SMITTEN (Paris Après Minuit)

by Juliet Braddock

  Finally, Nigel felt as if he’d gathered some wisdom to counter her eccentric fantasies. “Just because we’re staying in his ancestral home does not mean that you should stroll into the lobby in bondage.”

  Toying with the hem of her scarf, she shrugged him off. “When in Rome…”

  “January…!”

  “You’re so cute when you get angry, Dommy.”

  “That’s why you—you enjoy frustrating me? So that I’ll look cute?”

  So true to form, Nigel could still only take his role as Dom so far before losing his cool and confidence. Training him, though, was more fun than she’d ever imagined.

  “Well, that…and with the hopes that you’ll punish me.”

  “Why not conjure the ghost of de Sade to do that?” he suggested.

  “Oh, yes! I wonder if they have a Ouija Board! We can play séance in our room tonight at midnight…if we’re not fucking, of course. And then we can ask him what he’d like to do.” She held her hands in front of her as if she moved the planchet over the spirit board. “Marquis, do you think January deserves a hundred lashes with the whip? Oh…oh…it’s heading to yes!”

  “A hundred lashes?” Nigel just shook his head. “Come on. We’re wasting time in this car. We’ve got places to go and ghosts to see…”

  Strolling arm-in-arm through the front door, January and Nigel looked around at their surroundings with awe. Beneath their feet, the limestone floors were those which the Marquis de Sade himself once walked. For once in her adult lifetime, January felt like a fangirl, even though the iconic patriarch of Sadomasochism had been dead for two hundred years. Still, though, she considered de Sade her muse. Enraptured by his motivation, she’d devoured his books and poured over his biographies.

  The Marquis had spent much of his time, when he wasn’t in prison for his sexual or political persuasions, in this chateau. Perhaps most of the tourists were outdoor enthusiasts looking to bike the mountain, but January jumped at her chance to dig into the history of this place that the Granddaddy of all Doms once called home.

  “Monsieur Hereford-Smyth, it is wonderful to meet you in person. Basile Laurent. We spoke on the phone…” the hotel’s General Manager introduced himself as they lingered in the foyer near the swirling staircase. “And Mademoiselle Gallimore.”

  Admittedly, Nigel found himself getting used to men flirting with January. It was the nature of the beast. He found his comfort in knowing the real lady behind the glamour and make-up. She was his own private January. While others might have fallen in love with the myths, only Nigel knew the full truth.

  Still, she was full of surprises, and Nigel didn’t miss the mischievous look on her face as she continued to turn her head in every direction, absorbing their surroundings like a sponge.

  Momentarily, January forgot the sopping mess in her panties. Nigel sought to assure her that his interest was real—in kink, in her zany world and in the daily dalliances of little old January from Kansas. He wanted to entertain her, but he also wanted to satisfy that longing to belong to someone that she held for so long.

  “Is the sub not pleased with the destination that her Maestro has chosen for her final night in Provence?” While Nigel questioned her, confidence resounded in his voice. “Because I can turn right around, and we can spend another night with Larry and Cissy…”

  “Oh, Dommy!” She threw her arms around him, much to the amazement of Monsieur Laurent. He’d heard all about this January Gallimore. He just hoped she didn’t expect to transform this luxury hotel into a temporary home for the sexually depraved. However, January remained oblivious to the roll of Laurent’s eyes as she fixated on Nigel. “This—this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me! I’m…I’m not used to this…”

  On the surface, January appeared to have it all, while carefully hiding all traces of discontent. She’d lived to serve Etienne in more ways than sex, and maybe she didn’t even comprehend her own emptiness at the time.

  “One rule exists for today,” he said softly. “No tears. We’ve both had enough of them. Think you can follow that?”

  “That, I can manage…”

  Meanwhile, their host endeavored to divert them by rushing through every single amenity available—from the pool to the manicured grounds to the restaurant, where he hoped they’d dine later to draw the other guests. For the moment, of course, he just wanted them out of his lobby.

