French Blue (14 page)

She shoved her hands through the opening. “I sincerely hope they’re not genuine Edwardian ones.”

“God, no, I got them from an online boutique. It sells antique reproductions. Why don’t you put them on while I rearrange the set?”

Lisa slipped one leg, then the other into the pantalettes. The fabric did, indeed, feel gorgeous next to her skin, but the open crotch was, quite literally, a revelation. It seemed far sexier and dirtier than wearing no panties at all, and the opening, obviously designed for practical reasons back in the days when ladies wore long, heavy skirts, took on a new meaning when part of erotic foreplay.

“I should really have laced you into a corset too, but it would be such a shame to cover up those beautiful breasts.”

Lisa glanced down and felt a surge of pleasure. Her self-consciousness about her breasts had diminished. Jody had been a bastard to call them heavy. Olivier made her feel that she was privileged to have them. She lifted them in both hands and said, “
Merci, maître
.”

He shook his head. “Please don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Flaunt your breasts at me when I’m trying to work.”

Lisa pushed them together, aware her nipples had stiffened, and said innocently, “I’m not flaunting them,
maître
.”

He held up his finger and thumb and clucked his tongue. “You are this close to a correction. Stand with your hands on your head while I set up this shot and think about how you’re going to curb your lustful thoughts.”

Lisa placed her hands on her head, and her breasts lifted. It was impossible not to think even more sluttish thoughts.

Olivier nodded in satisfaction. “A far more modest position for a virgin.”

She waited, well aware that her breasts were even more on display. Her pussy tightened as a wicked idea struck her. What if Olivier made her stand in the crotchless drawers, exhibited to public view? She imagined standing on a plinth in one of the Paris galleries, tourists swarming around her, staring and pointing, clucking their tongues disapprovingly. She shifted, aware of her sex moistening and her buttocks clenching. Olivier would have placed a plaque at her feet.

“The correction of an immodest virgin.”

He would make her remain there all day until she turned pink with shame. If she moved, he would take her over his knee, rip the panties apart and spank her soundly in front of a crowd of jeering strangers.

Heat scorched her cheeks. Wanting to be publicly naked and shamed seemed a whole lot kinkier than being spanked or paddled by him, and she couldn’t claim the fantasy had stemmed from Jody’s taunts about her body. She’d had it for a long time. Olivier knew, of course, but there was no way her desires could become reality. The idea of actually baring all as an act of submission at a club made her sick with fear.

Olivier had dragged a padded boudoir chair on top of the Persian rug and glanced up at her. He frowned. “You can take your hands from your head now and come over here.”

“
Oui, maître
.” Lisa kept her eyes on the rug as she obeyed.

He tilted her chin up and eyed her with suspicion. She blushed deeper. “Your face is very red.”

“Is it?”

He folded his arms. “You know very well it is. Hmm. I’m not sure your thoughts have been very modest while you waited for me. We’ll have to discuss them later.”

His look of naked lust made her instantly damp. A draught of cool air whispered over her wet pussy, and she twitched with lust. “At least you
look
virginal,” he said. “And I have the perfect finishing touch.” He picked up a string of creamy pearls from the dressing table and placed it over her head. The pearls hung between her breasts, cool and tantalising.

“I always knew you’d look good with a pearl necklace,” he said, tilting up her chin with his fingers and rolling one of the beads between his fingers. The innuendo was not lost on Lisa. His fingers strayed to her nipple, and he rolled it gently between his fingers like the pearl.

“I’m supposed to be an innocent ingénue caught in the act of my
toilette
.” She kept her tone demure.

“Innocent, for now.”

He walked back to the camera and picked up the postcard. “Place your hands on the chair.”

Lisa bent over, feeling the silk part. Air licked at her pussy and butt cheeks. It was deliciously exposing and naughty.

“A little lower,
cherie
. Let’s see more of that lovely bottom.”

She pushed her butt into the air, and the pearls clattered on the seat of the chair. What must she look like to Olivier?

Olivier’s erection strained against the denim of his jeans. He longed to take her now, but that would deny him the glorious pleasure of scrutinising her amazing breasts and gorgeous pussy for a little while longer. He had plans for both, and he wasn’t sure he could wait much longer. Was she ready for him yet? He didn’t want to hurt or humiliate her.

Putain. What am I thinking?
She’d hooked up with him precisely to do both those things in a controlled and safe way. Normally he wouldn’t have a second thought about taking things to a new level with a sub, but Lisa was different. He found himself second-guessing his actions when they played—and he’d asked her to the chateau? It was best she didn’t find out that she was the only woman he’d invited here since Caro.

“Turn your head to look back at me,” he said, shaking off his doubts with a sharp command.

“Um…I’m not sure I can from this position.”

Two pale pink ass cheeks were neatly framed by the white pantalettes. It was all he could do not to abandon the shoot, rip them off and fuck her. Or nudge his aching cock between those cheeks. Or both. At times like this, it would be helpful to have two penises.

“Try,” he said, forcing out the word through a throat raw with lust.

She twisted, looking back at him.

“Act startled and innocent.”

“At the same time?”

“With a subtle hint of minxiness.”

“I’m not Meryl Streep!”

He tried not to smile. “I do hope not, or she’d have called security by now. Do your best.”

Lisa managed a sexy pout, and Olivier rattled off a few shots. He didn’t really care how the photos turned out, because he was surely going to explode if he didn’t take her soon. Even from a few feet away he could see the small damp patch around the edge of the knickers. He knew her pussy lips would be glistening and sticky for him. She’d loved posing for the photos, and it had been a great way of preparing her for the public displays of nudity she feared and craved so much.

