La Brat

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La Brat Page 5

by Ashe Barker


  The marble tiled bathroom was fabulous, the complimentary toiletries all neatly arranged on the vanity and stamped with the Totally Five Star crest. She found a fluffy bathrobe and slippers inside a large closet, along with a huge pile of towels and a hairdryer.

  Her balcony was small, but offered a view of the Champs-Élysées, and she could just make out the top of the Eiffel Tower, well within walking distance. Maybe later, she’d take a stroll around the city. Tomorrow, perhaps, before she left for the station. Tonight was her chance to soak up the atmosphere of this sumptuous hotel, make sure she was as prepared as she absolutely could be for her interview.

  She splashed cool water on her hands and face, retied her hair in a soft pile on top of her head and pocketed the key card. She left her room, intending to visit the guest facilities. There would be nothing quite like a spot of mystery shopping to get a proper feel for the hotel and the Totally Five Star experience. A tour of the conference and banqueting facilities was part of her itinerary for tomorrow so she would concentrate elsewhere this evening. Maybe she could even find some aspect where she might actually suggest improvements, though she somehow doubted that. This whole place was the epitome of perfection.

  She glanced through the door of the main restaurant, La Maison, first. She knew this already had three Michelin stars and the hotel was hoping to be awarded a fourth soon. It was usually necessary to book at least three months in advance. The staff was preparing the dining room for evening service, the atmosphere one of sedate and controlled industry, everyone knowing their job and performing it to perfection.

  Two further eateries offered a more relaxed, informal ambiance, and their all-day service offered the traditional staples of French cuisine, a range of quiches, steaks, seafood and crêpes. One was decorated in an art deco style that Eugenie loved, the other more modern with stainless steel furniture, the walls and flooring tiled in bright primary colors. But it was the fourth restaurant that made Eugenie catch her breath. This was situated on a shady patio surrounded by a leafy, lush garden. The food was simple and understated, but she knew it would be exquisitely prepared and presented. Eugenie found a free table and took a seat there, intending to enjoy the floral and slightly woody scents of the honeysuckle trailing up the wall beside her. In moments, a waiter appeared with a jug of ice water and a glass. He offered her more refreshments if she wanted them, but assured her she was welcome to just sit and enjoy the evening sunshine.

  The aroma of spicy tomato soup proved irresistible, and the next hour or so passed in peaceful enjoyment of her meal. Eugenie usually felt self-conscious about dining alone, but this place made her feel so at home, so relaxed she barely gave it a thought as she ordered her meal. After the soup, she opted for a main course of chicken chasseur and a half bottle of crisp Chardonnay. She declined the desserts but accepted the offer of a café au lait to round it off. She surveyed her fellow outdoor diners over the rim of her cup, noting the ready attention of the staff who hovered around the edges of the patio. They were discreet, unobtrusive, but alert to any signal or gesture, rushing across to tend to each and every need.

  A family with two young children were having difficulty choosing. The burger, which the eldest boy wanted, seemed not to be on the menu. Nevertheless, one was produced, followed by plain and simple ice cream.

  An elderly gentleman requested a newspaper, and his waiter procured one. Nothing was too much trouble. Eugenie was impressed and more than ever, she wanted to be a part of this.

  She signed the tab, thanked the staff for her meal and moved off to continue her excursion. She strolled around the intimate little garden, loving the serene, shady nooks as well as the bright tinkling fountain gracing the center of a manicured lawn. The garden wasn’t large, but she hadn’t thought such an oasis could ever be found in the heart of Paris, not a ten-minute walk from the Place de la Concorde. She adored it.

  Back inside the Totally Five Star, Eugenie made for the main lounge bar where a pianist and singer were providing soft background music to accompany the subdued chat of the few guests there at this time. She ordered a sparkling water and perched on a barstool to savor the relaxed mood. As in the terrace restaurant, the staff was attentive, but without the pushiness she so often experienced. No one seemed overenthusiastic, there was no hard sell, but whatever she wanted would be provided.

