“I can hardly bear to tear myself away,” she said, enjoying the light pressure of his arm around her waist. “Though you must have seen these murals so many times. Don’t you ever get bored?”
“No…” He paused, and she felt his embrace loosen a little.
She glanced into his face. “What’s the matter?”
He gave a rueful smile. “I used to come here all the time, but I haven’t been for the past few years.”
“What made you stop coming?” What Lisa really meant was what made you stop painting? because she was sure, from his uncomfortable expression, that his visits to the Monets had ceased around the same time that his creativity had also deserted him. She longed to know the reason why. She was certain that held the clue to knowing the real Olivier rather than just the Dom.
The thought struck her; she shouldn’t even want to know the real Olivier. That wasn’t part of their arrangement. Even if she hadn’t been off to New York in a few months; even if it hadn’t been a business arrangement, she wasn’t ready for anything deeper so soon after Jody. She reminded herself of Mimi’s biggest warning, one that Lisa had laughed off as impossible—not to fall in love with Olivier, no matter what the provocation.
He checked his Cartier, ignoring her question. “I think we can manage one more gallery if we get a move on.”
“It’s getting a bit late,” said Lisa, frustrated at being shut out so abruptly.
“It is, which means the crowds will be gone by now, and I want you to see something special.”
Lisa’s feet were killing her, and she’d much rather have stayed in front of the Monets in the hope Olivier would reveal more about why he’d stopped painting. They got into the Musée D’Orsay just before the last entries closed. Olivier grabbed her hand and hurried past the visitors flooding out, straight for a large canvas that she recognised instantly.
When she’d recovered her breath, she stared at it in wonder. “Le déjeuner sur l'herbe. Lunch on the Grass.”
“And what a lunch.” Together, they gazed up at the large painting that depicted a nude woman and another who was barely dressed, apparently enjoying a country picnic with two fully dressed gentlemen.
“It’s by Édouard Manet, isn’t it?” she said. “Wasn’t the picture banned when it was first put on show?”
Olivier couldn’t keep the delight from his voice. “And how. It was rejected by the Salon jury of 1863, so Manet exhibited it in the Salon de Refuses.”
“Was that where the artists showed pictures that the real Salon rejected?”
“Yes, the official Paris fine art jury sent Manet packing—in fact, they rejected thousands of artists that year, but there was such a protest that Emperor Napoleon eventually allowed the rejects to exhibit their works in an annex.”
Lisa could not take her eyes off the painting. It was almost surreal in its depiction of the contrast of the naked women and the formally attired men, all sitting down to something as apparently innocent and everyday as a country picnic. “I imagine that this painting caused quite a stir back then.”
Olivier’s arm crept around her back again, and her skin tingled at the combination of his touch and the sensuality of the scenario in front of her. “I think meltdown is more appropriate. It was instantly notorious.”
“I can’t think why.”
He steered her to a bench placed opposite the painting, and they both sat down. “What do you think of it?”
“Oh gosh, I’m no art historian…”
“I didn’t ask for a critique. I asked you how it makes you feel.”
Was his question part of her training? Lisa wasn’t sure but found it awkward to be on the spot by an expert in the field. She thought for a few seconds before replying. “It’s sexy, although I know that may be the wrong reaction to have because the women are probably courtesans or prostitutes and being exploited. Also…I find the picture quite disturbing, with the way the men are clothed and the women are stark naked. It’s very…Dom-sub.”
“Interesting…but don’t you feel it’s not really the men who have the power?”
Lisa looked again at the painting. The women certainly seemed totally at ease with their nudity, although they were being interpreted through a man’s eyes, of course. “I suppose I can see what you mean. The men are tied to convention in their suits, while the women are bold and daring. I guess that all means something significant?”
“It means what you want, but you’re right to feel disturbed by the scene. It was surreal when it was painted and, of course, considered obscene.”
“Because of the naked women?”
“Not just because of that. In those days, Manet’s style and treatment were considered as shocking as the subject itself. It was Manet’s way of refusing to conform to traditional subjects and ways of representation. Some people say that this picture was the beginning of modern art.”
“Wow.”
“But most people are probably just turned on by it.” Olivier’s hand covered hers firmly, and while the gesture was innocent enough, there was something about his touch that electrified her. He had plans for her when they returned to his apartment, she knew without him saying a word, and her body tensed in anticipation. It was then that she realised that only a handful of visitors were left in the gallery, and a wicked thought filled her mind. What would it be like to make love here on the bench with the museum guards and tourists watching?
“Penny for your thoughts, madame?” Olivier murmured.
Lisa didn’t dare voice her real thoughts out loud. “I was only thinking…that it must be difficult to scandalise people now,” she said. “Everyone has seen everything before. We’re all virtually unshockable.”
“I don’t think so. Every man has his limits,” he replied.
“And every woman?”
He released her hand. “Shall we go? I think we need to continue this discussion at my apartment.”
A short time later, Olivier walked into the sitting room of the apartment, carrying two red boxes, one on top of the other. Lisa stood naked in the middle of the rug, her clothes neatly folded and placed on a stool, as he’d requested, with her panties on top.
