CollarMeinParis

by Sidney Bristol

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Tired but I’ll be okay. Where are we going?”

  He had their backpacks strapped to his chest and back. Bless this man. He looped an arm around her waist and urged her back toward the palace.

  “We’re headed to Notre Dame.”

  She groaned. “Oh fuck me. We have to climb stairs next, don’t we?”

  He ducked his head and tried to not look at her, but she knew the truth.

  * * * * *

  Clay kept his arm around Bianca’s waist as they left the Métro. Notre Dame Cathedral was located on an island in the middle of the Seine River. People streamed in and out, a line stretching across a long courtyard in front of the building moving at a pretty good pace. Streets bordered the courtyard on three sides and cars squeezed through narrow lanes. Trees framed either side of the church, growing behind black wrought iron bars. The face of the building was covered in carvings, so many it would take hours to see each individual one.

  “Do we go in the cathedral?” she asked.

  He shook his head, both relieved and disappointed they wouldn’t be going inside this time. As much as he wanted to see what the interior looked like, the line would take up too much time and they were cutting it close. Kevin’s wife Heather was a professional volleyball player. Regardless of who rowed across the Canal, they’d make it in better time than Bianca or Jennifer had. “The clue said to go to Quasimodo’s Sanctuary.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He studied the face of the church, avoiding her gaze. “In the Hunchback of Notre Dame, when Esmeralda was being forced to pray on the stairs before being led to her hanging, Quasimodo slid down the ropes and rescued her. He took her up to the bell tower and shouted ‘Sanctuary’ at the crowd who had come to see her put to death.” Heat crawled up the back of his neck. He could see Bianca gazing up at him, her head tilted to one side.

  She was his Esmeralda, but unlike Quasimodo, the beautiful seductress chose the misshapen man.

  “I don’t think I ever knew the actual story.” She slipped her hand into his. “What happened to them?”

  “In which version?” He dared to glance at her and found Bianca smiling up at him.

  “Have I ever told you I think your secret reading habits are sexy?”

  “Sexy?” He stared at his wife. He’d picked up reading in high school because if he finished a book, he got points, which could buy him things, like lunches and snack food his foster family never bought. It was an incentive program. Later on, he’d continued reading to make himself feel smart, and he’d grown to enjoy it, but sexy?

  She grabbed the backpack straps and stepped in close. “Yeah. In like ten years maybe you’ll need reading glasses and there will be a little salt and pepper in your hair. Hm, now I’m getting the urge to do a little role play.”

  “And who would I be?” Role play wasn’t one of their normal kinks, but there had been a few he’d enjoyed.

  “I think you would make a really hot professor and I could be the college student, hell-bent on beating an A out of your ass.”

  His cock stirred at the visual of Bianca in a short plaid skirt, a bustier and a ruler. He gripped her hips and urged her closer, she obliged while also rubbing against him.

  She placed a playful kiss at the corner of his mouth. “So where do we need to go? The bell tower?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, you’re the Notre Dame expert. Lead the way.” She took his hand and waited for him to decide the next step.

  This was what he loved about Bianca. She led with the best of them, and yet knew how to step back and let him handle things. He squeezed her hand and together they strode toward the cathedral, merging into the traffic and cutting across the courtyard.

  “I think we should ask someone,” he muttered as they came up against the line stretching back fifty yards. He approached the most American family he could see, fanny packs and all, with a friendly smile on his face. “Excuse me, do you know how you get to the bell tower?”

  The patriarch of the group smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. He looked like the kind of person who did a lot of smiling. “Sure, go around the corner there, the line’s supposed to be on the side of the building. We’re headed there next.”

  “Great, thanks!”

  They circled the building, threading through the slower-moving tourists. The flow of traffic going to the tower was easy to spot now that they knew where the line was, as was following it, especially once they left the courtyard. The path took them into the fenced-off garden area and to the base of one of the towers. The entrance was unassuming, marked by a sign and little else. Most of the people stopped at the door and turned around. Very few people were actually lining up to go all the way to the top.

  “Any idea how many steps?” Bianca asked after they presented the tickets that had been in the envelope.

  He grimaced and settled his hand on her lower back. “If I had my phone I could tell you.”

  “Sorry, we’ll get you a new one when we’re home.” She patted his chest and began what was undoubtedly going to be a long climb to the top.

  The ancient stairs wound round and round, creating a disorienting and claustrophobic environment. Their steps slowed to a plodding pace, sweat dripped down his spine. Bianca muttered obscenities every so often and he did his best to keep from laughing. She was angry without the real bite of the Mistress, which was the only reason he found it so funny. Admittedly he was doing only marginally better than her, but he also hadn’t rowed across the Grand Canal.

  Without warning, the stairs let out into a gift shop of all things. Though they’d climbed for ages, it didn’t seem as though they’d gone far enough.

  “Oh thank god,” Bianca heaved, staggering forward and planting her hands on her knees. She doubled over and sucked in deep breaths.

  He bit his lip and glanced beyond the landing. “Um, B, we’re only halfway up.”

  “What? Are you serious?” She stood and followed his gaze to where the stairs continued up.