  All the while, as they stood before Monsieur Laurent, January felt the tickle of Nigel’s fingers brushing subtly, but purposely, over her ass. The afternoon could prove to be her greatest battle of sexual will and wit yet, but not without some amusements along the way.

  Now, though, a pair of guests recognized January and took a few photos. Scrambling, Laurent had to shuffle them out of sight. “Perhaps Mademoiselle would like a personal tour of our luxury property?”

  The grumpy older man had it all planned out. He would show off a few rooms—like the library and the winter garden—and then dump them in the bar. Corporate management insisted the hotel increase dining sales, and this star appearance could work to his favor. All celebrities, after all, were notorious lushes. He’d comp them a bottle of champagne; they’d buy two more. Word would spread online, and they could make a killing on the locals who thronged to the restaurant to catch a glimpse of her.

  However, January and Nigel seemed to be in disagreement on Laurent’s suggestion.

  “We’d love to—”

  “Nah, we’re all good on our own,” she rushed to cover up Nigel’s acceptance. “But thank you very much, Monsieur Laurent.”

  With some reluctance, Laurent handed the room keys to Nigel. “Your bags have been taken to your room, and we have parked your car in the lot. You may stop by the desk later this afternoon to pick up your keys, or I can leave them with the valet.”

  “Oh, we’ll be back,” January threatened. Really, she hated to make a scene, but this guy pissed her off. Just for sport, she stopped to sign autographs and pose with her fans, nearly causing a small mob to congregate around the front desk.

  When she first told him about her celebrity status, Nigel wondered how he might respond to total strangers who clamored to talk to her just because she was a star. Now, though, as his initial thoughts evolved into reality, he stood back and smiled. January truly had a way with people, engaging and obliging their fantasies of her. And she remained grateful to her fans who continued to follow her career. He admired her inner-beauty as she mingled.

  Perhaps, the notion of sharing her with the world would get old, but he understood her lifestyle. Dating January meant making some small sacrifices for the sake of her career. These concessions were his to accept or deny. For the sake of the long run, Nigel knew that he had to have patience.

  When they finally broke away to retreat to their room, however, Nigel continued their argument. “You know, I thought you’d appreciate seeing more of this place.”

  Of course, she wanted to see every corner of this chateau. She’d held a fascination for de Sade since she first read Justine during her first crazy year in New York. Like everything else, she just wanted to do it on her terms.

  “Oh, we’re going to see the rest of this place,” she assured him. “But who wants his tour? He was more concerned with promoting the restaurant than the hotel’s history. Besides, it’ll be much more fun to take a tour of our own.”

  By that time, they’d arrived at their suite. So airy, she felt as if she were floating on a giant cloud. Everything was white with a distinctly feminine touch in the silk and linen fabrics throughout the suite—from the inlaid inserts on the flooring to the painted rattan chairs that flanked the balcony doors.

  Nigel hurled himself onto the bed and folded his arms. “I feel like my mother decorated this place…”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” January said and took his hands to pull him up. “No rest for the weary here. We’re going on a little exploration.”

  “We can’t just sneak around and—”
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br />   “Oh, yes, we can just sneak around,” she insisted. “Now, put your Big Boy Boxers on and follow me.”

  His shoes scuffed against the parquet floor as she dragged him to the door. “Follow you?” he charged. “Look where that’s gotten us.”

  “Yeah…” A dreamy smile spread across her lips as she stopped to think. “The back of your Jag…the stables…a lavender field…”

  “Alright, the lavender field was mine!”

  “Yes, it was, Dommy.” Onward, she tugged at his hand. “And we sure have had an amazing two weeks, haven’t we?”

  “But…what about my punishment?” he asked with a bit of a pout. “I mean…your punishment?”

  “That was before I knew you were taking me to the land of Sade.” Hand on the doorknob, she knew she had to do some coaxing, but January always got her way. “Now, I want to see the Dungeon where all the magic happened.”