He hadn’t forgotten her words:
“Bared and shamed.”
If ever there was a Freudian slip, that word “shamed” was it, but how to shame her and deliver her fantasy in a way that didn’t actually violate her privacy or destroy her fragile self-esteem… That was a difficult one.

She waggled her bottom at him, her sex pink and ripe.

Putain
…

Right now, he wasn’t going to waste any more time worrying.

In seconds, he’d moved behind her, and her soft “oh” of surprise and pleasure was all the encouragement he needed.

“Open your legs, you wicked girl,” he said.

Her knickers opened wider, exposing her pussy lips like the petals of a flower. He parted them with two fingers, and she whimpered with pleasure.

“I will take you now,” he growled. “And I won’t spare you an inch, despite your innocence.”

Lisa’s hips bucked. Olivier didn’t care how cheesy the scenario had become; he just wanted to make her more wet and more desperate for him to fuck her.

He ripped open the buttons of his jeans and yanked them down his thighs with his shorts. His cock was at the bursting point as he nudged her tight entrance, and she moaned as he pushed deeper inside. Her sigh of ecstasy drove him over the edge, and he slammed into her, grasping her hips and thrusting again and again, his pelvis slapping against her ass cheeks.

“
Olivier
…”

He heard her call his name. No “
maître
”. No games now. Just the bliss of his cock inside that impossibly tight, hot space, releasing the nerve-jangling tension. Just the pure pleasure of fucking a beautiful woman who wanted him. Just the joy of having fucked Lisa Archer. It was that simple.

Chapter Eleven

“Olivier?”

He blinked awake, light hurting his eyes. The surface beneath him was hard yet soft, his body sticky with dried sweat. Where was he?

“Are you back?”

Something soft tickled his chest, and Lisa’s face came into focus, her thick hair brushing his nipples. She was propped up on one elbow next him. After taking her as she bent over the chair, he’d laid her on the Persian rug, gone down on her and then fucked her again. Now it was he who was flat out, the sun hot on his limbs through the window, the musky scent of their lovemaking perfuming the air.

“Heloo-oo. Earth to Monsieur Lemaitre.”

Her eyes were amused as she looked down at him. Olivier’s limbs were heavy. He had absolutely no desire to move.

“When your body’s had enough of me, and you’re laid right out on the floor…” Lisa sang softly, out of tune.

Does she have any idea what she does to me?
He laughed. “What the fuck is that?”

She smiled. “A very old, very cheesy song my dad used to sing to my mum.”

“Very romantic,” he joked, but his stomach tightened with an emotion he couldn’t name. The feeling was pleasurable and painful. It lifted him with joy and dragged him down with fear. It brought back a memory.
Oh Jesus.

Her brows furrowed. “Are you okay? You look spaced out. I thought I might have finished you off after that last shag.”

He ran his forefinger down her cheek, which was flushed and warm. “It was a very good shag,” he said. “But not enough to kill me.”

“That’s a relief. I thought the split-crotch knickers might have been too much for you. I’m still tingling inside from the result.”

He moved swiftly, rolling her on top of him. “I didn’t hurt you?”

She jerked her head back to look down at him. “Oh no. It was amazing.” Her breasts pressed against his chest, her damp pussy brushing his stomach. His cock stirred to life, God, he wanted her again. Would he ever
not
want her?

The ache in his gut bit deep. He was lying to himself. He knew that feeling better than any other feeling on earth. It wasn’t love, but it was the fear of love taking hold of him again.
No, I cannot do this. I will not do it again.
Not even for Lisa.

He slapped her bare rear. “Come on. Get up. We have photos to develop.”

Sometime later, Olivier swished the photo in the developing tray. The infrared light in the darkroom cast a surreal air over the trays and bottles at the side of the studio. Lisa watched the image appear on the paper. She’d never seen film developed, and while she knew it was a chemical process, the image slowly appearing on the paper had a magical air about it. Olivier was the conjurer, summoning up the image. Her image.

“There you are.” He scooped the photo out of the tray with tweezers and placed in the fixer.

There she was, in black-and-white, her curves artfully draped in chiffon, nipples and buttocks glimpsed through the filmy shawl.

“You look almost innocent,” said Olivier. “And very beautiful.”

Lisa couldn’t reply. The photo
was
beautiful.

He plucked the photo out of the fixing tray with the tweezers and clipped it to a line to dry, before returning to the developing tray. “Ah, here’s the one of you as a slave girl. You know, I really should have tried to get a snake.”

“I wouldn’t trust you with a snake.”

“Whatever do you mean?” He had a wicked grin on his face that she loved seeing. Lately, after they’d played, he morphed into this chilled-out mode, and Lisa had grown to look forward to seeing him unwind as much as she adored him in Dom mode. “Want to give me a hand to develop the rest?”

They spent a couple of hours developing the rest of the pictures and went to bed. Lisa was already under the sheets when Olivier cast off a black robe and stood by the bed naked.

“I’ve got something to tell you.”

“What do you mean?” Something in his expression—sheepish, perhaps—made the hairs prickle on the back of her neck.

He sat on the edge of the mattress. “I’ve organised a treat for you.”

Lisa eyed him with suspicion. “What kind of treat?”

“I’ve arranged for you to model for a life class.”

Her stomach clenched in shock. “No. Absolutely not.”

“It’s not an option,” he said calmly. “You will pose nude for my life class tomorrow morning.”

“
Tomorrow morning?
No way, Olivier. Paddle me or spank me, make me wear the nipple clamps during dinner—anything but this.”

He shook his head. “Modelling nude is not a correction.”

“What the hell is it, then?” She realised she was whining but didn’t care. He’d catapulted her way beyond her comfort zone.

“Pleasure, therapy. You loved posing for the private photographs.”