A Pinch of Spice

by Alcamia Payne

  This was certainly a development, Eliza conjectured, holding her hand to the region of her thundering heart. So Georgiana had been right: Emile was germinating a fetish for costumes.

  ‘Now, I’ve upset you when I meant nothing by it. I was fortified in making this revelation by the fact that the other day I bumped into a young woman of your acquaintance who told me that if I played my cards right I might be able to coax you into revealing your secret. The fact you love to tease discerning men with your attire.’

  Eliza jumped to her feet, startled, the blood roaring in her ears. ‘That would be Georgiana. How dare she? Wait till I see her.’

  Emile grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down on the couch. ‘Now, now, no harm’s been done. Georgiana struck me as a little busybody, who’s in awe of you. Anyway, since then, I’ve become set in my intentions. This notion entices me and could even go some way to curing my condition.’

  ‘Well,’ Eliza said indignantly. ‘This is a pretty state of affairs.’

  Emile leant closer, his breath on her cheek making her shiver all over. How much she wanted to kiss and embrace him as a lover might, and yet she knew she must not. She had to master herself at all times. For one thing she had a position to uphold; for another she knew the moment she gave in, she’d be quite undone.

  ‘Would you show me your wardrobes, Eliza? The dresses and bustles, the veils and pretty little hats and perhaps …?’ Before she could move, Emile grabbed her foot and, taking off her slipper, held her stockinged foot, rubbing it in delicate circular movements before raising it to his lips and kissing the sole. ‘The pretty little boots which hide these darling little feet.’ He nipped her toe, kissing her ankle and licking his way up her leg. ‘Please, please, Eliza. Do I have to beg or is it simply you demand some favour in return? I’d be happy to oblige.’

  ‘You’d have me dress up and make a little stage play of it? Emile, how dare you?’

  ‘Yes, my sweet. I’d discover what suited my tastes, then dress you and have you pose for me so I could feast my eyes on you.’

  Eliza shivered. She was disturbed, but it was a tempting scenario and hard to resist. He circled her plump thigh with the tips of his fingers and turned his puppy-dog eyes on her. ‘Show me your fripperies and frills, Eliza. I know that secretly you’d like to dress up and tease me, wouldn’t you? In fact, nothing would give you more pleasure.

  Eliza’s skin erupted in goosebumps. ‘All right,’ she said defiantly. ‘I’ll indulge in your little game but only because I think it would be advantageous to your cure. What would you like to see?’

  Emile stretched out. There was a languid, untamed beauty about him with his wild, black hair loose around his shoulders. ‘First of all, let me see your shoes. We’ll start at the bottom and work our way up.’

  ‘Yes, why not?’ Grabbing his hands, Eliza pulled him to his feet and led Emile up to her bedroom which was a feast for the eyes and senses with its luscious swagged bed, heavy drapes and textures. Emile, enchanted by this fairy tale princess in her castle of extravagant designs, sat down on Eliza’s bed. It was covered in silk brocade cushions, since she liked nothing better than disporting naked.

  Opening the large black armoire, Eliza selected some pretty court shoes, boots, and embroidered house slippers and held them up one by one. Instantly, Emile’s attention was gripped and he took each one off her, inspecting it while Eliza watched in palpating fascination. Next, he made her try them on and walk up and down, swishing her skirt and lifting it to show her ankles.

  ‘Let me see your dresses and bodices and pretty skirts.’

  Eliza selected a few she thought particularly flirtatious, holding them up against her body. Emile sighed and stroked his cock, and Eliza bit her lip in frustration. She was already fizzing comfortably between her legs and a severe jerk on the lace would have been nice. However, she dared not give her dirty little secret away.

  ‘Let me touch them, all of them. Yes, that one –’ he pointed to an exquisite silk bodice with floating sleeves

  ‘– and that one –’ He then pointed to a heavy lace gown. Eliza, who was experiencing a tingling sensation of arousal, stood in front of Emile while he buried his mouth and face in the velvet and satin. ‘Oh Eliza, this is so divine I hardly know where to start or what theme to ask you to wear first. What’s more, I can even smell the scent of woman and perfume in every fibre and ruffle.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of what to wear? Every time you come, I’ll choose a different theme and then you can tell me whether you like it or not. We’ll take it from there.’ The excitement was increasing, and Eliza was intending to profit from these acts of titillation. ‘Of course you must undress; I must see how the experiment suits you. We must set a rule or two if we’re to maintain discipline.’