  “Sorry, babe.”

  Bianca groaned and staggered to him, planting her forehead against his shoulder. “You’re enjoying my misery, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe a little. Let’s get out of the way.” He guided her away from the foot traffic inside the gift shop.

  Bianca straightened and scraped her shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail as she glanced around. Little bits of hair slipped free to frame her face.

  “You good? Let’s keep going.”

  “Wait.” She grabbed his elbow and pointed farther into the gift shop. “We’re supposed to go to Quasimodo’s Sanctuary.”

  He glanced over her shoulder to where a plaque pointed the way to Esmeralda’s cell up an ornate stone staircase. It didn’t appear to be open to tourists, but it was worth checking out.

  “I think you’re right.” Hand in hand they approached an attendant standing in an out-of-the-way corner. He dug out the blue envelope with their clue and brandished it. “Hi, I’m—”

  “A racer!” The woman’s face lit up. Before he could confirm or deny her assumption, she grabbed his other arm and hauled him to a small stone stand where a silver bell sat. The woman gestured expectantly at the bell.

  He glanced at Bianca, who merely shrugged. He reached for the bell and wrapped his hand around the handle. It was smooth and cool to the touch. He lifted it and flicked his wrist, giving it a ring. The tone was clear and drew the attention of everyone in the shop. For one moment all activity paused, and the focus was on them.

  The woman slid another envelope out and held it between her two hands. Her smile was as bright as the sun. She had to be at least twenty years older than either of them, and much better at climbing the stairs. “Here is your next clue. Congratulations on being the first team through.”

  He froze, clue in hand, and stared at the woman.

  “The what?” Bianca blurted.

  “No one else has been through yet?” he as
ked in a rush.

  The woman shook her head, smile still firmly in place.

  He glanced at Bianca and laughed. He couldn’t help it. What were the odds?

  “Thank you, thank you very much,” Bianca said to the attendant and pulled him back toward the stairs.

  They skipped the trinkets and the side attraction of viewing the Hunchback-themed areas in favor of continuing their climb. The pace was slower, sounds muted and the feel of history weighed in all around them. By the time they reached the walkway that would take them the length of the cathedral to the south bell tower, he was ready for a recliner and a beer. Not more steps. The corridor running the length of the church was unique, mostly open on one side and above. Wire fencing diminished the feel that they were about to tumble to their death but didn’t eliminate the sensation of being on top of the world. All of Paris spread out around them.

  He would have liked to stop to take pictures of the cityscape. Maybe the only better location for a view like this was the Eiffel Tower. But they trudged on, stealing excited glances at each other every so often.

  They were in first place—again.

  They crossed into the southern belfry and wobbled up an old wooden staircase. They were so giddy the whole thing passed in a blur. Even seeing the thirteen-ton Emmanuel bell hanging in the tower barely registered.

  How had they beaten Michael and Jennifer? He didn’t dare say anything out loud for fear he’d jinx the whole thing. Maybe they’d gotten lost, or had they thought the Emmanuel bell was what they were trying to find? If Bianca hadn’t pointed out Esmeralda’s prison he’d have passed it up too.

  The descent was easier, their pace buoyed by the unexpected boon of being in first place. The staircase let them out behind the cathedral, the exit to the garden straight ahead. Cars and buses honked at each other as they navigated the clogged warren of streets around the cathedral.

  “What does the clue say?” Bianca tugged on his arm.

  He stepped aside, into a little alcove with a bench and overhanging tree. The envelope was in his pocket, crinkled but no worse for wear. “You want to do the honors?”

  “You do it.” She leaned over his shoulder, gripping his elbow.

  He tore open the flap and extracted the clue. “Meet us at the Eiffel Tower Le Jules Vernes Restaurant. Last one there’s a rotten egg. Caution—Dress code enforced.”

  “Oh my god, no way!” Bianca jumped and squealed in delight.

  He was a little baffled. The restaurant meant nothing to him, but apparently it did to his wife. “What does this last bit mean, dress code enforced?”

  “It’s a really nice restaurant. Like, evening wear dressy.” Her face fell and she ran her hands over her hips. “Shit, I didn’t bring anything nicer than this.”

  He glanced at the dirt-smudged shift dress and shrugged. He’d figured into their budget that this trip would easily cost more than expected. Between his salary and what Bianca made as a corporate event planner, there was enough. “This is Paris. Let’s go shopping.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He choked back a laugh. She sounded like a kid being promised the greatest treat in the world. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Her gaze shot past him and her jaw dropped. She shoved him farther into the alcove and peeked around the edge. “There’s Mike and Jen.”

  He could hear them bitching at each other as they passed.

  They waited in silence for several moments until they were sure the couple had passed.

  “Holy shit, she’s pissed,” Bianca whispered.

  He didn’t understand the constant sniping between Michael and Jennifer, but they’d been married long enough he figured it was just their way. He was glad he and Bianca didn’t fight like that.

  Clay merely shook his head. “Come on, it can’t be that hard to find someplace to shop in Paris.”

  * * * * *

  Bianca had just blown several months’ lingerie budget, and it was so worth it.

