by Robin Gideon
“And my brother and I are convinced that you’re the only woman in this dreadful city who can do her justice,” Marcus said, his smile beaming. “She needs clothes. She needs jewelry. She needs everything that a princess needs for the next two and a half days. Can you be our savior in our hour of need?”
Diana was starting to get nervous. At first it seemed natural that William and Marcus would just sort of take control of the day. After all, wasn’t that what men like them did? They took control. They were in charge.
But then she was introduced to a woman in her mid- to late-fifties, who clearly had some sort of relationship—and Diana didn’t really want to know too much about that—with both Marcus and William. It was abundantly clear that she adored the young men, and that their affection for her was utterly genuinely. It was also clear that their credit in New Orleans was something slightly higher than unlimited.
This was a world that Diana had dreamed about but had never really believed actually existed. This was a world where money wasn’t an object. People in this world didn’t asked what something cost because they simply didn’t give a damn. Whatever that something was, they had it. And they could spend it without giving it any concern.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“We’ll need morning and evening attire for two days,” Marcus said casually, as though such things could be said casually. “Jewelry, of course. Perfumes, it goes without saying. And makeup of whatever brand and variety the mademoiselle desires.”
Diana was about to protest. But the instant that she was about to speak, the proprietress—a Madam Veronique, she had just learned—clapped her hands and, literally within seconds, a half-dozen young women dressed as though their job was to be the administrative assistant to a high-powered bank executive—hurried into the room.
“Measurements,” Madam Veronique said, her tone dictatorial. “These men are in a hurry. If you are the cause of their delay, there will be consequences.”
Diana felt as though she had suddenly been transported into a dream world. Hadn’t it just been a little more than an hour ago that she was on her family’s pontoon boat, waiting to take new clients out for an afternoon’s worth of fishing? Hadn’t she just been in the bayou?
Delicate, slender, well-manicured feminine fingers removed her clothing. They did it quickly, efficiently, and never once did they look at the two well-dressed men sitting in the overstuffed chairs that faced them, and they avoided making direct eye contact with her.
Diana started to resist. This wasn’t, after all, the kind of thing that she would allow without resistance. But when she looked into one of the girl’s eyes—the one who was just about to kneel so that she could unbutton Diana’s denim shorts—she saw something there that almost pleaded for understanding. Or at least acceptance of what they were doing.
I have to do this, those eyes said without words. Just go along with this. I’ve seen it all before. You’ll be fine. Just don’t resist. Please don’t make a ruckus. It won’t turn out well for any of us.
Within seconds, Diana was naked. Soon slender hands held her wrists and pulled her arms until they were outstretched. A cloth tape measure was touched to her upper thigh, very close to her pussy, and then brought down to the soul of her foot. Another tape measure was wrapped around her upper body, over her breasts.
“I’m a D-cup,” she said, wishing they’d asked rather than simply taken the information from her.
In a soft voice, one of the girls corrected, “She’s a double-D.” With gentle deference to social structure, she added, “I beg your pardon.”
A tape measure went around her hips.
“I’m a thirty-six,” Diana said, piqued.
Another soft voice corrected, saying, “She’s a thirty-eight.” Diana’s participation in the event was incidental, not requested. “Exactly a thirty-eight.”
Diana felt her panties being drawn down her legs. Her eyes opened wide, and she let out a little squeak out in protest.
Madam Veronique stepped forward and, in an authoritarian tone, said, “We’ll need morning and evening wear. Don’t forget the shoes. And get something to put in her belly button. What she’s wearing is…”
Madam Veronique let the words die away. Diana felt as though she had committed some grave sin. The small gold hoop in her pierced navel, she’d always thought, was sort of sexy. It perhaps wasn’t as flashy as some might have liked, but it wasn’t bad.
But when she looked over Marcus and William, they averted their gaze from hers. Obviously, according to them, it was bad, though they hadn’t said anything about it.
I hate them. She knew it wasn’t the truth. I hate everything about them.
But that was an even bigger lie, and she knew it.
Chapter 11
“No, no,” Madame Veronique said quietly but firmly to Diana as they stood very close to each other in the back room of her shop. “That is not how to put on a garter belt. First you fasten it then turn it around your waist. Only then do you pull up your stockings and attach them. Haven’t you ever done this before? If you wear panties, they come afterward.” She made a sound of astonished amazement. “You have so much beauty and yet so little sense. What am I to do with a woman like you? What can I do? There is so little time, and your gentlemen are just in the other room.”
Diana felt herself blush, but she refused to say anything to Madam Veronique. The woman seemed to know everything that was important, and not only did she know it, it seemed as though she’d always known it. From the start. From birth. Instinctively. Diana felt as though she knew nothing at all.
And she’d said “gentlemen” in the plural. She’d known the relationship was a menage a trois from the very beginning.
Madam Veronique had an unpleasant ability to make Diana feel like trailer trash from the bayou. Which, when Diana’s self-confidence was low, she suspected she was. It was her greatest fear. She never spoke of it. Not even to her friends. Not even to Marianne, her BFF. The pejorative wasn’t attached to her sexual behavior. It was to her social status.
