French Blue

by Bond, Natasha

  “Finally,” he said, then left the room.

  As she waited, naked in the middle of his grand salon, the dull rumble of traffic drifted up into the room, reminding her that the normal real world was yards away. Yet now, in here, her darkest fantasy was about to come true. After all these years of fantasising, suppressing and feeling shame at her desires, she was going to be spanked—and not with a hand either, but by implements.

  In horrifyingly quick time, Olivier returned from the bedroom carrying two red velvet boxes, which he placed on the coffee table. He opened the lid of one of them and took out an object that made Lisa’s legs buckle.

  “Do you know what this is?”

  Lisa had spent too much time on websites of various upmarket adult stores not to recognise it. However, a thumbnail photograph and a paragraph of flowery ad copy about “sweet stings” and “satisfying thuds” were no match for the reality of the item itself. The “instrument of correction” was a shiny leather strap, and a serious one at that. It was about twelve inches long, with a sturdy handle at one end and a thick oblong blade.

  “It’s a spanking paddle,” she said in a low voice.

  “That’s right. I take it you haven’t experienced one before?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “But you recognise it?”

  “From the Internet. I’ve seen them online, but…”

  “You never expected to actually be on the receiving end of one?”

  She shook her head as shivers of fear and excitement ran through her body and made her clit ached in anticipation. How could something so intimidating turn her on so much?

  “You can take your hands from your head now, and hold them right out in front of you, one palm crossed over the other.”

  Lisa felt like she had a bag of gravel in her throat. The prospect of being paddled on her behind was scary enough, but she’d heard stories of how excruciating a hand strapping was. She forced herself to hold out both hands, hoping her fingers wouldn’t tremble.

  Olivier raised the paddle high above his shoulder. Lisa felt as if she would faint and squeezed her eyes tight shut. Never had she expected this, not anything so hard core and clinical, but there was no way she would stop him with her safe word before they’d even started. That would make her feel even worse.

  And maybe it wouldn’t be too bad after all.

  Oh fuck, who am I kidding?

  The expected swish and bolt of pain was replaced by a gentle brush of leather.

  “Open your eyes,” he ordered. “And it might help if you tried breathing.”

  The rush of relief was so great, she let out a huge breath that turned into laughter. He’d been teasing her, just playing, and she had to admit, that she was relieved. She wanted to experience her first spanking, but not in the manner she’d dreaded.

  The paddle rested across her hands. The first thing that surprised her was its weight, it was heavier than it looked, and the sturdy handle bore a stamped imprint in French. It was a beautifully crafted object, apart from the six neat coin-size bevelled holes spaced evenly along its length.

  He smiled. “Not so bad, was it? But I’m afraid our games are over. It’s down to business now. Come over to the chaise longue.”

  What? The bastard had ripped the rug right from under her. He’d made her drop her guard and tantalised her to heighten her anxiety and arousal to an unbearable pitch.

  “But…”

  “Now, Lisa!” She almost jumped out of her skin as he cracked the paddle against his thigh. His voice was stern, but, suddenly overcome with nerves, she started to giggle. She hadn’t giggled since she was at school, so she knew this was bad.

  “Okay. You’ve had your fun. I’ve learned my lesson. I know what will happen if I cross the line. I’ll be a good girl from now on.”

  Olivier’s mouth quirked wickedly. “I doubt that very much, and believe me, the fun is yet to come for both of us. Now bend over the sofa.”

  “What are the holes for?” she asked, ignoring him.

  “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

  “So it hurts more?”

  “Since you insist on knowing, the holes do intensify the sting, yes.” He lifted her chin. “Don’t look so surprised. You did ask.”

  She clasped her hands behind her to stop them shaking. “And what’s in the other box?”

  Olivier tapped the arm of the chaise with the paddle. “You’ll find out. Now, I’m running out of patience.”

  She shook her head. “This isn’t fair.”

