CollarMeinParis

by Sidney Bristol

Clay rocked forward on his toes and hissed, breathing through the unexpected pain. “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

  “I’m sure you are.” She smacked the other side. This time he was ready and took the blow in silence. She hauled back and hit the meaty part of his bottom several times with the tome before giving up, in case the sound drew unwanted attention.

  Depositing the book on a shelf left her hands empty. She gripped Clay’s hips and pulled him back against her so that his backside molded to her front. She slipped her hands under his shirt and stroked his stomach.

  “Go over to the desk.”

  He didn’t hesitate, the lost wallet and the race seemed to have been forgotten for the moment. Inwardly she breathed a sigh of relief. They would still have fun.

  “Like this?” Clay stood at the secretary’s desk in front of the single window in the room, his hands braced against the edge.

  She twisted her arm back into the side pouch on her backpack for the wad of tissues she’d stuck there. Just in case. Standing behind him, she tugged the zipper down on his jeans. His whole body went taut. She tugged his underwear down and out of her way.

  “Mistress?” he choked.

  “You’re going to watch those people walking by outside, listen to those moving around in here and know they can walk in here at any moment. There’s not a door or anything. Now let’s see how much you like your new plug, shall we?”

  “I love it,” he growled out.

  She rested her cheek against his shoulder and ran her fingers over the now warm metal. When she’d had the idea, she’d known it was something he would be blown away by. It wasn’t enough to say she loved him, Clay needed tangible things that pointed to her affection. The collar, his necklace and now the plug. Every time she exercised her so-called ownership of him, she strengthened their bond.

  The jewelry-esque piece was exactly where it was supposed to be. A few drops of moisture had seeped from around the plug to dampen the head of his cock. She rubbed the liquid into his skin using her fingertips. He tried to be still but his hips wavered, trying to find more contact, seeking her touch.

  “Look what a mess you’ve made,” she purred against his neck, dropping her hands to his balls. She rolled his testicles, keenly aware of the taut quality of his muscles. Her thumb traced the center stripe of skin between each globe and back as far as she could reach.

  Clay’s breathing was even, except every now and then it hitched, growing ragged for a moment before he focused again.

  She flexed her hand around the weight and he rocked forward into her hold. She smiled, since he couldn’t see her, and tightened her grip, treating his sensitive flesh as if it were a stress ball.

  He wheezed and tilted his head back a bit.

  “Watch the fucking people,” she growled, squeezing yet harder.

  “Yes, sorry, Mistress.”

  Footsteps passed outside in the hall and they both stilled, not daring to breathe least they draw more attention to themselves. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out they were behaving suspiciously. They stood suspended in the moment, the what-if-we-got-caught factor ratcheting up the danger levels.

  When the footsteps did not return, she released her vise grip on his balls and traced the hard line of his cock. Could the people in the street see him? She loved his cock. His height had no negative impact on the size of his package. Hell, they’d been together years and he could still make her gasp and scream when he put his mind to it to pleasure her thoroughly.

  She peeked around his shoulder so she could flip the ring over the head of his penis and ease the plug out.

  Clay ground his teeth and groaned.

  “What did I tell you to do?” She wasn’t watching his face, but she knew him well enough to anticipate the way he would tilt his head back and close his eyes, savoring the sensation.

  “Watch the road. Sorry, Mistress.”

  “I should open the window and tell them to watch you.” She took one of the tissues, wrapped the plug in it and deposited it in his jacket pocket.

  He shuddered, shimmying his shoulders against her chest. Her breasts chafed against her bra. But this was for him.

  She stroked the length of his cock, not surprised by the precum that coated her hand. She wrapped her other arm around his stomach and began pumping his length in earnest, the way he did when he’d shown her how he touched himself. Hard, fast tugs were followed by caressing the head and down to his balls.

  His hips bucked despite his control and he grunted. “Mistress. B.”

  “Is there something you wanted to ask me?” She returned to his cock, stretching her fingers around his girth.