  She left her empty glass on the bar and strolled off in search of something more vibrant, and discovered it in the form of the live bar. Here a comedian was just concluding his set, a performance that seemed to have gone down well with the guests. This room was crowded, the piped music loud, the voices raised over it. Eugenie settled herself at an empty table to wait for the next show to start—a troupe of dancers who did something astonishing and clever with lights. These, too, were popular with the audience, and the bar was full to overflowing by the time Eugenie decided to move on. Her final stop, before turning in for the night, was the library. She hadn’t come across such a facility in a hotel previously and was intrigued to see what they might stock.

  The room was breathtaking. Carved wooden shelving lined all the walls, and a balcony skirted the room with further shelving above. The titles encompassed a range of international classics in various languages. Signs invited guests to make their selections and scan any books they wanted to borrow into an automated system. They were urged to take books away with them, and if they checked out before they finished to post the book back later. Or if a guest simply preferred to read there, they could avail themselves of the huge leather armchairs and low tables. A coffeemaker was provided for their further comfort and convenience.

  Eugenie had the place to herself and settled into one of the chairs to thumb through a book on French antiques of the seventeenth century. She passed a contented half hour or so then felt it was time to turn in. She needed to get plenty of sleep.

  Tomorrow was to be a big day.

  * * * *

  Sleep eluded her. Her brain was whirling, her head full of warring thoughts. She was excited about the coming interview and terrified as well. So much depended on how she might perform in that hour or so tomorrow afternoon. She’d done her homework and was prepared. Why then did she not feel more confident? She was here to carve out a brilliant new career for herself, wasn’t she? This was just the beginning.

  It was more than that, though—much more. She so did not want to return to Northumberland and her old life. Here, in Paris, she could make a fresh start. No more La Brat.

  As she lay in her queen-size bed listening to the low hum of the air conditioning, her mind drifted back to the man who started her on that path. Aaron Praed.

  Eugenie had loved him. She now realized it, though at the time she’d not recognized it. Their relationship had progressed fast from that first delightful encounter at The Basement. After the scene, they’d sat drinking coffee together for perhaps a couple of hours before Eugenie had eventually given in to the urge to yawn. She hadn’t been bored, just bone-weary. The scene had been demanding and she’d needed to sleep. Aaron had driven her home, kissed her forehead as she’d clambered from his car then taken her mobile number. He’d said he’d call.

  All the next day—a Saturday—Eugenie’s phone had never been more than a foot away from her hand. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t said when exactly he’d be in touch, but by the time she’d been undressing for bed, she was in despair. She’d loved their encounter and believed he’d had a nice time too, but in the cool light of day, he’d obviously thought better of continuing their acquaintance. She really should not have been so disappointed, but she hadn’t been able to help it. She’d resigned herself to the reality that she had been just a one-off to him. Nice, probably, but not to be repeated.

  * * * *

  Then

  The tinkle of a text was unexpected. She nearly missed it. She checked her phone—an unknown number—and tapped the screen.

  Lunch tomorrow? Then my place? A

  Eugenie hugged the phone to her chest, f
orcing herself to take a few minutes before replying. It didn’t do to look too eager, desperate even. Then she replied.

  Love to. Where and what time?

  He replied swiftly.

  I’ll pick you up at twelve. No underwear.

  Eugenie sent her response immediately.

  Thank you, Sir. I understand.

  He picked her up at exactly the time he’d promised and took her to a pub with a beer garden where they enjoyed a leisurely Sunday lunch. Both knew what was to follow, and there was no rush.

  Eugenie had considered carefully what to wear and eventually settled on a loose cotton skirt that fell to just below the knee. As she was wearing no panties, she didn’t want any unfortunate wardrobe incidents to occur due to a sudden and inopportune gust of wind. She wondered if Aaron’s no underwear rule extended to her bra as well. She could have texted him back for clarification, but opted for a cautious approach. She was therefore braless too under her tight vest top, and could see his appreciation of that fact in Aaron’s sexy smile.