  “It’s perfectly fair. That’s the whole idea of our arrangement. It isn’t a democracy, it’s a dictatorship, and I’m the despot. Now get your ass over the edge of the sofa this instant, or I’ll add three extra strokes to your tally.”

  Three extra strokes? Extra to how many? Instantly, her bravado deserted her. She’d underestimated just how hard it would be to do as he ordered, not so much because she was afraid of the spanking, but because she wasn’t sure how she would react if she gave up control. She didn’t want to cry or beg; she didn’t want to show him physically how aroused she was, how much she longed to surrender.

  “I…don’t want to walk away on my first time, and I…thought I could do this, but it’s so hard…” she said.

  Olivier paused as if he was considering his verdict, then sighed and dropped the paddle on the seat next to him. He folded his arms. “Okay, let’s try this another way. Bend over, and I promise I won’t paddle you.”

  “What?”

  “I promise I won’t spank you if you can convince me you don’t want it to happen. Give me proof that you genuinely don’t want a paddling, and I’ll let you off the correction.”

  “What kind of proof?”

  “Physical proof, what else?”

  She knew instantly what he meant and what he was going to do. She also knew that there was no way out.

  He smiled, just as charming as the night she’d met him at the exhibition. “Now, place your pretty derriere over my chaise, and I will decide whether you really want to walk out on me.”

  She turned away from him and stepped closer to the chaise. The rough velvet brushed against her lower belly, and it was all she could do not to press her pelvis into the lush fabric. She placed her hands either side of the chaise and tilted her body forward.

  “Legs apart.”

  She spread her feet wider, every muscle strung taut with tension.

  “Now, lean right over the chaise with your palms on the cushion.”

  His hand pressed gently into her lower back, tipping her forwards so she had no choice but to steady herself with her hands on the velvet seat. She was unbalanced now, toes almost off the carpet, her bottom raised high in the air. She was helpless, twitchy with nerves and more turned on that she had ever been in her life. How must she look with her ass presented to him like this and her pussy fully exposed to his scrutiny?

  How did she look? Olivier answered with one word. “Magnifique,” and dipped a finger lightly between her legs. She whimpered with pleasure as he ran his finger through her creaminess and the rush of arousal soaked his fingers.

  “This is not proof,” he murmured, stroking her spine with one hand while his fingers circled her clit. She could only moan as he took the bud of her clit between his fingers and massaged it. “You’ve failed the first test.”

  She couldn’t deny it. She no longer wanted to. “I know. I’m sorry, maître.”

  “Desole, but sorry isn’t good enough. I must do as I promised I would.”

  He slipped two fingers inside her.

  “I’m going to come.”

  “Of course you are, but not until you’ve had six swats of the paddle.”

  Chapter Seven

  He withdrew his fingers, and Lisa gave a strangled moan that expressed all her emotions at once: assent to the correction, a frisson of fear and unfulfilled need too intense for any words. He rested his hand on her lower back. “You’ll be able to come very soon, and I promise I wi
ll make it worth bearing this small discomfort.”

  At his gentle words, Lisa stilled. All her fear seemed to fly away, replaced with a sense of relief and peace so overwhelming she thought she might float out of her body. She’d done it. She’d crossed a line she’d always wanted to but thought she never would. She was here, naked, ready, willing—accepting—of her total submission to Olivier. This moment was her whole life now, and she would wait patiently for the first stroke to fall, she would accept it all without complaint, and surrender to pleasure and pain.

  She twitched as she felt the coolness and weight of leather across her behind as Olivier rested the paddle across the centre of her buttocks. The pressure of his hand increased, holding her down more firmly.

  “Don’t tense your muscles, cherie.”

  At this ominous warning, Lisa’s glutes tightened even harder. She tried to regain her composure and breathe slowly, in, out, in…

  “Un.”

