed her hair out of her face, and looked at Solomon. “I’m ready to be punished, Master.”
He looked her over, taking his time. She felt his eyes examining her, and in those moments she was aware both of her flaws and of the beauty and power of her own body. Her breasts were not as firm or high as they had once been, and they dangled rather inelegantly. Her feet weren’t as pretty anymore, her toes showing signs of the abuse from years of high heels. There was cellulite on her thighs. She could have gone in for treatments to get rid of it, but hadn’t seen the point. She had no hair on her body below the neck, thanks to laser hair removal. She’d decided to do that more for convenience than because she regularly had lovers who saw her naked.
Solomon finished his appraisal and started strapping her down. Ankles and mid-calf were firmly strapped with a looser strap at the back of her knee. For her arms he brought over short lengths of smooth black nylon rope, which he wound around her forearms in a double-length shibari cuff-style tie.
Vivienne took a moment to both appreciate and accept her bondage. These weren’t quick-release restraints. She could, if he chose, stay strapped to the kneeler for an extended period of time. The straps on her legs and the rope around her forearms were snug, but not constricting. He’d been careful not to apply tight bondage at any pressure points or places—like the back of her knees—where veins were close to the skin. She could still move, shift her weight and lift her torso a bit
, move her neck and head.
By the time she’d finished her assessment, Solomon was walking away. If she had to guess—and second-guessing a Dom’s next move was the favorite pastime of most submissives—he was likely going for more rope, probably to strap her waist to the torso support.
She waited, listening to the sound of his footsteps, which receded farther and farther away from her. When she heard the door open, Vivienne dropped her head, looking back between her legs to see Solomon sliding out of the dungeon.
The door closed behind him with a definitive thud.
Vivienne shoved down the first notes of panic, focusing on her breathing. Moments ticked by.
Be calm. Drawing it out is all part of the game. Making you wait is part of the punishment.
Punishment.
Merde.
Had he specifically said he was going to spank her? That that would be her punishment? Vivienne raised her head, looking around, as if she’d find the answer to her question. Because right now it seemed that she was going to suffer a very different kind of punishment.
To be ignored was the ultimate punishment for most submissives, at least those who liked to play the way Solomon and Vivienne did. There were members of the BDSM community who enjoyed being ignored, but most of them practiced a very different kind of D/s than she and Solomon. Very few people Vivienne knew, and no one who was a member of the Orchid Club, was in a 24/7 BDSM relationship. Those in 24/7 relationships, particularly Master/slave relationships, often had alone-time bondage, cages, or corner time, either as part of their play or a form of punishment.
Solomon had never ignored her before, but it wasn’t on her hard limit list. And God knew it would certainly be a punishment.
Vivienne swallowed, trying to calm herself. So what if he was punishing her by tying her up and leaving her here alone? She could handle it.
She could.