  They left the pub and strolled across the car park in the direction of his vehicle, a sleek, dark gray BMW.

  “You still up for this?”

  “Yes, Sir, of course.”

  He tilted his head in silent acknowledgement as he opened the car door for her. The journey was not long—just ten minutes or so—before he pulled into the driveway of a large semidetached house. Vaguely surprised, Eugenie had expected him to have a flat, as she did.

  Aaron got out and came round to open the door for her. She exited the car and took the hand he offered her. He led her up a couple of stone steps to the front door and let them both in. Eugenie hardly had time to glance around the wide hallway before Aaron turned and pressed her face first against the door. He was not rough, but she knew she was not to move.

  “Put your hands on the door and lean forward, arse out.” He sounded different, curt, commanding. She was fast coming to recognize his Dom voice and knew she would obey whenever she heard that tone.

  She did as instructed, clenching her buttocks as he lifted her skirt up around her waist.

  “Hard and fast first. Slow comes later.”

  He didn’t wait for her to agree or to comment. Eugenie had no expectation that he would. In accepting his invitation to come here at all, she handed control to her Dom. She was in Aaron’s hands now and wanted to be nowhere else.

  He parted her buttocks and slid his fingers along her exposed pussy lips. She was wet, had been since she’d first caught sight of him through the door entry CCTV at her apartment. He inserted one long finger into her and swirled it around. Eugenie gasped, clenching her inner muscles.

  “So wet. You are one dirty little slut. You want me to fuck you?” The snap of foil punctuated his words.

  “Sir, please, I do. Yes, yes, oh…” Her words ended on a moan as he drove his cock full-length inside her, his hands on her hips to hold her still. He withdrew and set up a rhythm of short, rapid thrusts that drove Eugenie wild. She squeezed her pussy around him, trying to grip, gyrating her hips in an attempt to intensify the friction.

  He slapped her arse cheek, hard. “Keep still. I’ll tell you if I want you to move.”

  Gasping, Eugenie managed to comply. Her arousal spiking fast, she knew her orgasm was not far away. Recalling the consequences of coming without permission, she groaned. She had to ask.

  “Sir, I need…”

  “You are to come. Do it now.”

  Thank God. “Thank you, Sir. I…oh, oh…”

  Aaron reached around to pinch her clit between his thumb and fingers and she was gone, convulsing in helpless delight as her body shook with the pleasure of what he was doing to her. He lengthened his thrusts, fucking her hard as he chased his own climax. Moments later, the heat of his semen warmed her inner space. He drove his cock deep and held still, his arm wrapped around her waist to prevent her from moving. Eugenie could feel her heart racing. She panted, acutely conscious of Aaron pressed up close to her back.

  He slid his cock from her and lifted his hand to tangle it in her hair. He dragged her head back and around so he could meet her eyes. “Good start, ma petite coquine. Upstairs. Now.”

  Eugenie spent the next two hours in Aaron’s bed, or perhaps more accurately spread across it, naked, her wrists and ankles strapped to the posts. She writhed and screamed. She shrieked, begged, pleaded, swore and begged some more as he clamped her nipples, slapped every inch of her body with a suede flogger, spread honey on her pussy lips and proceeded to lick it from her—sloppily. And all the while telling her what the consequences would be if she allowed herself to orgasm again. He pointed out that he’d been kind and considerate enough to take the edge off for her by the front door, but now she could fucking well wait.

  And wait she did. For what seemed like hours, he teased and tormented her, playing with her body, bringing her again and again to the very brink of release then hauling her back from the edge. Eugenie wept, she growled her frustration, but he was unmoved, this Dom with iron will and vise-like control.

  She’d almost resigned herself to a self-induced climax back at her apartment before he finally allowed her the orgasm she craved. And it rocked her world. The waiting sucked, but Christ, the rush of the eventual release. Eugenie was not sure if she might have passed out at one stage, the intensity of the sensation was so deep, so moving it overwhelmed her. Aaron was inside her, his cock filling and stretching her as the waves of her climax washed over her like a tsunami.