  Lisa’s yelp filled the room. Oh God. It wasn’t at all like she expected; no “sweet sting”—more like a burning thwack that made her hips buck wildly. Before she had time to think, she heard Olivier’s voice, calm and steady.

  “Deux.”

  The paddle cracked down again, and she squealed. She gasped and wriggled, but his hand held her down firmly. Oh holy fuck, she hadn’t expected this, to want to avoid the blows. It wasn’t how she imagined it. Small discomfort? Like hell it was! And no matter what he’d said, there was no time to even think of relaxing before she heard the whoosh of the paddle cutting through the air again.

  “Trois.”

  Lisa abandoned any attempt at elegant bravery and jerked against the couch as the intense burn spread through her cheeks and seemed to invade her whole body.

  “Quatre.”

  The paddle rested briefly on her behind again before snapping against her flesh.

  She cried out and tried to twist around to protest. “It really hurts. I didn’t realise it would be this bad. Ow!”

  She didn’t have time to register his “cinq” before the fifth swat tore the breath from her body and brought hot tears to her eyes. Oh shit, she didn’t want to cry, but it was even harder than the others and sizzled her skin.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. She couldn’t take anymore. The safe word. Whatwas it? She had to use it, no matter what the consequences. Damn. What was it? A famous painter… She only had to say it, and it would all end. It would be over, she could walk away from Olivier, but…

  Da Vinci.

  The name appeared before her eyes. It hung there, but she didn’t reach out to take it. The last stroke hadn’t fallen yet. He was giving her time to rest—and to decide. She couldn’t give up now, not when she was so close to pleasing him, to proving to Olivier, her Dom, and to herself, that she could take her correction as well as any other sub he’d had. She clung to the edges of the velvet cushion, bracing against the final stroke. She would take this final blow with dignity and bravery, and afterwards there would, surely, be pleasure, soothing, and glorious pleasure.

  “Six.”

  That was her voice, saying the number in French.

  The final stroke cracked down on her behind. It was harder than any of the others, but she managed to stifle a howl, and it was done.

  Lisa stayed where she was, her arms limp now and her toes scraping the carpet, overwhelmed by competing sensations of pain and pleasure. Olivier’s hand was on her back, stroking her softly. The tears were coursing down her cheeks now, and not just because of her burning butt.

  His voice came from a distance. “Wait, let me help you,” he commanded as she tried to struggle upright. Her behind still burned, but what amazed her was her lack of ability to stand. Her limbs had turned to water and perspiration sheened her back.

  Olivier helped her upright, supporting her in his arms.

  “Tres bien. You did well.”

  “I didn’t realise it would be like that,” she said through a sob. “It hurts.”

  He stroked her hair from her face. “It is a paddle. You knew what it was designed for, and perhaps I was a little tough on you, but your first time had to be memorable. I don’t think you’ve quite understood the nature of our arrangement. You need to realise that a correction is a serious matter. It’s for the best that you learn from the start, unless you want to spend your whole time with me receiving corrections?”

  “No, I don’t!”

  “Good, because believe me, I will not hesitate to take things to the next level if you misbehave again. The paddle is, let’s just say, an entry-level item.”

  Bloody hell. Lisa sniffed, realising she desperately needed to wipe her eyes but refusing to give him the benefit of asking for a tissue. “Well, now I do know.” Her voice sounded truculent, like the voice of her teenage self being scolded at school. Part of her hated Olivier. The other part wanted to kneel at his feet and kiss his cock.

  To do what? Pay him homage for thrashing her? It was sick.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, his face concerned.

  “Apart from a stinging butt, nothing.”

  He laughed. “Good. Now I have some good news.”

  “I’m happy to hear it,” she said.

  “There will always be orders to obey, but there won’t always be corrections. Most of my demands will be more pleasurable and much easier to follow.”

  Lisa nodded and wiped her hand over her eyes. She couldn’t stem her tears and didn’t know why. Olivier speaking kindly seemed to be making her more emotional, not less.