  ‘Naturally, but I have a request or two of my own which I know will enhance the experiment enormously and even hasten the cure.’

  ‘If you insist,’ Eliza muttered reluctantly. ‘But I hope you realise this is a serious experiment and not a game?’ She tapped her foot impatiently. When she clamped her thighs together, her aroused clitoris rubbed against the chafing lace.

  ‘The rules are these. You’re never to wear any underclothes beneath the garments, unless I expressly wish you to,’ Emile said teasingly.

  ‘What a strange rule,’ Eliza quavered, tapping him playfully on the nose. ‘So, you want a little pinch of spice to heat things up, do you? Then you’ll have it.’ Little did Emile know she hardly wore any underclothes anyway, so it wouldn’t be a hardship.

  Before she had time to move out of the way he grabbed her hand and, pulling her down on the bed, kissed her impudently, flicking the inside of her lips with his tongue.

  ‘And when,’ she said breathlessly, ‘do we start this experiment?’

  ‘Why, tomorrow, if you please, Eliza.’

  Chapter Eight

  The prospect of not having to make an excuse to dress up excited Eliza beyond belief. That night she hardly slept at all, and the next morning – having unlocked the door to her secret wardrobe – she spent ages staring at her chosen outfit, before placing the key on the bureau where she promptly forgot about it.

  Eliza thought she’d treat Emile to a surprise for his birthday. She’d quickly ascertained he adored black outfits and had even gone so far as to show her the designs for clothing he’d thought would particularly suit her. These Eliza had passed on to Madame Vilette, who’d fashioned her a fitting birthday ensemble. ‘I’d normally dissuade a woman like you from wearing black,’ she’d explained, ‘but you, Miss Pinch, have a way of making black, look à la mode.’

  When Madame showed her the finished article, Eliza was breathless. The corset was delightful, as tight as tight could be, with intricate embroidery framing the breasts and thrusting them forward. To this was attached sweeping leg o’ mutton sleeves of sheerest organza. The entire thing was finished off with a black hobble skirt, the material heavily embroidered and weighty, each wave overlaid in lace hiding a bare slit which was exactly the thing for an inquisitive finger.

  ‘Goodness, you’ve far exceeded my expectations.’ Emile said approvingly as he looked Eliza up and down.

  ‘Well, I reckoned you deserved a treat for your birthday, and here it is,’ Eliza replied coyly, smoothing down the ruffles. The stroke of the thick folds of fabric around the top of her plump, naked legs was immensely satisfying. Adopting a pose, she stood in front of him with one bare foot balanced on his knee. Today she’d fashioned an ensemble beneath her clothes by passing two thin strips of lace through her cunt, onto which she’d attached a rough button which savagely massaged her clit.

  ‘What shoes match, do you think?’ She wiggled her toes. ‘A soft pair of slippers or pretty button blacks?’

  Emile took her by the shoulders and, turning her, he moistened his lips as he absorbed the profusion of lace, ruffles, and tempting glimpses of pink flesh. Eliza felt a surge of triumphant delight so forceful she had to cla
mp her thighs together, and as she did so the thick Bruges lace between her legs rubbed her fragile clit stem harder, causing a satisfying burning sensation.

  ‘It’s certainly the most astounding birthday gift I’ve ever had. But why are you standing like that, Eliza?’ Emile sat timidly on the edge of the bed with his legs crossed. His erection tented his fashionably tailored pants.

  ‘I confess,’ she said, resting her hand on the back of a chair to steady herself, ‘I have a secret too, Emile.’

  ‘And what would that be, my darling Eliza?’

