His tone was a silky-soft caress, but Lisa shivered inwardly. Shit. This was worse than being interrogated by the head at boarding school after she’d bunked off to a rave, and Olivier’s correction sounded a hell of a lot scarier than getting a detention.
And a lot more fun. Hell, her knickers were damp. Her very sensible business-suit Sloggis, the ones she hadn’t had time to change for the lacy thong she’d bought especially for their first appointment.
“Lisa?”
“I…uh…had to go to a meeting with a client.”
“Important?”
“Very.”
“So it was unavoidable?”
Lisa shifted her feet uncomfortably. “Sort of. It was with a CEO of my next assignment company, and he was only in Paris a couple of days. I could have met him tomorrow, I suppose, but the meeting was on my way from here to the airport, and I thought I had bags of time and…”
Olivier looked at her intently. “So. Not unavoidable, then?”
Lisa hesitated, knowing Olivier had just hung her fate on one word: yes or no. She had the power to invite or avoid his correction. The meeting had been important, and honestly, she really had thought she had plenty of time, but now that didn’t matter. Olivier had given her the choice to take his correction or not, whatever it was.
Surely, she thought, as a fiery glow burned around her sex, honesty was always the best policy. She’d tried to live by that principle in her job. Even in public affairs, she believed it was possible, but she also knew that sometimes, a little bending of the truth was less painful all round. This wasn’t a client meeting or a press conference. It was just her: her life, her pleasure—or pain. Would it hurt more to admit the truth—or lie? What would Olivier expect? What did she expect from herself?
“Lisa?”
She lifted her chin. “No, it wasn’t unavoidable. I could probably have put it off until tomorrow afternoon.”
A sharp little breath caught in her throat as he studied her for a few seconds. Then, with a gentle sigh that was almost regretful, he spoke. “In that case, I’m afraid that I have no choice but to give you a correction.”
Instantly, her gut twisted in knots of desire and fear.
“Now? Already? What will the correction be?”
He stepped forwards and tilted her chin upwards, laughing softly. “Don’t be in such a hurry to find out, and besides, we have other formalities to get through first.”
Liquid heat pooled in her lower belly. What would the correction be? A spanking—or worse? Surely not, not for her first time. Something unusual or weird? Nipple clamps? Penetration? A dozen scenarios flew through her mind, all exciting, frightening and shameful. Oh hell, what the fuck had she got herself into?
“We need to agree on a safe word for you to use.”
“Oh yes. I’d forgotten.”
“And you know when to use it?”
“Of course I do,” Lisa replied, though mind and body were a seething tangle of confusion.
Olivier didn’t seem convinced. “Hmm. Just in case you’re unsure, I’ll remind you. You use the word if you feel that our play has gone beyond your limits of pleasure. I know you’re going to be nervous, scared sometimes, and yes, there is going to be pain.”
Her whole body tingled deliciously as he ran his finger down the line of her jaw.
“I’m not going to sugar the pill, Lisa. Any pain should be erotic pain, the kind that intensifies your pleasure, perhaps not immediately, but as part of a whole experience. There will be things I do to you that you think you’re not enjoying or that push you beyond your limits, but I want to be sure of your consent at all time. Yes, I want you to be apprehensive and nervous at times, but not frightened. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I think I do,” Lisa answered, not sure at all of what he meant.
“So, do you have a word?”
“No. Everything I’ve thought so far seems ridiculous.”
He laughed softly. “That’s kind of the idea. It should be a word that’s so obvious we both know that things must stop instantly. What about a painter’s name, like DaVinci?”
This was excruciating. “Yes, of course…”
“Say it for me, then.”
Lisa squirmed but spoke loud and clearly. “DaVinci.”
“Bien. That’s the housekeeping notices over. Now, I’d like you to get undressed.”
“What?”
“Your interview will be conducted nude.”
A jolt of new shock shot through her. “Now? Just like that?”
He folded his arms. “Oui.”
“Aren’t you going to shut the drapes first?” she asked and immediately regretted using sarcasm to hide her nervousness.
“I don’t think anyone can see you this far up, unless you’re afraid of shocking my neighbour’s cat. I hope you’re not going to keep on questioning me.”
Lisa glanced at the French doors that opened onto the balcony. The lamplight was on in the room. Olivier was right, there was no apartment opposite. The building fronted onto a broad avenue, and opposite was a square. His flat occupied the whole of the top floor. You’d have to stop in the street and consciously strain your eyes to see through the windows, if you could see.
But damn him, he knew she was uncomfortable by the possibility that anyone might see her strip off. This wasn’t a locker room or a beach, she was okay with that, but it was a sexual act.
“When you’re ready, then,” he said, as if he was waiting for her to read from a book or play a piece on a piano.
While he sat down in the chair and rested his hands on the padded arms, as relaxed as a cat, Lisa’s heart pounded. She wasn’t sure how much of her nerves were genuine anxiety at stripping naked in front of him for the first time or pure arousal. It was one thing fantasising in the comfort of her own bed, quite another now this was real. Wasn’t that what Olivier wanted? To keep her on shifting sands the whole time, unsure and uncomfortable?