  “Will it always be like this?” she asked.

  “Most people have no idea that a real spanking does actually hurt a lot. It’s not a pleasant experience in itself, unless you’re a true masochist, which I don’t think you are.”

  “No. Then why did I want to finish my punishment?”

  “Only you can answer that. Here.” He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket.

  She dabbed at her eyes with the white cotton, just about able to stand now, though her bottom still glowed fiercely.

  “Now, I think it’s time you experienced the other instrument,” he said, leading her to the table.

  Lisa saw the smaller red box and shook her head. “No please. I’ve had enough.”

  He smiled. “Of the paddle, yes, but not of this.” He picked up the box. “And you will like it a lot more.”

  “But you said it was an instrument of correction.”

  “It is, but in a different way. You said you had tried sex toys at home on your own. Now I’m going to show what it’s like to try one with company. All you have to do is relax and enjoy. Please, go into the bedroom and lie down. I was going to use this on you while you were bent over the chaise, but, judging by your reaction, I think we’ll continue in my room.”

  He put the box down and swept her up into his arms. She flung her own round his neck for support. “Hey!”

  “You object?”

  “Yes. I mean, no, not really, but I can walk.”

  “Any more protests?” The warning note in his voice was clear.

  “No.” There were worse things than being naked in Olivier’s arms—like the consequences of disobeying him—and her legs were very wobbly. “Then stop fighting me.”

  Why did she feel it was a challenge? She held on tightly as he carried her into his bedroom. A huge white fluffy bath sheet covered the white counterpane, and a large white bolster pillow lay across the middle of the bed.

  “Obviously, you were well prepared,” she murmured.

  “Of course.”

  She winced as her behind made contact with the fabric.

  “Relax. The hard part is over.” He sat on the bed next to her.

  “What? No nipple clamps or handcuffs?” she joked.

  He ran the edge of his thumb over her nipple, which puckered tightly. “Not today. In the state you’re in, I don’t think your beautiful nipples could cope with even the mildest pinces a seins from my collection, but, as you seem so eager,
you can experience them very soon.”

  “Me and my big mouth…” Lisa whispered, her imagination running wild about his collection as she wriggled against the quilt. Olivier had said he would soothe her; she needed it.

  “Yes, your attitude will get you into a lot of trouble—I hope.” He grinned. “Now, lie facedown with your hips over the pillow.”

  She turned over, positioning her hips on the smooth cotton of the bolster. She heard him reach for something from the nightstand next to the bed, and a delicious sweet fragrance filled the air.

  “Mm. What’s that?”

  “Oil…”

  Warm oil oozed over her sore cheeks. She felt tired, in a delicious way, not exhausted, just loose and liquid of limb. The oil felt like honey oozing over her tender skin, and the exotic scent reminded her of a Moroccan souk.

  “How do you feel?” His voice was as soothing as the massage.

  “Still a little sore.”

  “Bien.”

  “You beast…” said Lisa, then sighed as his fingers made contact with the base of her spine, spreading the oil up her back. “Ohhh…”

  She winced as his fingers found the sore skin from the paddling, but the discomfort quickly passed as he massaged the oil into her skin with infinite gentleness. His fingers worked their magic on her skin, gently on her sore bottom, then firmly on her thighs, massaging the oil along the backs of knees and along her calves.

  “You didn’t use your safe word. Why not?” he asked as every knot of tension unravelled.

  Should she admit she couldn’t remember the word until almost too late and that then she was too stubborn to give in? “I wanted to complete the correction.”

  “That’s good, but not the whole story.”

  “I don’t want to give you the whole story.”

  “But you will. You’re not just here for a physical and sexual experience but an emotional one too. In fact, most subs find that the hardest part having to admit to their deepest fears and desires—which are often the same thing.”

  The bed dipped as he shifted to her side, and his hands moved to her back, massaging the oil over her shoulder blades and along her spine. This was bliss.