  “You mean orgies,” he corrected her.

  “Orgies…floggings…” Now they were in the hallway, and her voice carried. “Sexual imprisonment. Oh, me so horny!”

  “But…but—”

  “Come play with me,” she begged.

  “You know, sometimes, I wonder who’s supposed to be the Master here…”

  However, Nigel reluctantly followed her lead. Just to shake up the GM, January paraded through the lobby once again with a giant smile and a wave.

  The home’s Mediterranean beauty truly stood the test of time. Every corner strived to bring the outside indoors with the huge open windows and flowy sheers. Potted palms, a huge basket of pinecones and fresh flowers enlivened each room with traces of the landscape.

  They meandered into the library, which doubled as a small art gallery. The collection featured several nudes—both statues and portraits—and she wondered if any of these works of art belonged to the chateau’s most fabled former owner. The exhibit carried over into the conservatory, and she answered her own question when they discovered a painting of the Marquis de Sade himself.

  Imagination running wild, she began to fantasize. How she wished she knew which room Sade kept for his own personal use and where he carried out his very dirty deeds. If ever she felt like a kid in a candy store, this moment was it.

  More than ever, she needed Nigel’s daring side to emerge.

  Sneaking further down the corridor, she opened every door that wasn’t locked.

  “What on earth are you doing now?” Nigel whispered.

  “Looking for the basement.”

  Nigel took a step back. “The basement?”

  “Where else would you put a dungeon?” she muttered. “In the attic?”

  “Please, January, that man likely fucked in every room of this chateau.”

  “Oh, I bet he did…”

  Just as they reached the end of the long hallway, two maids appeared from the supply room, both pushing carts loaded with towels, pillows and other various items requested by guests. January and Nigel smiled, she hoped, without suspicion. A couple of polite bonjours were exchanged, and the two young women went on their way.

  “Please don’t get caught—whatever we’re doing here,” Nigel implored. “Our only alternative is my parents’ house.”

  “Stick with me, Dommy.” She patted him on the back. “It’s all good.”

  “You keep saying that, and I’m trying very hard to believe you.”

  With her arms waving wildly, she stopped suddenly. “Wait…wait…I think…I think…look, Nigel!”

  The very last door seemed to be their ticket home. A set of stairs that likely led to nowhere sat before them. January didn’t dare hit the light switch. Instead, Nigel opted for the flashlight on his phone. “Alright, move aside. I’m going first,” he told her.

  One foot at a time, January made her way down the worn treads behind Nigel, clutching his bicep with one hand and a rickety rail with the other. Every single step creaked, and she just hoped she wouldn’t put her foot straight through one of them.

  Touching down on solid ground, Nigel wrinkled his face in clear dissent. “There doesn’t seem to be anything down here.”

  The walls were solid limestone with arches that seemed to just lead to open storage spaces, but off in the distance, something caught January’s eye.

  “Look—it’s a door!” she squealed.

  “Will you hush?”

  “Come on,” she said, egging him on as she took off in the darkness. By the time Nigel reached her side, she was already struggling with her attempt to open it. “I don’t think it’s locked—just jammed. Oh, I know this is the dungeon. I just know it! Will you help me?”

  “I am not touching it.” Nigel took three steps back and watched her. “This is all on you, my lovely.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Nigel…”

  Before he had a chance to say another word, she threw her tiny body against the door and finally popped the old wooden relic open.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Brightening the flashlight, Nigel illuminated the small room. “This is it?”

  “A fucking wine cellar?” she moaned. “I’ve waited all these years to see the Marquis de Sade’s dungeon, and it’s a fucking wine cellar?”

  “Appears they’ve got some whiskey in here, too. Canadian, if I can read in the dark…”

  “Well, we gotta do what we gotta do.”

  In one move, she pulled her shirt over her head, then snapped off her bra and dropped them to the cold, stone floor. As she kicked off her shoes and unzipped her crop pants, she grabbed the flashlight for a closer look around the room.