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “You know, the sooner you undress, the sooner we can get the interview and your correction over with. I’m sure you want that too?”
Her stomach flipped. “Well, yes!”
“While we’re playing, you will address me correctly in French and show some respect.”
Lisa shoved down every urge to tell him where to go, looked him straight in the eyes and said: “Oui, maître.”
“Better, although I’m still not convinced. However, we can work on your attitude issues. Now, take off your clothes.”
Lisa opened her mouth, shut it again and reminded herself this was a game between them, and one she had craved for a long time. She took a breath, knowing she had to begin somewhere. Her low-heeled pumps were the safest thing, and when she pulled them off, the thick rug was lush beneath her bare toes.
Next her suit jacket. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons, but it was open, and she slipped it off her shoulders.
Still sitting in the chair, Olivier held out his hand.
Lisa handed him the jacket and watched, mesmerised, as he folded it and laid it on the table next to him. “It’s a beautiful jacket,” he said, “though a little severe for such a beautiful woman. Continuez.”
Continue. But what next? There were two ways to go. Blouse or trousers. Heads or tails.
Slowly, she slid down the zip of her smart trousers and allowed them to drop to the floor, revealing the practical white briefs she wore underneath.
Olivier raised his eyebrows.
Lisa gave a nervous giggle and cursed herself. “These give you no visible panty line,” she explained, trying to make a joke of the situation.
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? I would have thought that no panties at all were a better way of having no panty line.”
“I planned on changing before I came here, but I can hardly go to a meeting in no knickers.” She smiled, trying to disarm him.
“Perhaps you could have removed them before you set off?”
“I suppose I
could have.”
“But you chose not to?”
“I just didn’t think about it.”
“After today, believe me, you will think of things like that. Now please continue with your blouse.”
She stepped out of the trousers and handed them to him, waiting as he folded them and laid them on top of her jacket. There was nowhere to hide now, and no choice of what to remove next. She unbuttoned her silk blouse, fingers struggling with the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. The two sides parted, and Olivier’s gaze seared into her. He gave little nod of encouragement and held out his hand again.
The silk slithered through her damp palms as he took the blouse from her, and she returned to her position, wearing only her underwear. It was all she could do not to wrap her arms around her body. Her nipples felt as if they were punching their way out of her bra, and boy, would Olivier know that any second now.
He spoke gently. “I know this must be difficult, but you can make life easier for both of us by obeying my orders promptly.”
She reached behind for the hook fastening. The bra, with its soft cups and discreet underwiring, was meant to minimise her unfashionably generous breasts. Once free, she knew they would be exposed in all their ample glory.
Once the hook was loose, she slipped the straps from her shoulders and allowed the bra to drop to the floor. Olivier’s gaze, as cool and hungry as a predator’s, curled over her breasts.
She knew what was coming next but didn’t want to acknowledge it.
“Your underwear too.”
With her cheeks on fire, Lisa bit back every urge to refuse and inched her Sloggis down her thighs, knowing that the neat strip of hair at the top of her pubis would soon be exposed to Olivier’s scrutiny. She worked her knickers down over her knees and calves, knowing she made a meal of it but that the farce couldn’t go on forever. She was embarrassed at having to strip so clinically but also incredibly turned on. Surely he would be able to see or sense her arousal? He would certainly feel it if he touched her. When he touched her. Would that be before or after her correction?
Finally, she stepped out of her knickers and stood before him, totally naked.
“Bien. Why did you take so long? You are incredibly beautiful.”
At his praise and the rampant desire stamped on his handsome features, Lisa’s heart skipped with pleasure. Then she cursed herself for being so pleased that he’d applauded her for taking off her panties, and her mind went back to his sensual torment of her at the gallery launch.
“Is this what you meant when you said you’d have me bared and shamed at the gallery?” she asked.
His brow creased. “I didn’t say shamed.”
“I thought you said bared and shamed?”
“No, I didn’t.” His frown deepened. “Are you ashamed at being naked in front of me? Do you want to be shamed?”
Panic fluttered in her gut. Oh fuck. She was sure he’d said the word shamed. Now she was sure he hadn’t. So where had she got the idea from?
“No. Of course not. I don’t really mind undressing in front of you, but…”
“But?”
“We have only just met.”
Those arrogant lips twitched in amusement. “And you’re not aroused at all, of course.”
She stayed silent, even as she pressed her thighs together. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how amazing it was to be made to strip for him, and that the more clinical he made the process, the more dizzy with desire she felt.
“I just thought…” Her reply was helium-laced. Fuck, she was losing it.
Olivier’s reply was as cool as a chilled Sauvignon. “This is just an interview, and as I said before, if I were you, I wouldn’t be so eager to anticipate what may happen to you, particularly when it comes to corrections. Now, sit down here,” he said, getting out of his leather chair. “I’ll put your clothes in my closet. You may have them back at the end of our session, apart from your panties, of course.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Maître.”