“Is this a correction?” she asked. She didn’t want him to stop, but she wanted to know the parameters of their relationship.
He laid the boxes on the coffee table in front of her. “Do you need one?”
“I don’t think so… I haven’t displeased or disobeyed you.”
“Then it’s not a punishment. On the contrary, in fact, this is a reward—a sensual experience.”
Excitement tightened low in her belly.
He opened the lid of the box. “Turn around.”
A thrill of anticipation and apprehension shot through her as she heard him take something out of the box. But what?
“Put your hands together behind your back with your palms facing outwards,” he said.
So she was going to be restrained for this experience? Were the shackles to increase her pleasure or to prevent her from escaping? Or both? She was wet at the mere thought.
Instead of the expected snap of metal, a soft material she guessed was padded velvet was fastened around her wrist, and she heard the rasp of Velcro as Olivier tightened the cuffs. Her pulse beat against the velvet bonds, which were too snug for her to free her hands, but strangely comforting in their softness. She had a feeling that was where any notion of comfort ended as Olivier moved in front of her and opened the smaller of the red velvet boxes.
She was right. There was nothing comfortable about the objects he held between his fingertips.
“Beautiful, non?”
Words froze in her throat as the nipple clamps sparkled wickedly in the evening sunlight from the window. Sunrays glinted off the silver clamps and the multicoloured jewels suspended from the tiny silver chains. Lisa’s stomach swished and her nipples stiffened in anticipation of the sensations that awaited.
Olivier swung the clamp gently, and it made a faint tinkling sound. �
��I don’t need to explain what these are. Your face says it all.”
“Yes, maître.”
“Well?”
She gave a pert bob. “Why, thank you for the experience, maître.”
He winked. “That’s the right attitude. I’ll be back very soon.”
He laid one of the clamps on top of the box while he collected her clothes from the stool and took them into his room. Lisa was unable to tear her eyes away from the jewels sparkling in the sun shafts. They were very beautiful, and the silver clamps to which they were attached seemed tiny and innocuous. The thought of them capturing her aroused flesh in their tight embrace made her nipples harden even more. She tried an experimental tug on the handcuffs. It was impossible to move her hands at all. Her palms were locked together. There would be no escaping this experience even if she had wanted to, except by use of her safe word, and she had no intention of using it.
Olivier came back into the room. “Are you okay? You seem a little pale.”
“Apart from being handcuffed and about to have my nipples clamped? Yes, I’m just great.”
He laughed softly. “Good. Now we need to do some prep, because it’s very important that these are applied to fully erect nipples. Otherwise…” He winced.
“But I thought they were designed to hurt, maître?”
“To give erotic discomfort, yes, but also intense pleasure and so…”
Lisa tilted her head back and sighed as his mouth closed around her areola. He sucked on her right nipple, drawing it out, making it constrict even more. After he’d removed his mouth, he tugged the swollen tip with his fingers, twisting gently. She moaned, every nerve jumping as the prep went on and on. She squeezed her eyes shut, abandoning herself to the sensations, while he murmured French endearments to her, gently, teasing, disarming…
“Oh, fuck!”
The tinkling was followed by a pinch so intense, her head swam. Instinctively, she tried to wrench her hands apart, but they stayed locked together. Olivier held her shoulders, soothing. “Shh…cherie, breathe. It will ease, I promise.”
She let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding and glanced down at her right breast. Her engorged nipple was trapped between the fierce little jaws of the clamp. She now knew the reason for the jewels and bells. They were weights designed to drag on the nipple and increase the tension.
Tears stung the back of her eyes. “I had no idea it would feel this intense.”
“No one ever does,” said Olivier, then his mouth descended on her other breast. She whimpered as his lips soothed and stimulated her, distracting her from the ache but not from the fact that in a minute or so, the second clamp would have to be applied.
She tried to surrender to the sensation of his tongue laving her free nipple, focusing on the feathery flicks of his tongue around her areola and the gentle tug as he drew the nipple between his teeth. One breast throbbed fiercely, the other ached with pleasure. The contrast between the two drove her insane.
He blew on her wet nipple and then stopped. “You’re magnificent,” he said. Lisa tensed, anticipating the nip of the clamp, but instead his hand moved lower, parted her labia and drew a finger through her wetness. Her sex rippled as every part of her was teased and tormented.
Olivier held up his moist forefinger and rubbed it over her bare nipple. “Your own juices…” he said. “But all good things must come to an end.”
The beast. This time, he had let her know what was to come. The jewels glimmered and the bells tinkled as he held the other clamp in front of her eyes.
It was too much. The memory of the initial pain rushed back, and her clamped nipple throbbed as if to remind her.
“No!” She jerked away from his hand. The sudden movement made the weights swing, and her tender nipple throbbed wildly.
Olivier made no attempt to stop her, but his expression was concerned. “You can stop this if you want to. Do you?”
She gritted her teeth. “No. I just need a moment. Give me time.”
“It would be better if I do this now, while your nipples are still erect. I won’t do it at all if you’re not prepared. It’s much too painful.”
“And this isn’t?”
He touched her cheek. “Take a deep breath, embrace the sensation.”