  “Oh, my goodness, you’re naked…” Nigel retreated against the open door to hold it closed.

  “Hey, these will work!” She’d found a stash of leather ice buckets with soft handles. One by one, she ripped away the carrying straps.

  “No…no…” Nigel just kept shaking his head violently as January worked away. “Alright, now you’re naked, and you’re vandalizing.”

  “Not if you don’t tell anyone. If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?”

  Panicked now, he pressed his hands against the door. “You…you are truly insane.”

  “Did you think you could bring me to de Sade’s dungeon and not have your way with me?”

  “We don’t even bloody know if this was his dungeon!”

  January ignored him and held out the leather straps. “Here. Quick. Tie me up. And I’ll blow you.”

  “Here?”

  “We fucked in the middle of the afternoon on someone’s farm. Why can’t we fuck in someone else’s basement?”

  Sinking to her hands and knees, January began to crawl toward him, leaving his phone strategically so that she could still see him in the shadows. Like a faithful cat returning to her rightful owner with a trophy in her teeth, she clenched those worn tanned straps in her mouth.

  “January, don’t do this to me,” he begged her. “Oh, goodness me…”

  Although her words were muffled by the implements she carried to him, she said, “I love playing kitty…”

  “We’re playing kitty now in what may or may not be the Marquis de Sade’s dungeon. And I’m fucking going along with it. Dammit, I must be insane, too!”

  However, Nigel couldn’t stop himself from wrestling the straps from the strength of her bite. In all, she’d ripped three from the ice buckets. Two of them would work on her hands…leaving the third one for some mystery.

  Somehow, she’d managed to seduce his mind away from rational thought once again. He promised himself that he could play—if he did so with a touch of decorum and a whole lot of responsibility. Now, she was crawling on all-fours, begging to blow him and obliterating his ability to think clearly.

  “Okay, Nigel, you’re in the basement of a luxury hotel. This is nonsense,” he groused out loud.

  “Do you often talk to yourself during sex?” January asked.

  “It smells down here. It’s damp and dark. Anything could be crawling around on that floor…”
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  “Wanna see kitty play chase?”

  And then the three straps sliced over her ass, prompting a purr and the drawl of “Meow.”

  “Stop it!”

  “But kitty’s a good hunter,” she insisted, slinking up to his legs to reach for his belt buckle.

  “That’s it…I’m done…” In his frustration, Nigel slammed his head against the back of the door. “I don’t even care if I hurt myself. I’m gone…”

  First, though, he had to tie her up. Catching her wrists in his hands, he circled them with one of the leather straps, and then took the second to bind her to the wine rack behind them. It appeared to be mostly empty with just a couple of bottles toward the bottom.

  Strapped to the old shelves, she wobbled on her sore knees that pressed into the concrete. While she writhed and struggled, her breasts jutted forth; her nipples puckered. When he struck her with the third strap, she sunk closer to the ground, pulling at the wrought iron shelf to which he’d tethered her.

  “Oh, Dommy…let me suck your cock. Please?”

  “You’re in a basement with an A-list actress, who is tied up and begging to suck your cock,” he muttered as he struggled with his zipper. “Bloody shorts! And you’re going crazy—because you’re rambling to yourself. No, you’re not going crazy, Nigel. You’re already there. Already there...”

  “Be crazy with me…please…”

  Cock in hand, he made his way toward January and guided his thick shaft into her mouth. If he was crazy, then there was no better feeling.

  For January, there was just something so filthy in the notion of giving herself to Nigel like this in the House of Sade. Several drastically different facets of her life converged as she opened her mouth wide to accept him.

  Yes, she was submissive, but foremost, she was a woman who had placed her own needs on the back burner for far too long. Nigel, on the other hand, understood the importance of reciprocation. He’d closed his heart with Charlotte’s death, only to open it with reluctance for January.

  Perhaps his adjustment to January’s proclivities brought some awkward but amusing pauses to their budding relationship, but they embraced each other—foibles and frivolities in all.