Forty Shades of Pearl (Part One of The Pearl Trilogy)

by Arianne Richmonde

  It’s true. The pressure is turning me on and I start squirming in my seat, even though I have my seatbelt on. He eases his hands underneath me, cupping both his palms below my buttocks, lifting me a few inches off my seat. His fingers are slipping into me from behind, then tracing up the creak of my ass and back down. His thumb is inside me now – that magic thumb which seems to know where my G-spot is. I start moaning quietly. I have my eye on the flight attendant, still strapped into her seat. She’s reading a magazine and the seats between us almost block her view. Almost.

  “Haven’t you had enough of me for one day?” I ask in a whisper, conscious that we could be seen.

  “Don’t forget, you’re still being punished for being an ambitious little American brat.” He punctuates the ‘brat’ with pressure from his thumb on that elusive spot. It feels amazing.

  “What kind of punishment?” I ask softly – the throb more intense as his thumb circles inside me.

  “I think a bit of slow torture, don’t you? I think you need to be taught a real lesson.”

  “What kind of lesson?” I breathe.

  “I’m sure I can think of something.”

  “Oh yeah? Like some more whipping me with your tongue? Or beating me again with the feather?” The idea of it makes me shudder with anticipation.

  “No. Not that.”

  I can feel my breath quicken. “What?”

  “You’ll see.”

  My legs are still crossed tight. The full skirt of my pink flowery dress covers his hand, but the plane has leveled out now… oh no! The flight attendant is un-strapping herself from her seat and is making her way in this direction.

  I wriggle in my seat, “Alexandre take your hand away,” I hiss at him, but he’s laughing and he won’t move it. His thumb is pressing harder on that sweet spot now. Ah…panic – she’s meandering towards us – smiling at us. This is the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me. Oh my God! I cross my legs tighter, my thighs acting as clamps to try and force his hand away out from in between my legs. She’s upon us now. I can feel it building up. At the last second he takes his hand from out beneath me but it’s too late because seconds before he releases it, he pushes hard with his thumb and I feel a volt surge through me and explode in a massive spasm…the fear of being caught, the excitement, the shame, all merge into one thundering orgasm, pounding like an adrenalin-rushed heartbeat shooting right up my V-8. My legs are still crossed. I keep the pressure up and squeeze my muscles together even tighter and a second rush is upon me. Boy oh boy, this is gloriously intense. But very embarrassing.

  “Can I get anything for you both?” she asks sweetly.

  My body is shuddering with delicious contractions. Every nerve is concentrated between my legs as if the rest of me was a rag doll. I’m coming in both places: Alexandre’s thumb’s final press on my G-spot, coupled with the clench of my thigh muscles putting pressure on my clit, has sent me over the edge.

  Alexandre is laughing. My eyes are half closed, my mouth hanging open, my breath caught in what seems like a seizure. My stomach muscles are juddering. I’m shaking all over.

  “Are you okay, madame?” she asks in a French accent with a look of great consternation. She is bending over me frowning – her eyes worried.

  “She gets a little queasy,” Alexandre replies, and then bursts out laughing again.

  “Is she going to be sick?”

  “No, she’ll recover,” he utters with an ironic smirk.”If you could bring us some champagne that would be great.”

  The hostess looks shocked. She must be thinking he’s crazy to ask for champagne when I seem as if I’m about to barf, or worse, have a heart attack. “Are you sure?” she double-checks.

  “Quite sure – champagne is good for her, eases up the muscles a bit. Don’t worry, I know what her body needs.”

  Oh yes, I think, still shuddering. You know my body better than I do.

  The flight attendant moves off. Thank God. I am aware that he could have said all this to her in French but he obviously wanted me to experience full humiliation. His punishment.

  “Are you having fun, Pearl?” He chuckles again.

  I can’t speak – the mini aftershocks of that 9.1 earthquake on the Richter scale are still giving me ripples of intense pleasure – tremors like bells inside my body have every part of me shimmering and quivering.

  “Such a disrespectful little hussy, aren’t you? Have you no decorum at all?” He breaks into another grin.

