French Blue

by Bond, Natasha

  Olivier smiled while Lisa tried to breathe.

  “Only the bill, please,” he said.

  “Stand there.”

  Lisa waited in the middle of the hotel room while Olivier held out a length of twisted silk black cord.

  “While we do this, you will remain absolutely silent, you will do precisely what I ask without a murmur, for once in your life, you will submit to me absolutely without question or hesitation. You understand this?”

  A moment of rebellion. She could laugh at him, tease him; she could walk out of here right now. It would be easier in the long run than taking this step, one that would only make her fall deeper in love with him—deeper within his power.

  “Even now you defy me?”

  She cast her eyes to the floor. “Oui, maître.”

  “Well, at least you admit it.”

  “Desole, maître. I won’t defy you again. I agree to your terms. Please, I want to submit.”

  “Whether you want to submit or not is not the point. It is what I want that is important, and I will make sure that you regret your agreement before this is over. There is no point in this exercise if you want it. You need to experience what it’s like to hate what is happening to you but to accept it anyway.”

  Lisa’s legs trembled. She hadn’t heard Olivier so determined. She couldn’t detect a trace of irony in his voice. What on earth did he have in store for her? All she knew for certain was that her stomach was in knots and yet her panties were wet. How she’d missed this cocktail of fear and desire. How could she ever have thought she could live without it, without him.

  “Will any of this be… It will only be us?” She lifted her eyes to his face.

  His face was impassive. “One more word of question or defiance, and this is over.”

  She needed no other threat.

  The silence lengthened out, then she decided. Now or never. She couldn’t let him go yet. She had to find out how far he could go; how far she could go. Her focus was the floor, the wooden parquet, the grain, the lines. There was no mention of the safe word. Was it already implied between them that she could use it? Or was she expected simply to endure and accept?

  She said nothing, simply stood. Then jumped as the quiet was shattered by sharp hand claps.

  “Bien. Get undressed quickly. Leave your clothes on the floor and wait for me.” There was a pause, then he added. “In a respectful manner.”

  If this was a joke, if he was teasing her, it was an Oscar-worthy performance, because she had no temptation to throw back a sassy reply or laugh. Not because she was afraid of him; she trusted him absolutely. What was making her hands shake and her limbs liquefy was her own desire to submit; her need to do exactly as he asked to the letter. She wanted to be afraid, to lose herself in total submission to him. At this moment, after all the tension and stress of the past few weeks, months, year, this was her moment to plunge into the depths and lose herself, to be a different Lisa and forget the wrongness or rightness, the guilt, the past and the future.

  She focused on the floor again. The wood was obscured by the puddle of her dress and thigh-highs. Her heels lay nearby, one on its side, one upright, her panties a straggle of lace by their side.

  “Oh.”

  A sharp tug on her ponytail brought her chin upright. The whole room was in front of her eyes for a few moments, then snatched away from her again. A thin band of elastic was snug around her skull as Olivier slipped a mask over her eyes. The darkness was instant and absolute. There was no need to cast her eyes to the floor; he had robbed her of sight.

  His breath was warm against the nape of her neck. “Nothing to say to me?”

  “No.”

  “In French and correctly this time.”

  “Desole. Non, maître.”

  “Better. Now, before our serious play begins, I have a little game for you. Hold out your hands.”

  Lisa stretched her arms in front of her, the palms turned upwards, trembling. Her sex was sticky with anticipation. “What’s that?”

  Olivier pressed his forefinger softly to her lips. “Shh. No words for now. Concentrate on your sensation. I bought it in a store in London. The British are so practical and creative.”

  The object confounded her expectations. It was heavy, smooth and cold against her hot and itchy palms. It felt a few inches long and about an inch in diameter, the size and feel of a glass paperweight, yet she could tell it was made of metal. By its weight, steel. She rolled it in her hand and felt its shape, bulbous at one end, tapering to a blunt but pointed tip. She counted them as she fingered the fronds. One…two…there were eight, each a thin strip of leather. The tails were long, well over a foot, she guessed, maybe even two feet, soft and sensuous under her exploring fingers. The leather tails and the hard steel plug contrasted deliciously, and her nipples hardened.