  Eliza strolled about the room in agitated fashion. ‘Your instructress has a peccadillo of her own. I admit to taking pleasure in clothes, but not in the normal way. Yes, I enjoy wearing them and the touch of so many fabrics gives me an incredible thrill. However – and I hardly dare speak about it – no one knows how wanton a whore I am beneath my finery.’ She rubbed the silky fabric between her fingertips and Emile gasped as the little folds opened, showing opportune flashes of pink flesh.

  He sucked his lip thoughtfully. ‘Well, knowing you, your mind’s bound to inhabit more daring spheres than the average. Seeing as it’s my birthday present, come here and let me touch it.’ Emile sunk his fingers into the fabric then, lifting the folds, he buried his face in it, fluttering it over his cheeks and moaning with pleasure. ‘What devilish spell are you weaving on me, Eliza? I never knew a woman compel so much with clothing. What am I to do, mistress, instruct me and chastise me for having such naughty thoughts? You see, I can’t help fantasising over the different textures and how they’ll feel against my skin. I want you to touch me with lace and silk and satin and I’m sure, in fact I’m positive –’ he gazed at her wistfully ‘– that it would cure me if you beat me with a whip made of lace.’

  Eliza, spellbound, was frozen to the spot. Was he begging for chastisement? Surely not, but then again … Well, this was an unexpected development. She ran her tongue over her lips as a prickle surfed up her spine and tightened her nipples into firm buttons. Yes, she should contrive a whip of lace and buttons to flay that tumescent beast. Then, she could have him strip and stand in front of her as he pleaded with her to flagellate him.

  ‘As for this other secret, well, I can only speculate on that until you see fit to enlighten me –’ he looked up at her doe-eyed ‘ –and I can tell you won’t do that today.’ Emile leapt up from the bed. Going over to her dressing table, he took two lengths of her purple hair ribbon. ‘Raise your leg, Eliza. Please indulge me.’ He proceeded to tie the ribbons around her ankle. ‘The little black shoes with the bar would set this ribbon off deliciously. Don’t you think it adds a certain je ne sais quoi?’

  Eliza had a sense there was more to the ribbons than met the eye, and mysterious feelings darted through her from head to toe. The ribbon was very tight around her ankle but the pain was rather pleasant. Emile’s kinky game was setting her pulse racing faster than usual and she liked it. She hated to think that Emile had any control over her whatsoever, but recently he did seem to be developing a newfound confidence. Eliza wet her lips. What a glorious temptation! Emile looked gorgeous in a new black lace shirt and stylish frock coat with his hair combed back and secured in a ponytail.

  His gaze raked her lasciviously. Today there seemed a more devilish air about him than usual as he caressed his chin before pulling her down roughly beside him. ‘Here’s the thing, Eliza. It’s about time I told you some of my other secrets too.’

  ‘Oh, and what would they be?’

  ‘For some time I’ve been writing little fantasies about us which I dream about acting out.’ Emile slipped a slim book out of his pocket and held it up. Eliza darted a look at the volume. She’d noticed it before and was curious about it. Indeed, she’d have liked to have perused it; however, Emile never left the book lying discarded. It was always in his pocket, and when he fell asleep and she went to his coat, she’d find out that he’d moved it and hidden it. On questioning him, Emile had said huffily, ‘Can’t a man be afforded his privacy? You have your private diaries and I never ask to look in those.’

  Eliza had laughed. ‘And you wouldn’t want to; all that’s in my journal are old notes.’ She’d tapped her head playfully. ‘The totality of my ideas is in here, Emile. They’re much safer not written down.’

  Eliza made a grab for the book. However, Emile held it out of her reach. As she did so, the button and lace which she’d worn all last night as she indulged in her erotic fantasies dug even deeper into her clit, making her gasp.

  Without further ado, Emile sunk down on the floor. Placing his secret little book on her knee, he ran his finger down the entries. ‘I’ve thought of some stimulating negotiation.’

  Eliza shook out the long, luscious ruffles of her skirt. ‘To be frank, I don’t even know why I’m sitting here listening to this absurd nonsense, so make the most of it because I shan’t obey you so meekly again.’

  ‘How do you expect to affect a cure on me if you won’t listen to me?’