  I finally uncross my legs. “You bastard.” Then a smile forces its way onto my lips.

  “Well I did say we were ‘coming along for the ride.’ But to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon.”

  “Coming along for the ride. Really, Alexandre,” and then I joke, “don’t rub it in.”

  We both laugh. “Don’t think you’re off the hook yet, Ms. Robinson, we still have to fill in our membership form. I’d like to come along for the ride too, don’t forget.”

  “Fill in – very funny. Forget it. I refuse to be a member of this silly Mile High Club. Won’t do it. Just won’t. You can put a giant tick against the ‘Pearl – Public Humiliation’ box on your goddam list and leave me alone in peace for the rest of the flight.”

  The chilled champagne arrives. I look up at the flight attendant from under my lashes and smile furtively, sheepishly – then keep my gaze down, mortified that she can guess what has just happened. Perhaps it’s part of her job – to pretend she doesn’t know what’s going on.

  Egged on by thirst and a sense of shame, I find myself glugging down my beverage like water, wondering what else could be on Alexandre’s proverbial (or actual) list of things to ‘encourage’ me to do. He’s clever – it all appears as if it is coming (no pun intended) from my own free will – and it is – yet-

  Why do I feel I’m being controlled by him?

  I curl up against his strong shoulders and the next thing I know, my body collapses into an exhausted, profound sleep.

  When I wake up all the lights are dimmed and it’s pitch dark outside the plane windows. I find myself – not curled up next to him anymore – but stretched out, the seat down like a bed. He must have moved me when I was asleep. I glance over and he’s working on something – charts or graphs – it looks extremely mathematical.

  “Hey, baby, you’re finally awake,” he says, winking at me. I’m glad to see the gentle Alexandre has returned.

  “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “About four hours.”

  “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

  “Haven’t I,” he says distracted, still concentrated on his task.

  “No.”

  “Hang on – I’ll be all yours in a minute – just have to finish this.”

  I get up, grab my handbag and go to the bathroom. Even though it’s a private jet, the toilet lights are disconcertingly bright. Yuk. It shows up every wrinkle, every blemish. I have to stop myself from launching into a full facial there and then. I pee, then wash my hands and face, underarms and private parts and brush my teeth. I notice panda rings about my eyes – how did that happen? I clean them up and re-apply my mascara, brush out my hair and dot myself with my perfume, which happens to be French, a heady but fresh scent of figs that always makes me feel invigorated. I dab some under my arms and a teensy bit on my mound of Venus. I look in the mirror. That’s better, I’m ready. Ready for what? I ask myself.

  Ready for anything.

  When I get back to my seat, Alexandre has Bob Marley’s Is This Love? playing softly on his iPad. A good sign, I think. He welcomes me with a grin.

  “Sexy woman,” he comments, and he then unwittingly bites his lower lip. Uh, oh.

  “Alexandre, we need to talk.”

  He looks me up and down. “I’m listening.” But he’s not listening – his eyes are roving all over me. I’m standing – a trick I leaned about self-empowerment; when you have something important to say, take the high ground.r />
  “We haven’t had a chance to discuss what happened – the way I behaved, my reasons.”

  “It’s in the past now,” he answers, running his gaze to my cleavage.

  “Well, it’s not. You were so angry with me. You didn’t call me for a week.”

  “You received your little punishment, it’s over now.”

  “It’s just – before I met you, I expected you to be some kind of geek. I’d only seen one photo of you—”

  “I don’t do photos or interviews, nor red carpet.”

  “I know – you took me by surprise. I didn’t want you to think I only wanted to get to know you just because of what you did – your job. I wanted to—”

  “You wanted,” he clarifies, “to fuck me the second you saw me and you worried that if we were involved professionally it would spoil things. That you might blow your chance with me.”

  “You are so arrogant!”

  “I’m French, what do you expect?” But he’s laughing in a self-depreciating way, so I begin to laugh, too.

  “What am I going to do with you?” I say, waving my finger at him. I’m still standing.

  He angles his seat into a flat bed and then grabs my legs. He’s pulling me onto his knee. “You’re going to ride me.”