  She guessed the toy’s dual purpose, and her muscles responded by tightening exquisitely.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  “I know what it is and what it’s for. But it’s so heavy.” Balancing the steel toy one palm, with her other Lisa’s fingers circled the leather tails fastened into the base. “And these…”

  “To help you pay for your pleasure later.”

  “Pay?”

  “The price will be twenty lashes.”

  Gulp. Pause.

  “A suspended sentence. Today, only the plug. Before we go on, I must know. Is your obedience to me sincere and full hearted?”

  “Of course.”

  “Before we start, I’m going to tell you what will happen so I don’t have to interrupt our play. The steel plug will feel strange at first, perhaps a little uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt. It should feel full, illicit, and when I fuck you, more intense than anything you’ve experienced before. You must use your safe word if you’re not okay, and I’ll stop. Do you promise you’ll do that?”

  Lisa felt goose bumps pricking her arms and thighs, her stomach, as Olivier took the whip from her hand. There was a soft hiss, and the air moved as he swished it through the air. She longed to remove the mask to see him handling it with his slim, strong fingers.

  “I will help you to the chaise. You will lie on your side, and you will remain silent unless I ask you to respond to me. Is that clear?”

  With his hand at her elbow, she shuffled and felt her knees gently bump the edge of the chaise. Being blindfold and naked made her utterly helpless.

  “Sit down, then lie on your side.”

  She sat and lay on her side with her knees bent loosely. She heard him moving, picking up her hands and looping smooth, twisted silk around her wrists. She exhaled as the cords were pulled unexpectedly tight and knotted firmly, securing her wrists together. Next, cords were tied around her ankles, drawn taut and knotted. The hide was cool and smooth against her cheek, shoulder, waist and thigh. She was naked and tied, trussed like a captive animal, absolutely helpless.

  And the darkness was absolute.

  Olivier had moved away. She could hear his boots on the wooden floor, hear the lid of a box being opened.

  “Oh…”

  She gasped as a cool, fragrant lotion caressed the skin of her butt cheeks. Gently massaging it over her glutes, caressing, he parted her cheeks and rubbed the lube between them, around her entrance. She tensed. His finger intruded, gently and slowly, but nonetheless, her most intimate place had been invaded, and her muscles protested at the strange intrusion. She tried to hold back her protest.

  Olivier laid a hand on her hip. “Relax. It will get easier.”

  It did. He eased his thumb inside her, spreading the lube into her cavity and around the entrance to her bottom. She wasn’t sure she liked it, yet her dripping sex told her otherwise. The sensation of his fingers inside her was forbidden, illicit. It was only social Lisa, conventional Lisa who objected. The real Lisa wanted this.

  She became used to the sensation of Olivier’s finger and felt empty when it was withdrawn. Almost immediately it was replaced with a new i
nvader, not warm and flexible, but cold and hard. The plug urged its way inside her, and while she desperately wanted to relax, her muscles tried to repel it. Olivier spread her cheeks wider. “Cherie. You want this. Let yourself breathe and accept it.”

  She tried to relax, loosen herself everywhere to receive it. Then she unclenched, and the muscles relaxed. She wasn’t in pain or discomfort—yet—but there was nothing comfortable. The slightest movement made her glutes tighten round the plug, reminding her of the strange and glorious fullness.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Oui.”

  His lips rested on her spine, his breath warm against her skin. “You are very snug now?”

  “Hmm.”

  “When I fuck you, it will be amazing, but first…”

  He untied the bonds and helped her to her feet.

  “Stand up and look at yourself. So wanton. So beautiful.”