  Eliza moved her head to the side, as she coquettishly flicked a ribbon with her finger. This was true. ‘You tease and tease with that book. What an odd notion for a man, and so childish.’

  ‘Most definitely not. I find my thoughts develop much more clarity when they’re written down.’

  Eliza pouted petulantly. ‘So, why share your mysteries with me now, after all this time?’

  ‘Why? Because I thought we might act one or two of them out together.’

  ‘Act them out? I’m your instructress, Emile, and I’ll decide if engagement in such games will be effective.’ Eliza was aghast, her whole body erupting in a violent shudder as Emile pressed his mouth against her quim and then burst out laughing.

  ‘Goodness, Eliza. What a little devil and a schemer you are. I can tell simply by the feverish look on your face that you crave my stimulation. Come, play along. Coax me into reciting my tales. Plead for me to do it.’

  Eliza was confused. Something was wrong here. The thought of Emile’s private fantasies excited her and she realised she’d exposed a weakness in herself. For once, she wasn’t totally in control and she should be. ‘No, I won’t, why should I?’

  He jumped to his feet. ‘You’re right, forgive me. You’re the expert and I’m the student.’

  Eliza’s heart was bumping like a drum. Just the sight of Emile’s tall, muscular back and the way his hair curled around his shoulders made her melt with longing. She wriggled uncomfortably. Later on she’d have to go through her haberdashery chest and fashion something coarser to wear between her legs. What a distorted little individual she was. Come to think of it, if she tightened her chastity belt enough to make her sex lips pout, whenever Emile laid his head on her lap she could move her legs and the lace would give her an orgasm.

  Emile was staring at her as, licking his finger, he slowly turned the pages of the notebook. ‘All right, I’ll whet your appetite and do it anyway. Now, let me look. I hardly know where to start. Perhaps at the beginning, since that always seems the best place.’

  Eliza opened her mouth and then closed it again as Emile prepared to read.

  ‘My dear Eliza, every entry I’ve made in here relates to your dear self.’

  Eliza bit her lip. She was about to ask “and what of Penelope?” since, according to Martha, he seemed so smitten by her outfits. Emile paused for a moment as he turned another page. ‘Aha!’

  There was nothing more to do, Eliza conceded. Eyeing the box of marzipans on her bedside table, she stretched across and, selecting one, popped it into her mouth. It instantly helped her steady herself and she needed to think her way around the conundrum of her impetuous and unruly student. Emile was a mass of complexities, making him exceedingly interesting to unravel. Rather than be direct, it appeared he liked to create a veil between himself and his urges by distancing himself on the pages of a notebook composed of illicit fantasies. A naughty thought came into her head. She was of the opinion that exposure therapy could be used to great effect to cure f
oibles. “Confront the nemesis head on” was her motto. Heat raged through her body.

  ‘You may as well confess,’ she mumbled, her mouth stuffed full of the sweet confection.

  ‘In this dream,’ Emile explained, ‘you commanded me to obey and I took off my clothing and lay down. You then proceeded to fasten my arms and legs to each of the posts of your bed with long pieces of lace and satin ribbon. It aroused me so much I decided to explore that idea in more detail.’

  ‘Did you?’ Eliza commented. ‘You do realise this kind of thing has deep psychological implications?’ She felt very queer; her cheeks were flushed and her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears, she couldn’t think straight.

  ‘Suffice to say, even being tied up by you didn’t excite me by far enough so I developed the next scenario and the one after that. Rapidly, Eliza, your forceful presence took my stories over. You began to provoke me dreadfully with your clothing and I discovered the sensation was enhanced if I imagined you not just restraining me with your scarves, your lace, or even different textures of ribbons all tied together, but wrapping them around my body so I was mummified. As disgusting as it sounds, these erotic interludes only served to inflame me more, so that now I only have to imagine the slide of silk or the scratch of that fabulous stiff lace and I want to be smothered in it.’ He paused. ‘And that’s not all, for it gets much worse.’

  ‘Tell me. I order it,’ Eliza commanded, chewing furiously on another marzipan.

  ‘It’ll do you the world of good to confess everything. In fact, I don’t think your cure is far off.’