The gown that Madam Veronique came out with next was a sheer, low-cut affair that made the breath catch in Diana’s throat. The gown was made of the finest pure silk. Even Diana’s inexperienced eyes could see the quality of the material at a glance. The silk itself was paper-thin and black as a raven’s feather. Instinctively, Diana put her hands over her private area to hide herself, even though there were no deVille men in the changing room with her and Madam Veronique.
“I’ll need panties and a strapless bra,” Diana said. She took the exquisite gown from Madam Veronique. “Is this for tonight or tomorrow night?”
She waited for a response, and when none came, she turned her attention from the silk gown to Madam Veronique.
“I thought you knew,” Madam Veronique said, her Cajun accent thicker than it had been before. Diana put it down to nervousness. “In fact, I never really thought I’d have to explain that…” There was an undercurrent of censure in her tone that Diana caught.
In other words, I’m supposed to already know this, and the fact that I don’t just proves what a swamp rat I really am.
Irked, feeling distinctly out of her own element, Diana said rather demandingly, “Well, you have to explain what it is I’m supposed to know but don’t.”
“Mr. William and Mr. Marcus requested that you not have panties for the rest of this weekend with them.” She looked directly into Diana’s eyes and added softly, “It’s not an unusual request. Gentlemen of means often prefer their ladies to be…I believe the term is commando.”
Diana felt fury blossom in her chest, but she tamped the emotion down.
“What about bras? I’m a goddamned double D! Do they really want me bouncing around like a….” The next word died in her throat. She hadn’t gone braless in public since her early teen years. At least not when she wasn’t wearing a swimsuit. But that was another matter altogether.
“Actually, regarding that part of
your attire, they were quite adamant.” Madam Veronique’s gaze flicked away but only briefly. “They were quite specific. In the negative. So much so that I was certain I couldn’t sway their wishes, even if I had tried.” Her tone softened. “Which I didn’t.”
Diana realized in an instant that Madam Veronique had been through this conversation many times before with other young women in her situation. The bottom line was that men of power were always were the ones to make such decisions, and women who didn’t have as much power were the ones who did whatever was necessary to make the aforementioned men happy.
That’s just the way the world spins on its axis. Rich men write the rules.
“What about the clothes that I wore when I came in here? I had a bra and panties then,” Diana snapped. She watched as Madam Veronique took a step backward, almost as though she’d been physically threatened. Despite Madam Veronique’s experience, she wasn’t accustomed to young women confronting her directly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you,” Diana apologized quickly. “It’s just that I’m getting damned tired of men making decisions for me.”
Madam Veronique gave the subtlest of smiles and replied, “The clothes you came with have been discarded. They’ve probably been burned by now.” She shrugged her shoulders with resignation. “I looked at them. Not a great loss. Besides, being in the company of powerful men can be very vexing…but very rewarding.”
Diana knew precisely what she meant.
* * * *
Geary sat in his office, and it took an act of willpower to keep from laughing out loud. The deVilles—in all their smugness and their cocksure sense that they were smarter than everyone else—thought that they could hide the fact that the Old Man was no longer in control of the company. Not real control. He might show up at company headquarters and issue some orders to subordinates too cowed to give any serious consideration of just exactly who those orders were coming from, but the truth of it was that the Old Man probably couldn’t remember what had happened yesterday, and he didn’t have a damned clue as to what was going to happen tomorrow.
My timing has to be perfect. It can’t be an instant before I’m ready nor a split second before the deVille kiddies know what’s going to happen. And when I strike, it’s got to be a blitzkrieg. I’ve got to hit them so hard and fast that the company will be mine and they’ll be out of power before they can create a defense. I’ve got to hit them like the fucking Nazis hit their enemies.
He imagined himself as a Nazi Gestapo high-ranking officer with the black uniform and the knee-high jackboots and smiled. He liked the imagery. He’d look good with the SS insignia on his collar, and the women would like it. They’d like it very much. He was certain of it.
Geary looked out his office windows at the ocean and the docks, where so many men and women worked like indentured servants for the company that he was confident he would one day control—and he’d control it without spending a single cent out of his pocket! All it would take would be a certain knowledge that was not now open to the general public and a willingness to put a knife in the back of certain people who did not now realize they were in mortal danger.
Geary almost quivered with anticipation. He could feel himself getting an erection. He knew—with absolute certainty—how his plan would end. The only question was when. But victory over his enemies, the deVille siblings—and it would be an absolute crushing victory—was now assured.
* * * *
The door opened silently, and a young woman, elegantly attired, stepped silently into the room. She waited several seconds, saying nothing, until Madam Veronique turned toward her.
“The gentlemen chose this,” she said, extending her hand, palm upward. On it there was a small, square velvet box.
“Thank you,” Madam Veronique replied, taking the box. Her employee exited the room as soundlessly as she had entered it. Madam Veronique smiled at Diana. “Let’s see what the deVille men want to see you wear.”