  “God, B, I’m close.” His last word was cut off on a groan, his hips rocking in tandem with the pumping of her hand.

  “Go on. Come in front of all Paris,” she whispered into his ear, wrapping the tissues around the crown.

  He thrust hard into her grip, nearly ripping through the tissues. His body drew taut and he opened his mouth on a silent shout, eyes open and staring at the overcast Paris skyline. The tissues grew damp with his cum. Her pussy pulsed with want. She ached to have him in her, driving deep and cradling her to his chest, but she had yet to pay the price for her part of derailing yesterday.

  Gently she wiped him off with the remaining tissues and stepped back to allow him to put his clothing to rights. She disposed of the evidence into a plastic baggie to be tossed later and pulled out the all-important travel-sized hand sanitizer.

  She squirted some in his hands and hers, each of them darting silly, flirtatious glances at the other.

  “You’re amazing.” He backed her up against the desk, hands splayed across her stomach. Her nipples ached for his touch, his mouth. The wicked things he could do if she gave him permission could fill several nights.

  “Go on.” She batted her eyelashes for good measure.

  He dropped his head and rested his forehead against hers. She loved that sweet smile, when the corners turned up and drew almost-dimples on his cheeks. His eyes lit with an inner happiness that at its core was love. She’d watched it grow, and he never failed to fascinate her, this man with the capacity to be more than he was born into.

  “Psst, hey.”

  They both started at the voice cutting through their post-orgasm bliss and turned toward the door.

  Tablet-Girl leaned against the doorframe, a white book in hand. “You’re right, your brother’s a fucking asshole. Here. Beat him.”

  Clay strode across the room and took the book from the girl, glancing at the cover. “Thanks.”

  Bianca glanced from the precious book to the girl, more concerned about her. “What did he do?”

  Tablet-Girl flipped her hair over her shoulder and scowled. “He’s so rude. Portia, the clerk, said hello to him and he nearly knocked her over trying to get that damn envelope. She just came back from having her hip replaced. He didn’t even apologize.”

  “I’m so sorry. Is she okay?” Part of Bianca was horrified. The race brought out the worst in her family. After this trip she was going to have a talk with her parents. Fun and games were one thing, but this was out of control.

  The girl grinned and an evil glint lit her eyes. “She’s fine, but we’re going to hide the rest of the books from him.”

  “That’s awesome. We’ll do our best.” Clay chuckled and flipped the book open. Taped to the front over the cover page was their next clue.

  * * * * *

  Clay grabbed the arm of the first person he saw. Bianca was coming up the stairs from the Métro behind him, and they had no idea which way to go, or how close Michael and Jennifer were behind them. “Sorry, which way is the Arch?”

  The wide-eyed Frenchman lifted a hand from his paper and pointed behind him.

  “Thank you.” Bianca tugged on Clay’s arm and waved at the poor man. “Merci.”

  He wheeled around, grinning at her. She’d confiscated his knit cap and now her hair speared out from under the rolled brim. He took her hand and t
hey began striding down the Champs-Élysées, one of the biggest and best-known boulevards in the world. Trees lined the street and the wide sidewalks were packed with tourists and cafés. Street hawkers displayed various knickknacks, from kinky dice to well-known art prints.

  She glanced at him, bubbling with excitement and giggling. Electricity raced over his skin as they pushed past those who stopped in front of them to gawk at a building.

  He slanted a look at his wife and tried to muffle the laughter bubbling up in his own throat. There wasn’t even a reason to be laughing, but damn it, they were having fun.

  Bianca attempted to rein in her mirth, her features smoothing into a more composed visage. Her stride lengthened and he matched her. It was a pity they were going ninety miles a minute. They were walking down one of the most historic streets in the world. This was one of those firsts he would have liked to have savored. When he’d been a kid crammed into a foster home with five other boys, he’d never have anticipated he’d get to walk down a piece of the most expensive real estate, hand in hand with his wife. Hell, as a kid he hadn’t thought he’d get married at all; he’d hoped for a future with three meals a day and shoes that kept the rain out.