  “No way, we’ve been through this. I won’t.”

  “Oh yes, you will.”

  I look about the cabin. It’s quiet and the politician is fast asleep. The flight attendant is nowhere to be seen. “No, Alexandre. And after your ‘rape’ earlier today in my apartment, to tell you the truth, I’m a little bit sore.”

  “You’re right. I behaved like a thug. It was just that….all I could think about was you. All week. I was going crazy. Just picturing your ass in my mind made me hard. All I could think about was your ass, your tits, your face. Relax now, Pearl – sit on my knee for a bit and I’ll tell you about where we’re going.”

  I sit on his lap, feeling all warm with the knowledge that he was obsessing about me as much as I was about him. “I’m so excited about this trip. Paris?”

  “No.”

  “Provence?”

  “That’s right, baby.” He pulls out the kingfisher feather from his pants pocket and blows on it.

  “I never got a chance to see this,” I remark.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” He brushes it lightly across my brow. “Close your eyes,” he whispers.

  I close them and feel the lightest touch. He strokes my nose with it, my lips. “Hold up your hair,” he says in a soft voice. “And bend your neck down.” I do, and he traces the feather along the nape of my neck. I purr with pleasure. “The lavender fields should be in bloom,” he tells me. “There are wonderful markets everywhere with fresh produce sold directly by local farmers. Hundreds of cheeses to choose from – and olives and pastries. Pretty hats. Delicious treats to eat. Thousands of wines. Chilled rosé at lunch, pale as rainwater – tapenade on home-made bread.”

  His beautiful voice is distant as I’m in a zone all of my own, enjoying the sensation of the feather on my neck. He draws it up behind my ears and I shiver. Then around to my front. It’s on my cleavage now – my body with a mind of its own doing its tingling. I wanted to say no – I did say no, but I find myself silently willing him to unzip my dress at the back. He does. I wiggle on his thighs pushing my panty-free ass into his groin and feel that familiar hardness. I start throbbing. Groundhog Day all over again – but in the best possible way. I want to keep doing this forever. He’s kissing the back of my neck so gently, and running the feather around my breasts, circling them, grazing the feather over my nipples.

  “Oh Pearl,” he whispers in my ear. “Sweet, delicious Pearl – so addictive.” I can feel his hands pull his erection free from his pants and he lifts my skirt so it is flesh on flesh. His hardness against the soft pad of my butt. “I love you…..so close. I love you….near me.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you love me, Alexandre?” I smile.

  He lifts my leg over so I am in a straddling position facing him. He kisses me on the mouth. There’s no turning back now. I simply don’t have the willpower. He’s pulled the top part of my dress down from my shoulders and his tongue is flipping and rolling over one nipple. He lies back flat, pulls me down and eases me on top of him by maneuvering my hips.

  “So wet, baby,” he coos as I slip right onto him. “Oh yeah, that’s good. Soo good. Oh yeah. So ready. Now what I’m going to do is just lie here and you ride me as you see fit. You have the reins, okay?”

  I nod. I’m loving this horse. This stud. Something about knowing we could be caught mid-act turns me on even more. He feels incredible. I straighten my legs so we are flush – flat body to flat body.

  “Here,” he says, popping a little cushion under his tight buns. This way I’m closer to you, you’ll feel me more. Remember, go as slow or as fast as you want. You dictate the rhythm, chérie.”

  The cushion under him has his pubic bone pushing on my clitoris every time I come back down. I’m pulling out almost completely so that only his tip is at my entrance. My clit brushes against his taut stomach, the hard points of my nipples graze against the muscles on his pecs. I take another pillow and push it under his head so he’s closer. He starts sucking my tits like they were fruits, rimming his tongue around them, nibbling them. I launch back down again so I’m all filled up, swollen and hot with his size. Then I pull up, slowly. Aah, this is bliss. I’m squirming about on him making little circles and then coming hard back down. It’s making him groan and he grabs my hips so I can’t move.

  “I thought you said I was in charge,” I scold, lightly biting his neck.

