Her outfit was perfectly in keeping with the furnishings around her, plush and gilt, polished and lacquered wood, rich dark colours set off by highlights of crystal and silver, creating an atmosphere both sensual and decadent, also quintessentially French. Even the view from the window left no doubt whatsoever as to where she was, with all the implications that brought, the half closed curtains revealing the Tour Eiffel standing proud and erect above the city. Yet the two vast airships manoeuvring with stately precision above the mast were both British, their Union Flags clearly visible, also the name of the nearer of the two, Saint George.
Thrift turned away and took a swallow of wine in an effort to calm her feelings. The apartment belonged to Eugène Mazoyères, but the man on the couch opposite her, dressed only in his shirt tails and also sipping the same heady wine, was not the Vice-President but Godfrey Quigley. Having spanked her, fucked her and had her suck her own juice from his cock before spunking in her mouth he had suggested they relax over a bottle to restore their energies and was now expounding the virtues of France and the French way of life he, and now Thrift, had chosen to adopt.
‘I was here in Paris for many years before being promoted to Director of European, and well, I suppose the gay, free life became a habit. Have you any idea how difficult it is to get a whore in London, let alone in the Diplomatic Enclave? No, I don’t suppose you would, and besides, the real problem is not getting the occasional whore but maintaining one’s reputation while enjoying the occasional whore. They’re all so damned stiff necked, our fellow members of the Quality, that is, not the whores.’
He paused, seeming to reflect, took a swallow of his wine and then continued.
‘Spanking is another matter, of course. There are always plenty of opportunities to get pretty girls over the knee. Any excuse will do, really, and they expect to be laid bare and they expect to be dealt with hard, but you have no idea how frustrating it is when you can spank the little darlings but not finish them off with a good stiff cock up their bottoms, or even in their mouths or hands. It’s just not done, as you know.’
Thrift refrained from comment, thinking of the various men who’d spanked her and then taken advantage of her in all three ways Quigley described, sometimes one after the other. Yet there was something in what he was saying, in that in France a man could indulge himself in a whole range of vices and nobody seemed to mind, whereas in Britain secrecy was essential to avoid scandal and disgrace, especially for anybody of Quality.
‘Then there’s the question of accessories,’ Quigley continued. ‘It is true that there is nowhere to equal London when it comes to the supply of canes, whips, paddles and so forth, and we do of course make the finest spanking benches, stocks and pillories. Yet even I, a dyed-in-the-wool fanatic for the joys of spanking female bottoms accept that there is more to sex. What of dildos? In London? I wouldn’t know where to start, and if I did secure one no doubt it would be overpriced tat, but here in Paris! Gourdin’s in the Rue Barbette sells nothing else, and in every size, shape and colour imaginable, or at least practical. Speaking of which, has Eugène introduced you to his box of tricks?’
Thrift sighed and nodded, having spent much of the previous evening with an inflatable, penis shaped dildo up her cunt while Mazoyères sodomised her.
‘He has some remarkable toys,’ Quigley went on, rising from the couch, ‘and while I’m not quite fully recharged, so to speak, it might be nice to start to play again, just gently at first.’
‘If you like,’ Thrift acquiesced, ‘but my bottom’s still quite warm.’
Quigley merely chuckled as the opened the lid of the large, inlaid box in which Eugène Mazoyères kept his collection of erotic appurtenances, which ranged from things as simple as lengths of soft cord and spanking paddles to elaborate devices for stimulating nipples with static electricity and the monstrous inflatable dildo he had inserted in Thrift the evening before. During the week and a half since she had been transferred from the headquarters of the Bureau to the personal care of Eugène Mazoyères, Thrift had grown acquainted with just about every single item. Using any of them filled her with the inevitable shame for her wanton condition, but while some she couldn’t help but love, at least while they were being used on her, others she genuinely hated.
‘Let me see,’ she said hastily, scrambling over to kneel down beside Quigley as he began to search through the box.
‘Now that’s not the behaviour of a British lady, is it now?’ he chuckled and gave her a firm slap across her bottom.
Thrift squeaked and giggled, a response to the constant use of her body for pleasure.
‘Shall we play with the peacock feather ticklers?’ she suggested. ‘You could tie me up first.’
‘You would wet yourself,’ he pointed out. ‘We must think of Eugène’s carpet.’
‘In the bathroom, I was thinking,’ Thrift responded.
‘Perhaps then, in a while,’ he promised, ‘but tell me, have you ever had your breasts smacked?’
‘Once or twice,’ Thrift admitted.
‘It can be very stimulating,’ he went on as he extracted a small horsehair whip with an ivory handle from the box, ‘but it is only really effective if your hands are tied. Cross your wrists behind your back, if you would.’
Thrift obeyed, a little uncertain but knowing she would enjoy the treatment once her arousal got the better of her. Placing the whip on a nearby table, Quigley began to sort among the bundles of cord in the box, presently selecting one.
‘Purple, to match your ribbons,’ he stated. ‘I always think that if one is to tie a girl up the effect should be as aesthetically pleasing as possible, don’t you?’
Thrift didn’t respond, but turned a little, sticking her bottom out and lifting her wrists to make it easier for him to tie them together. He applied a few gentle smacks to her cheeks, ran one finger slowly between them to feel the moisture of her cunt and tickle her anus, then applied himself to the rope, binding her wrists and tying it off into a neat cinch.