  Dresses hung on the burnished steel hooks of her small fitting room, but she was focused on the bag of items she’d already purchased. She glanced at herself in the mirror, still a little astounded at what a few minutes at the makeup counter and twenty-five bucks had done for her. The women had understood only that she had to go somewhere very fancy and needed a complete overhaul.

  They’d delivered.

  She shucked her dirty, sweaty clothing and made use of the wet wipes she’d stuck in her pack. It seemed a sin that she was about to put such luxurious material against her skin when she hadn’t been scrubbed clean. But she had a date with her husband, and she was actually excited about the end of the race, and not because it would be over.

  The pale-blue lingerie had antique lace panels and tiny beads sewn into the bust. In addition to the merry-widow top, it had matching stockings and G-string. She wiggled into the top, sucking in her stomach and squishing her breasts to avoid having to undo all of the closures up the back. Tugging it into place, she was relieved when it slid around her ribs with only a little shimmying. Exhaling, she examined herself in the mirror.

  It fit.

  Her meager breasts were plumped in the cups, her waist accentuated by the design. Clay was going to love it.

  She pumped her fist and grabbed the remaining three pieces. The thong was so tiny as to be almost pointless, and the stockings were edged with the same blue lace. Together, the whole set was much more romantic and delicate than the pieces she typically purchased, but they’d drawn her whereas the more expected black half corsets and teddies hadn’t.

  “Bianca?” Clay’s voice echoed in the dressing room.

  “I’m in here. Did you find something?” She ran her fingers through her hair quickly. Thank the stars it didn’t look a mess. A little dry shampoo and all her problems were solved.

  “Found, purchased and ready to go.” His voice came nearer, followed by soft footsteps.

  She was evil, and she liked it that way. The woman in the mirror appeared as devious as she felt. She pivoted to the door and cracked it open. “Yeah?”

  “Yeahhh.” Clay’s gaze jumped from her face to her breasts and lower. “Fuck, that’s hot.” He glanced over his shoulder before crowding her back into the narrow fitting room and shutting the door.

  “Damn.” And she’d thought she looked hot.

  Clay’s hair was damp, his face scrubbed clean. He’d purchased a simple, very tailored type of skinny suit, very James Bond, complete with a white shirt and narrow black tie. She slid her hand under his jacket and down his abs.

  “You look so fuckable.” His fingers coasted down her shoulders, over her breasts and teased the beads on the cups.

  “You like?” She arched her back and preened. She wasn’t above fishing for compliments from her husband.

  “Mm-hm.” He walked her back until she ran up against the wall.

  She dug her hand into his hair and bent his head back, forcing his lips away from her face. Her breathing was already too fast, her pussy tingling. They didn’t have time for this, but who cared?

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she growled against his neck.

  “Nothing.” And yet one side of his mouth hitched up.

  “You’re a bad liar.”

  “Maybe I want to be punished.”

  “Clearly you need a time-out. Put your nose in the corner. I need to pick a dress out.” She forcibly turned him and made him face the door.

  With him taking up space, it made the small dressing room cramped. Good thing she liked being near him. She turned her attention to the gowns she’d selected from the sale rack. While she would have liked nothing more than to go crazy in the gown department, she’d exercised her restraint by sticking close to things with slashed prices. That left her with a grand total of four options between her petite size and height. Longer options would hit the floor, while short dresses were more modest on her.

  She shimmied halfway into one dress before discarding it for being too small. The next was fine,
but didn’t interest her. She skipped the third and prayed the fourth worked. It was a chiffon dress in champagne, more of the same delicate sensuality as the lingerie. The bodice was beaded down to the natural waist and flared out into an a-line skirt. The hem was trimmed into scallops, giving it interesting movement. She closed her eyes and pulled it on.

  “Zip me up?”

  “Am I allowed to turn around?”

  She glared at his reflection and swatted Clay’s bottom. “Smart-ass, just zip me up.”

  He pushed his hips back and grinned at her over his shoulder. “Please, Ma’am, again?”

  She shouldn’t laugh, but damn him he was too cute. She turned and draped herself against his back, gripped his semi-erect cock through the trousers and squeezed. She was pleased to find the rope still bisected his package. Clay grunted and slapped his hands against the wall of the dressing room.

  “You’re really asking for it.” She tried for stern, but they were having too much fun for that.

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “What am I going to do with you?”

  “You could fuck me.”

  Her pussy clenched. Yes, she’d like that very much, but it would only reinforce bad behavior, not that Clay was one to misbehave. He’d taken it very hard this morning, and if he was being playful now, she didn’t want to punish that.

  “No, you’re going to zip this up and tell me I look fabulous.”

  She released him and turned to face the mirror. Clay was slower to follow. He took a moment to adjust himself before facing her and watching her in the mirror. His gaze touched her everywhere as he tugged the zipper into place.

  The dress fit her rather well. It was a touch too large, but it hung better than she’d expected. She twisted her hair up and studied the effect.

  “You really look beautiful.” Clay rested his hands on her hips and kissed her neck. She tilted to the side, giving him unspoken permission. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed up to her jaw. Her breasts felt heavy, aching for his touch.