“Embrace it? You’re not the one with jewellery hanging from your nipple.”
Olivier smiled. “No, and unfortunately I’m not in a position to try, am I? You’re the one with the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen. From the moment I saw your nipples trying to escape through that dress at the gallery launch, I’ve wanted to adorn them like this…to worship them.”
Wow. Lisa stared at him. His eyes lit up as he looked at her like she was some kind of icon. And damn him, she actually believed him.
He crooked a finger. “Come here.”
Lisa sucked in a breath, let it out and took a step toward him, forcing her twitching, muscles to relax and remain still. She wanted the full experience, craved the twin sensations of pleasure and pain, but didn’t know why.
“Bravo, Lisa.” His voice was a low growl as he balanced her bare breast on his hand. He massaged her nipple, drawing it to its full length before picking up the clamp and positioning the open jaws either side of the red nub.
Lisa closed her eyes. Any moment now.
Even though she knew what to expect and that initial pain would ease to a bearable pulse, she swore in shock as the jaws closed. Tears pricked her eyelids, and she stamped her foot, her hands butting helplessly against the cuffs. “I hate you,” she cried, trying to distil the sharp bite in her anger.
“I hate you, maître.” He lifted her chin. “I know you do, but they look so beautiful. I had them made especially for you by a friend of mine who used to work for Cartier. She is a real artist, and you have to admit they are exquisite.”
He gave a gentle pull on the jewelled chain, and Lisa’s eyes watered.
“I don’t care how exquisite they are, they throb like hell.”
“The sharpness should ease to a bearable discomfort that, I’m told, is both stimulating and satisfying.” He pointed at the clock. “You’ll wear them for a few more minutes, and I’ll try to take your mind off the ache in the meantime. Now, no more talking. I have other plans for your tongue—and mine.”
He checked his watch. Bloody hell, he was serious! “A few more minutes! You have to be joking!”
He stilled her lips with his finger. “Shh. Every word of protest from now on adds another minute to the time.”
“Can I at least lie down?” she asked as the jewels dragged on her breasts.
“No, I’m afraid not. The weights need to do their work for you to have the full experience. How are they now?”
“Sore, but easing a little, I suppose.”
“And?” Olivier gently tugged the other jewel, and Lisa almost collapsed from shock. The clamps made her nipples heavy and sore but also more sensitive than she could have imagined possible. Yet at the core of the pinch, there was another sensation, an aching need she wasn’t sure came from her tormented nipple or her mind.
He supported the weight of the jewel on his palm, relieving her temporarily. “Shall we try that again?”
“No. I mean yes. I don’t know.”
He tugged on the jewel anyway.
“Oh, help!”
As the pinch subsided, Olivier’s palm supported the left jewel. She understood fully now. The point of this was not simply the pleasure and pain but the domination in its purest form. Olivier held the power to give her relief or torment literally in his hand. He would push her to her limit and further, as long as she didn’t say her safe word. She yearned for relief but refused to give in. The power play between them electrified her.
“You think I’m heartless, don’t you? That I’m the cruel master,” he said, pulling on the other jewel. Lisa whimpered and involuntarily tried to jerk her wrists apart. “Yet you have no idea that I am your slave.”
He sank to his kne
es, his fingers cupping her buttocks, and kissed her damp pubis.
“So amazing…” he whispered and buried his face in the neat hair of her sex, inhaling deeply. “You smell incredible too. Earthy and sweet.” His fingers separated her lower lips, and his tongue flickered over her clitoris. “And you taste of eagerness.”
Lisa stiffened, arching her pelvis into his face. The sudden tension in her body made the clamps swing and the bells tinkle, waves of sensation rolling through her. Pain fought pleasure as Olivier closed his mouth around her clitoris and sucked before pulling back and blowing gently against the swollen bud. Cool air fanned her hot clit, and she moaned in delight.
She glanced down at his face.
“Wicked Lisa, and yet such a good student,” he said. “You are learning to love your lessons.”
He was right, damn him. She relished every touch, every word. Their play had moved to a new level. It was as if she’d earned this experience by submitting to the paddling; as if she’d come through a harsh but necessary initiation to this new and more refined pleasure. As she glanced down at him kneeling before her, devoted to her pleasure, she felt adored—almost as if she were a goddess. A goddess with very sore nipples, granted, but the power still made her dizzy. She swayed on her heels as the friction from his tongue pushed her to the edge of her climax. Who really had the power here? Him or her?
“Are you close, cherie?” Even his voice held reverence.
“Yes, oh yes.”
He stood. “It’s time to take them off. This may hurt.”
She squealed as Olivier removed the clamps and the blood raced into her starved nipples. The pain easily eclipsed the initial clamping, and tears poured down her cheeks. He undid the wrist restraints as her nipples screamed for mercy.
“Cherie, are you okay?”
Her reply was a whimper. Though the pain was already easing, her budding climax and the roller coaster of physical and emotional feelings had overwhelmed her. Olivier pulled her to him and licked her nipples. Even the butterfly flutter of his tongue over her puckered flesh hurt for a few seconds, but then his mouth began to work its soothing magic.
French Blue Page 8