  He pulled off the mask, and she felt lightheaded with desire and a wanton shame. The full-length mirror revealed a naked Lisa, flushed, with the tails of the whip falling from her butt like a feathery mane. It was bizarre yet sexy, wicked and wanton. Her nipples hardened.

  “I adore your body, your breasts and bottom, and now I know them more intimately than you do yourself. Your body is mine. I want to take the rest of you now. Do you want that?” Olivier was behind her. He nuzzled her shoulder and gently nipped her collarbone, but the pressure drove her wilder. The hands of the woman in the mirror touched her pubic bone, rubbing and massaging. She pushed her bottom back against him, the tails of the plug pressing against his erection. My God, did he know how much she wanted him? She didn’t want to think how much, or think at all.

  “Yes. Now.”

  She whipped round, grabbed his hand and massaged her pussy with it. She half dragged him to the bed and bent over. Her hands slapped the cover. The whirr of a zip, and then she felt his hands under her cheeks and his cock nudging between her labia. The plug filled her in one way but she wanted total fulfilment. She wanted to be complete in every way.

  Olivier eased himself inside her, and she groaned. The pressure of the plug and his cock massaged every intimate nerve ending, setting her alight. As he pushed his cock in and out again, she felt her climax building, and the reality hit her: Olivier had come back for her, even after she’d effectively pushed him away.

  Now, with each thrust, he eased a little deeper into her, until she wanted to scream for release. Then her orgasm crashed over her, and she lost herself in the waves of sensation tearing through her body. For a few seconds, nothing mattered anymore and never would again.

  Lisa’s breathing was warm against Olivier’s arm. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek, and the sheet was pulled over her breasts up to her neck. After he’d fucked her, he’d gently removed the plug and lain down next to her. He could see she was exhausted, physically and emotionally. His arm had gone to sleep, but he didn’t want to move. Having her lying beside him was torment and bliss, because when she woke, he would have to make the biggest gamble of his life.

  She could only have dozed for a few minutes, drugged by their lovemaking, by her orgasm and the emotional release. He turned his head to glance at the clock. It was late afternoon now. He wasn’t sure what plans she had for the evening. Her family would by now certainly know he hadn’t taken her for a business meeting. They would want answers from her, and from him, if, by some miracle, she agreed to resume their relationship.

  Lisa shifted and opened her eyes. “Olivier?”

  The blood rushed into his numb arm, stinging him with pins and needles. She turned onto her stomach to watch him.

  He smiled at her and stroked her hair. “Oui, cherie?”

  “Are you okay? Have I been asleep for long?”

  “Hours.”

  Her mouth opened. “No!”

  “A few minutes, maybe.”

  “You tease.”

  “Tease?” He laughed. “I think there’s a stronger word for it than that.”

  “Hmm.” She leaned over to see the clock. “It’s quite late. I’ll have a lot of explaining to do when I get home.”

  “An awful lot.”

  She let out a sigh. “Except I’m not ready to go back home yet.” Olivier’s cock twitched as her hand cupped his balls. His heart skipped a beat. He had to tell her now. She didn’t want to go home. That was a good thing. This was the best chance he would ever have.

  From the floor on Lisa’s side of the bed, her mobile rang out. She sank back on the pillow and closed her eyes. “Damn.”

  “Don’t answer it.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Then don’t.”

  She turned to him, eyes open. “It might be about Bella.”

  He hesitated, torn between saying it wouldn’t be—yet how could he know that? No matter how much he wanted her to stay in his world, away from any other, he couldn’t take the chance. “It might…”

  “I know, I know, I’m worrying too much.” She gave a rueful smile that was as sexy as it was disarming, but she was already pushing herself up the pillows.

  “Let me check the screen. If it’s Abi or Mum, I’ll answer. If it’s anyone else, I promise I won’t answer it.”

  Olivier lay back as Lisa slid out of bed and reached for her phone. Even as she picked it up, he saw the stiffening of her spine. She sat upright as if she’d just been caught out in class by a teacher. His heart beat a little faster.