“Okay. What the hell does that mean, maître?”
“That you’ll have to earn the right to keep your knickers after our meetings.”
“And just how am I supposed to do that?”
“By not displeasing me, and more important, by showing me that you have genuinely surrendered to your own pleasure.”
“But how?” She folded her arms, then realised how ridiculous that must look when she was naked.
He clicked his tongue. “Such impatience. I can see that you’re trying to provoke me, and while it would be very interesting to react, I’m not remotely tempted. Don’t worry, I’ll buy you some new underwear so you won’t run out of panties.” He pointed to his chair. “Now, sit down and try to focus on enjoying the best part of the evening.”
Chapter Six
So, she was naked in a virtual stranger’s apartment with some as yet unknown punishment to follow after she’d been subject to some humiliating interview. She couldn’t even get dressed and leave now, because he’d collected her clothes from the chair, picked up her knickers from the carpet and taken them with him.
Even if she wanted to leave…
All she could do was obey his request to sit in the chair, which was still warm from his jeaned backside and now instantly damp from her moist pussy. And just how did you sit elegantly in an antique chair when you were in the nude? Relying on her business pose, legs folded to the side, knees together, feet crossed at the ankles, seemed ridiculous. Relying on any of her normal coping strategies for anything was farcical.
In a flash, Olivier was back, utterly unruffled as if he interviewed naked women in his home every day. Which might be true, for all Lisa knew, even if she did have the impression this would be a wholly exclusive arrangement. Or was he simply acting cool and clinical because he knew that it was turning her on even more. The coolness and the ritual were driving her insane at the same time as it turned her legs to marshmallow.
He took the soft opposite her. Lisa tried to relax and sit with her legs loosely crossed at the ankles, her hands in her lap, but it was almost impossible not to squirm against the hide.
“Okay. I’m going to ask you some questions. They’re tough and they’re pretty personal, but I want you to answer every one. Do you understand?”
“Of course I understand.”
“I know you’re not a virgin, but this is your first BDSM experience?”
“Yes. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“As I told you, I went to a club once—and I walked straight out. I really hate that public scene. I don’t want to—to be like this—in front of other people.”
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what you said at the gallery.”
“That was a fantasy!”
“Yet you’ve just stripped naked now in front of a virtual stranger…”
She gripped the arms of the chair, unable to deny it.
She shivered.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid you will have to put up with it. Now, I presume you’ve tried oral sex.”
“Of course. I’m not naïve.”
“Received it?”
“I suppose I don’t mind it.”
He looked at her and raised his eyebrows briefly. “It was that good? Hmm. Have you ever been tied up by a lover?”
“Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“My ex… He tried a couple of times, but it did nothing for me.”
“He sounds wonderful,” said Olivier sarcastically. “Ever had your ass flogged?”
“God, no!”
“Have you used nipple clamps?”
“No.”
“Sex toys?”
Lisa squirmed in the seat. “At home sometimes. On my own. But not much. I’ve been too busy with work.”
He smiled as if she’d confirmed every one of his suspicions about
her: that she was an uptight workaholic Brit. “What about anal sex?” he asked.
“Why don’t you just get a bloody clipboard and tick these off one by one?” she shot back.
He burst out laughing, but heat flooded Lisa’s face. This was excruciating. How would she ever do all these things when she blushed at the mere mention of them? Yet she was also wet at being forced to answer this string of deeply intrusive questions. Would she get used to this conflict between her desires and her rational mind? Did she even want to get accustomed to it, or was the tension between Public and Private Lisa what made it so exciting?
“It’s not funny. I know what you’re doing,” she said.
“Yes. Asking you if anyone ever claimed your ass. Have they?”
“No!” She opened her mouth to swear, then clamped it shut.
He leaned forward in his seat, appraising her like an object or painting.
“Is that it?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “I don’t think there’s much point in asking you anything else, judging by your reaction to my questions so far.”
She was mortified at the assumptions he’d clearly made about her and she’d just confirmed. She put on what she thought was a seductive voice. “I might surprise you.”
“I can promise you that by the time I’ve finished with you, you will surprise yourself. Now, I’m sorry to tell you, it really is time for debts to be paid. Stand up and place your hands on your head, please, while I fetch the instruments of correction.”
Instruments of correction. Lisa opened her mouth, clamped it shut.
His eyes narrowed. “Place your hands on your head, and in future, when you are told you will be corrected, you will thank me before and after the punishment.”
“In French?” said Lisa tartly, fighting back every urge to tell him to shove his correction up his gorgeous, arrogant arse. Knowing that her sarcasm might inflame him ever more… Maybe she should provoke him, in that case.
“That depends on whether you feel you need the practice, but no matter, I can spot insolence in either language. Now, get your hands on your head.”
Lisa found the humiliation of this act of submission harder to take than the idea of the imminent correction, but she raised both arms and placed her hands on top of her skull.
French Blue Page 5