  “Baby, if you do that one more time I’m going to come. Easy, you sexy rider.”

  I’m loving this; even more, knowing that it is just me and my movements that are turning him on so much.

  “Suck my tits again,” I whisper. He does.

  I lie there languidly on top, his throbbing cock only an inch inside me. The pleasure from his nibbling and sucking is immense. I start moving now, just a little bit, and can feel myself building up to it. I circle some more and he’s got his hands tight on my ass.

  Now he’s moving closer, lifting up his hips with each thrust and doing his mantra… “I…. Love..You….Fucking….Me.”

  His pubic bone is rising to meet my clit like a secret weapon, his whopping great shaft inside pressing my sweet places, his abs, the sweat beading on his muscular chest, his lips, his hair mussed about his face, the biceps of his lean arms…it’s all too much of an irresistible cocktail of pleasure and beauty…..

  A thunderous bolt pushes up through me, shudders roll over my body – I can feel the hot center of us united as one – I’m coming all around him – I start to moan, kissing his lips hard, then closing my eyes in concentration as I’m still fucking him. His penis is widening now – the spasms, his and mine together, are intense as I feel him spurting inside me, more than ever before.

  “I’m coming Pearl – you sweet, sexy goddess.”

  “Me too,” I gasp. I’m moving hard now. Slamming up and down on him – almost in tears with the power of my deep orgasm which I’m still savoring.

  I feel like there’s liquid honey down there. I keep moving, gently now, letting the tingles and ripples fade, until I collapse on his chest. I put my finger down below and feel a sticky pool leaking out everywhere. Then I suddenly click. Duh, he didn’t put a condom on! He’s come inside me!

  I am not on the pill.

  “Welcome to The Mile High Club,” he grins. “We’re fully-fledged members now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Not even my childhood memories can compete with this. I look out the wide, open French doors in my bedroom which lead onto a Juliet balcony. I see rows and rows of deep blue lavender fields buzzing with activity – bees perhaps? Beyond, are pine trees, bright, deep green, and in the shape of giant parasols. The sky is like crystal, a pale morning blue which I know will brighten up as the sun gets higher. It�
��s already hot but there’s a small breeze shimmering through the doors, enough to blow a tendril of hair off my face. The smell of lavender is rich and heady; the faint air wafting the perfume towards me. It’s so divine it knocks me back and I lie on the bed, looking up at the ceiling in a daze. I didn’t see any of this last night in the dark, nor on the way here, as I fell asleep for most of the journey. The politician was also coming to his summer house. We landed in Avignon and his government limo picked us up and deposited us here, at Alexandre’s house, en route. I still hardly know where I am – nor where the nearest village is. I guess I’ll soon find out.

  Alexandre must be downstairs, or even outside. I heard quiet activity earlier, voices chatting in French. I sit up amongst the fresh linen sheets and ease myself against the plumped up pillows, thinking, I am in Provence at Alexandre’s beautiful house! The bed is four-poster yet with no cloth, just the tall wooden posts reaching high. The room is like something out of Interiors Magazine – eclectic, yet somehow luxurious. The walls are white-washed and with dips and crevices – I could practically climb them if I had those rock climbing shoes. There is a vast fireplace of ancient stone with an antique gold mirror hanging over it. The floors are oak, I think, with different sized and shaped floorboards which creak as you step on them. Everything creaks here. Everything is crooked and topsy-turvy. There are paintings on the walls but the best painting of all, of course, is the view. There are massive wardrobes, the old-fashioned kind which you could walk inside and if you kept going you might end up in Narnia or some fabulous kingdom.

  There is someone at the door. I sit up and fasten another button of a big white shirt I’m wearing which I found strewn across the end of the bed. The footsteps are not his, but light – a lady’s footsteps.

  “Bonjour?” I call out.

  A slim woman enters, carrying a tray. She’s wearing an apron and is petite the way only Europeans can be petite, with fragile bones like a bird. The tray swamps her and I immediately jump off the bed to help.

  “Ah no, madame,” she protests. “I put Break Fast on bed. You eat.”