  She glanced at him for a second, then he got a rueful smile and a mouthed sorry, it’s New York.

  He made his decision as she said the words, “Hello, Lisa Archer here.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Four weeks later

  Everything was dark again. The mask over Lisa’s eyes had once again removed her of the privilege and burden of sight. She lay on her back waiting for the caress of the whip across her breasts and thighs, thrilling and fearing the sharp sting when the leather tails cracked down on her tender flesh. Waiting for the delicious sting that would be followed by Olivier’s hands caressing her body, by his flesh on hers.

  “Olivier…”

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll shortly be landing at Stansted. Please return your seats to the upright position and ensure your seat belts are securely fastened.”

  Lisa pushed the eye mask from her. Oh fuck, she hoped she hadn’t been enacting out her dream. Had there been any suspicious squirming from under the airline blanket? Any peculiar groans and sighs? Mercifully, she realised her hands were still at her sides, the fingers tightly curled, not between her legs. She tried to coax life back into her stiff limbs, feeling crumpled on the inside as well as out. She’d got a yellow cab straight to JFK after a full day at the office and only just made the flight. There had been no time to change into something more comfortable from her bag. She only had the weekend back home before she had to get back to New York on the Monday-morning flight, but she wouldn’t have missed Bella’s naming ceremony for the world. Her contract was going well, and she owed herself this break. The thought of cuddling her precious niece again brought a warm glow into her cold body.

  As the pressure increased, she sat back in her seat. Dreaming of Olivier had been a mixed blessing. She ached to see him again, ached to have him finish what he’d begun in her dream, but knew he never would. She hadn’t even heard from him. Not since he’d walked out of the hotel room four weeks ago while she’d taken that call from her new boss. All he’d left was a note, with the words.

  Chere Lisa,

  I think this is the moment to say good-bye. Forgive me for not being able to do it in person, but I know it’s better to leave it this way. If you care for me, don’t try to contact me, but simply live your new life. I will never forget you, Lisa, and though you may not realise it, you have changed my life. I hope I helped you realise some of your dreams and that you go on to realise so many more.

  Adieu, cherie,

  Olivier xx

  The moment she’d reentered the sittin
g room of the hotel suite, phone in hand, and found it empty, she’d known what had happened. Olivier had disappeared into the bathroom while she’d talked to her new client, dressed and gone into the sitting area. When she’d ended her call and gone into the sitting room, he’d vanished. She’d thrown on a robe, raced out of her hotel room and down to the lobby to find him. She hadn’t been on the phone for more than a few minutes—he might still be in the building.

  People had turned and stared at her, this bare-footed, wild-haired woman in a crumpled robe. She hadn’t cared, but he was nowhere to be found.

  She knew why he’d left, or thought she did, yet the realisation had still knifed into her. Their contract was complete; they’d given each other more than they’d ever expected or agreed to. She should rejoice in the woman she was now: fearless—Jody was history. She could move on to other lovers. Other Doms, other relationships.

  But she only wanted Olivier.

  So many moments since she’d picked up that call, she’d ached to phone him, but she hadn’t. Why? For his sake or hers?

  He’d done the courageous, sensible thing. He’d ended it cleanly, brutally—but in the end, he’d been the kind one.

  Their lives were too different. They were on different continents, for God’s sake. And he was an artist, a short-term, risk-taking Dom.

  She was the cautious, controlled expert in creating a façade. He was the seeker after truth, the uncoverer, the explorer through art.

  If she lived with him, she would be stripped and exposed every day of her life. And one day he would leave.

  Spending three months with him had been a controlled and carefully contained and managed risk. She couldn’t take the risk long term. Lisa sat upright in her seat, trying to focus on the sprawl of streets and buildings below her. Her eyes were gritty, blurry, surely a consequence of spending seven hours on an aircraft, not because she felt like sobbing her heart out in the middle of the Virgin Business Class cabin.