  Ahead of them, the iconic stone arch depicting French youths in little more than their birthday suits battled it out against big, burly men in chain mail. Somewhere around the monument, Bianca’s parents waited to crown the victor of this leg of the race.

  He quickened his pace, glad that his knee wasn’t hurting any longer. Bianca quick-stepped to keep up, her dark hair bobbing around her face.

  She glanced at him, her wide smile splitting her face, and pulled on his arm.

  “What are you—?”

  “Come on.” She charged forward, dragging him for a few strides.

  They broke into a jog, their backpacks bouncing in time. People frowned or stared at them, but they pushed by and thundered down the sidewalk. Bianca kept a tight grip on his hand, laughing as they dodged through people, navigated the clogged thoroughfares and finally came to the roundabout where twelve roads converged to circle the monument.

  “Where’s the tunnel that goes under the street?” he muttered out loud.

  “Oh my god, there’s Michael!” Bianca pointed across the street and, sure enough, there were Michael and his wife Jennifer. “There’s the tunnel. Shit. We’ll never make it over there before they do.” Her shoulders slumped and the light that had suffused her face died.

  Clay glanced at the traffic and squeezed her hand. “Remember when we played Frogger?”

  “Clay, no. Didn’t you tell me earlier not to play in traffic?” She hauled back on his arm, her eyes large.

  “Trust me, okay?”

  She glanced at the traffic circling the arch and back to him. Her brother would be going full tilt at the arch. He’d been pissed when they left the bookstore before he did. She squeezed her eyes shut and stepped toward him.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she groaned.

  Clay kissed her temple and got a better grip on her hand. “Stay close to me.”

  They stepped to the curb, sticking out like tourists because only idiot foreigners braved the traffic like this.

  “This is stupid,” Bianca said as she leaned past him to peer at the oncoming vehicles. “After that bus.”

  “Okay, ready?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s go.”

  They sprang off the curb, sprinting at a double-decker bus as it passed them. Cars laid on their horns as they crossed two lanes of traffic. Or at least enough space to be lanes; motorists seemed to take the stripes as more of a suggestion than a rule anyways.

  “He’s not stopping,” Bianca shrieked, jerking him to a stop.

  A blue compact car whisked past, the driver blaring his displeasure.

  “Go, go, go.” Clay pushed her ahead of him.

  They leapt over the swag chains, laughing and panting for breath.

  “Come on, Mike’s going to be here any second. Where’s the ticket booth?” Bianca dragged him through the gargantuan arch. A yellow and blue sign pointed them in the direction of the ticket booth. They skidded into line behind a pair of women.

  “Do you see him?” Bianca asked, glancing around for some sign of her brother.

  He shook his head. “No, B. Do you have cash?” His lost wallet still burned his ass, but at least he’d had the presence of mind not to carry everything around with him.

  “Yeah, here.” She dug in her pocket and produced more than enough Euros to cover the cost of entry.

  They paid and bolted for the stairs.

  “When we get home, we’re doing more cardio,” he gasped out, already breathless.

  Bianca grunted and swiped the knit cap from her head. The spiral staircase leading to the viewing level of the Arch was littered with clusters of people going up or coming down at their own speed. They were forced into plodding up behind a large group of Asians who paused every five or six steps to chatter at one another.

  He glanced over the railing and groaned. Michael and Jennifer were starting up below them.

  “Hey, squirt, we see you,” Michael bellowed for all the world to hear.

  “Oh crap,” he muttered.

  “Excuse me?” Bianca tapped two of the people in front of them. “We’re in a race.” She pumped her hands as if she were running. “Can we get by? Please?”

  The Asians looked from one to another. A young girl at the head of their group called something out in a shrill voice and like the Red Sea, the group parted.