  She needed to hold him. Intuitive, he released her hands at the exact right moment and she clung to him as though he were the only solid entity in a world of shifting vapor.

  Afterward, he freed her ankles too, and they lay together on his bed, his arms around her as she snuggled in as close as she could get without actually being a part of him. He murmured sweet, reassuring nonsense into her hair, and she knew a bone-deep sense of wellbeing.

  That first day at his house set the pattern. They would go out, usually to eat, occasionally to see a film or to the theater then back to his home or sometimes hers for hours of sensual play. They occasionally went to clubs together, fetish clubs like The Basement, where he insisted she wear a collar for the evening to mark her as his.

  He hurt her, he spanked her, and she loved it. He whipped her breasts and she begged for more. He clamped her nipples then teased them with ice or hot wax until she pleaded with him never to stop. Aaron tapped reserves of sensuality Eugenie had no inkling she even possessed. He found them all with his voice, his touch, his wicked imagination. At a word, a look, a tilt of his eyebrow, she dropped to her knees at his feet. She was his, utterly.

  She’d known, she supposed, that he met needs of hers that went far beyond the sensual. Eugenie was ambitious, driven in her work as well as her personal life. She often came home exhausted, her head buzzing with tomorrow’s issues, problems she had to solve, obstacles to find ways around, difficult people or situations she somehow had to manage. She had lain awake on occasions planning, analyzing and, as often as not, just plain worrying.

  Aaron put a stop to that with his hands, his flogger and occasionally his whip across her shoulders. Each shuddering climax, each screaming orgasm was a release of her pressure valve, as though he’d unscrewed her lid to allow her inner tensions to fizzle out and cascade harmlessly away. He relaxed her. He grounded her. He kept her sane.

  He, too, had a stressful job. He was a police officer, a chief inspector no less. She’d been astonished at that when he’d first told her. He couldn’t be more than thirty-two. How had he reached such an exalted rank so quickly? Aaron explained to her that he was in fact thirty-four and went on to fill her in on the police graduate entry system and the accelerated promotion it offered. He had a degree in international law and he’d joined the police straight from university. He was an inspector by the time he was thirty and had just been promoted again. It seemed he was destined for great things.

  And still he had time for her.
>
  Eugenie’s feelings were hopelessly conflicted as far as Aaron was concerned. At the time, she just felt confused as she hurtled from the heady extremes of passion to the bitter resentment of his discipline.

  He was exacting and quite implacable on some things. He insisted on punctuality and the courteous obedience that was the hallmark of a D/s relationship. Without fail, she called him Sir in private—several severe spankings had drilled that into her. She would strip and kneel on command—no argument there. When they were together, he expected her to slip into the submissive mindset, and she invariably did. She had only to step through his door or slide into his car, and her mind shifted into that space where she could do anything—would do anything—he commanded. Pleasing him became all-important. She craved his approval.

  In fairness, while she would have willingly allowed her life to revolve around him, he was considerate of her wider responsibilities. He knew her work meant a lot to her, he never expected her to compromise on that. He encouraged her to prioritize her career when she needed to, which might mean days spent away from him on training courses or at conferences. He wanted her to socialize with others, to spend time with friends and colleagues as well as with him. He accompanied her to corporate events on occasion and was able to blend in seamlessly. She knew he cut an impressive figure and that did her embryonic career no harm at all. She appreciated him at the same time that she resented his easy charm around others, which contrasted so sharply with the stern demeanor that he reserved just for her.

  His own job meant he kept erratic hours, often working nights and weekends. His routine was unpredictable, and he often had to contact her to reschedule their time together if some emergency called him away. He headed up the Special Operations division, which meant he was in charge of the police dog handling section, underwater search and rescue, the helicopter and the mounted section. He laughingly referred to his domain as the police equivalent of Toys R Us, but the work he was involved in was deadly serious. His teams were called out whenever a child went missing or a body needed to be recovered. He dealt with major crowd control incidents and natural disasters. Eugenie was in awe of him for more reasons than just his whip hand.

 

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