Diana felt her heart quicken instantly. She suspected that whatever was in the box would be both beautiful and extravagant. It seemed that that’s the way the brothers always behaved and made her feel.
Inside the box was a belly button barbell of gold. At one end of the barbell was a diamond. At the other end of the barbell was another diamond.
“My God, that must have cost a fortune,” Diana said softly.
“You’re worth it,” Madam Veronique replied. “At least those deVille twins think you are.” Her eyes narrowed, and her Cajun accent became just a bit stronger when she added, “And that’s all that really matters, now isn’t it?”
“I…I don’t know very much about diamonds…or things like that.”
“I must guess, but I’d say that”—she pointed to the smaller of the two diamonds—“is a one karat diamond. The larger one is a three karat. They’re of the blue-white variety. Not necessarily rare, but very beautiful and very expensive.”
“Have they bought diamonds for other women?” Diana knew she shouldn’t have asked the question, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“And I shouldn’t answer it.” Madam Veronique looked directly into Diana’s eyes. “Yes, they have bought diamonds for other women. But they were baubles. Nothing—nothing at all—compared to what they have given you.”
“Oh, goodness,” Diana said.
“No. DeVille.”
* * * *
“They’ll be pleased with how I look?” Diana asked, not at all liking the uncertainty she heard in her voice. Her self-confidence was one hell of a long way from where she wanted it to be. The deVille twins triggered all of her insecurities, even if they made her feel more alive than ever before in her life. The emotions were polar opposites and intense as hell.
“Of this, I have no doubt,” Madam Veronique said, her chin thrust upward, her confidence on display. “To call you merely beautiful is to damn you with faint praise.” She spoke in a tone of voice that suggested any refutation of her previous comment was beyond absurd.
Diana looked at her reflection in the mirror and felt a shiver go up her spine. The dress was like a second skin, gossamer-thin, and made of the finest silk. It was black as a starless midnight. It showed every line of her body. Including her extravagant breasts. And the fact that she wasn’t wearing panties wasn’t hidden in the least. The fact that her nipples were tight with excitement was about to become common knowledge to every person within fifteen feet of her.
From a safe distance, it would just be a very classical, modest, knee-length black dress. Only up close would it be obvious that the dress was gossamer thin, nearly transparent. After getting her completely dressed, Madam Veronique said she could see the outlines of Diana’s garter belt, so that had to be removed. The thigh-highs stayed but the garter belt went, which meant that periodically Diana would have to tug up her stockings. She wasn’t at all certain how she would do that while maintaining any modesty whatsoever.
“Oh,” Diana said softly, looking at herself in the mirror. “Oh my. This is very…”
“Yes, it is…um…very.”
Madam Veronique’s tone held a level of sexual confidence that Diana had often hoped to embrace for herself but never really managed.
She had the sense, though, that she was moving in the direction that she wanted to.
* * * *
Diana looked at the menu and tried very hard to forget the fact that she wore neither panties nor a brassiere. If she was spending her time alone with the deVille brothers, she wouldn’t have felt so uncomfortable. Actually, the deVille men had a curious way of wanting her to behave adventurously, of making her think that there was nothing wrong with being a little scandalous.
But she wasn’t just with the deVilles. She was in a high-end, very exclusive restaurant, and there were a lot of people who could look at her.
They scare me. They take me a million miles outside of my comfort zone. Maybe that’s the reason
why I love them.
The awareness that she had thought the word “love” caused the breath to catch in Diana’s throat.
These are men who make me think things I shouldn’t. No, that’s not true. They free my mind. They make me larger than what I am, not smaller.
“I’m on a diet,” Diana said. “I want to lose weight.” She almost added, “for you,” but she didn’t, and she was glad she’d held her tongue. There were things the deVille men didn’t know about her, and her issue with her weight was one of them.
“Not tonight,” William said, his tone having a sharp, rather dictatorial edge to it. Then, in a softer voice, he added, “Let’s just put an end to limitations tonight, okay? There’s a time and place for reining in our desires. I understand that. But tonight—just for tonight—let’s just let ourselves enjoy life and to hell with limitations.”
Diana turned her gaze down but only for a moment. Then she looked William directly in the eyes and said, “Agreed. I get the feeling that I should listen to you more often. You make sense when I don’t.”
There wasn’t a thing about the twins that made Diana look backward and think that she had done anything wrong by having sex with both of them at the same time. They were courteous, cordial, polite, and between the two of them, there wasn’t a single sexual innuendo that passed between their lips. They treated her with the utmost respect, and Diana was a little surprised that their respectful behavior came to her as something of a surprise.
“What looks good to you?” Diana asked, looking at the menu.
Marcus continued looking at the menu, but as he did, he said, “You, actually.”
Diana inhaled sharply and held her breath for a moment.
“What could be more delicious,” William said quietly, “than you? I can’t think of anyone, and I’m sure my brother can’t, either.”
“But—” Diana said then stopped speaking when the waitress stepped near.