  “Thank you, thank you so much!” Bianca took Clay’s hand and they were off again at a pace they couldn’t hope to maintain for all two hundred and eighty-four steps, but they’d try their best.

  “We’re going to catch you, Bianca!”

  She gripped the railing with one hand when she could, hauling herself up. He started taking the stairs two at a time and she followed his example. He was feeling the burn of exhaustion, he couldn’t imagine how she was doing. He might not do hard labor anymore to earn his wages, but he was far more accustomed to it than she was.

  “Oooh!”

  She jerked his arm back. He spun on a stair, refusing to give up his hold. She was down on one knee, her face a twisted mask of pain. She gripped her shin below her kneecap.

  “B, you okay?”

  “Oh god, it hurts.”

  Did he give up the win and sit with her? Or did he push her to keep going? “I know, babe, come on. We’re almost there. Come on.”

  She groaned and pushed to her feet. Behind them people began applauding. He glanced over his shoulder, and several turns down the Asian family grinned and gave them thumbs up. He waved before wrapping his arm around Bianca’s waist and urging her forward and upward.

  “Can you see them back there?” she gasped, grimacing.

  He twisted but couldn’t see his brother-in-law. “No. Don’t worry about them. Put one foot in front of the other.”

  “We’re almost there. This fucking hurts. We’re almost there. I want a whole bottle of wine tonight.” She continued her whine and climb, wavering a little on her right leg.

  He wheezed out a laugh. “Come on, the door’s just over us. We’re almost there.”

  “We’re almost there,” she parroted back at him.

  They hobbled around a family sitting on the stairs, clustered around an elderly gentleman. He’d like nothing more than to sit down and take a time-out, but it wasn’t an option. At least not until they’d won this leg of the race. He could hear the sound of hurried footsteps and Michael and Jennifer’s bickering.

  The door beckoned them.

  “Finally,” Bianca gasped as they hit the landing and dragged through the doors. “Where the hell are my parents?”

  They stood on top of the Arch, all of Paris spread out on each side. The sky seemed to be ready to give them a big bear hug, and the clouds seemed close enough to touch at this height. People clustered around the edges, posing for picture
s and taking it all in.

  One couple wore bright, neon-blue windbreakers and stood out from the rest. Or really, sat out from the rest on a ledge that formed the upper walk where people could stroll along the spiked railing.

  “There.” He propelled Bianca towards her parents.

  “Thank goodness,” she groaned.

  They limped over to where the couple sat with big smiles and a camera. Her mother flashed a candid shot of their heaving faces doubled over.

  “Oh Bianca, I can’t believe how well you two have done!” her mother cooed and snapped another picture.

  “Good time, good time.” Her father scratched down their official arrival. Each of the remaining three teams would have to leave tomorrow morning in the order in which they arrived, and minus how much longer it took for them to finish.

  Clay shrugged out of the backpack and turned toward Bianca.

  “I can’t believe we did it!” She threw her arms around his neck and hopped up, her legs hugging his hips.

  He couldn’t help glancing at her parents as he cupped her ass and hoisted her higher. They didn’t even register what he and Bianca were doing because just then the second team barreled through the doorway.

  Clay bent to rest his forehead against hers. “It’s because I had the best teammate.”

  She rubbed her nose against his to the accompaniment of pounding footsteps and heaving breath. He was aware of Michael and Jennifer passing them without a word and his in-laws clocking them in.

  “Thank you for making me do this.” She tilted her hips so she rubbed against him, in full view of her family and all of Paris.

  “I couldn’t make you do anything you didn’t really want to do.” Still, he smiled, relishing the feel of being part of something.

  “Hm, true.” One side of her mouth quirked up and she got that twinkle in her eye. The one that made him wince in expected pain and harden with anticipation.

  Chapter Five

  Bianca shut the suite door with a satisfying thud. Michael could bitch all he wanted to, they’d won today’s leg of the race and she couldn’t be more excited.

  She couldn’t believe it.