‘There we are, such a simple knot, and yet you are to all intents and purposes helpless. Now, open wide, then into the bathroom with you, I think, just in case.’
As Thrift’s mouth came open he pushed in the handles of both the horsehair whip and the two peacock feathers ticklers, forcing her to hold them between her teeth. Just to show off, she jumped up and walked to the bathroom rather than crawled, an act to which he responded with his usual knowing chuckle. Eugène Mazoyères’ bathroom was a masterpiece of French opulence, or, as Thrift still couldn’t help thinking, vulgarity. The floor and walls were tiled in black and white check, but the towels, mats, the shower curtain and even the upholstery of two gilt chairs were a rich crimson, while the fittings were gold plated. Quigley gave a wry shake of his head as they entered, but immediately gave his attention to Thrift, using the tip of his shoe to pull a mat into the centre of the floor.
‘Kneel down, my dear,’ he instructed. ‘Bottom out, tits out, that’s my girl.’
Thrift had adopted the rude position, as much by instinct as request, making a display of her body and presenting her breasts for his attention. He wasted no time, pulling a chair close and giving her a gentle flick with the horsehair whip even as he sat down. It stung a little and also tickled, making Thrift wince and giggle at the same time, as well as bringing the nipple he had struck to instant erection.
‘You are remarkably responsive,’ he said as he flicked at her other nipple, ‘and so gloriously full.’
He set to work, whipping Thrift’s breasts with precise, evenly placed strokes that grew slowly harder. She closed her eyes, enjoying both the mild stinging sensation and tickling feeling, for all that it made her wriggle her toes and giggle helplessly. Yet her nipples were hard and sensitive, the skin of her breasts little less so, while her helplessness at being tied and her shame for her wanton behaviour only added to her arou
sal. Soon she was sighing in pleasure and wriggling her bottom, hoping Quigley would give her rear cheeks some attention as well as her breasts but content to let him lead the play without comment.
‘Isn’t this fine?’ he said after a while. ‘Kneeling all but bare in your little corset and stockings, enjoying the delights of your body without having to worry over who might find out and what the consequences will be? Your future life is going to be rather pleasant, isn’t it, as is mine, but that reminds me, while we are alone. Bargain hard, as I am doing myself. The Frogs will no doubt offer you a place as an ordinary agent with a salary to suit. Don’t accept. Demand more, the rank of Guardien at the very least, a state apartment, and most importantly, give up what you know only gradually, and at a good price. I will help, naturally, but enough shop. I see you’re getting urgent.’
She nodded and let her knees come a little open, showing him the mound of her sex. He shifted forward on the chair, to slip a hand between her thighs, masturbating her as he continued to whip her breasts. She knew he wouldn’t let her come. It was far too early in the game, but as he began to fiddle with her clitoris her mouth had come open in pleasure and she was soon gasping and wriggling herself onto his fingers.
‘Not yet, my darling,’ he said, his voice now hoarse as he withdrew his hand to pull down his zip.
Thrift had leant forward even before his cock was out, and took it immediately into her mouth, sucking eagerly as he turned his attention to her dangling breasts, squeezing them and pulling her erect nipples. He stiffened quickly, his cock swelling in her mouth as she sucked, the bulbous head soon free of his foreskin and pushing down her throat as she did her best to get him all in. His hands left her breasts, and for a moment he had taken her by the hair, easing her back a little so that he could watch himself masturbate into her mouth, before reaching for the two peacock feather ticklers.
She winced just to see them in his hands, and again, harder as they were applied to her breasts, tickling the sensitive flesh to make her giggle and shiver, struggling to concentrate on the full, fat erection now filling her mouth and hold the muscles of her belly and sex at the same time. It didn’t work. With her hands tied and no way to protect herself and her arousal too high to let her fight the feeling anyway, she had soon given in, wetting herself all over the bath mat.
Quigley laughed as he heard the hiss and splash of her urine and began to tickle harder still, making Thrift squirm and jerk. She’d begun to sob on her mouthful of cock as the hot pee ran out of her, soaking the mat and wetting her thighs Yet she was in ecstasy, thoroughly enjoying her own degradation, even that she had her hands tied behind her back to stop her getting at her cunt and bringing herself to a badly needed orgasm the instant her bladder was empty.
‘I said you’d wet yourself,’ he chuckled and put the ticklers aside, once more taking his cock in hand and starting to masturbate into her mouth, only to pause at the click of a key turning in the apartment door.
‘Ah, ha, has Eugène found time to take a break in his duties, do you suppose? But no...’
He had broken off at the sound of voices, very clearly female. Thrift had begun to drift into a state of erotic euphoria, but was jerked sharply out of it as she recognised the high, arrogant drawl of Mimi Caze.
‘It is Mimi and Fleurette! Untie me, quickly!’
‘Why?’ he queried. ‘With any luck they will want to join in, and if there’s one thing I regret about the failure of your little abduction plan it’s that I didn’t get the opportunity to be entertained by M’selle Caze.’
‘I...,’ Thrift began, only to stop as she realised it was best not to tell the truth. ‘They’ll be cruel with me, really cruel, they’re sure to!’
‘I’ll be here to look after you,’ he assured her, tousling her hair. ‘M’selle Caze! M’selle Laroche! I have a present for you.’
The girls had gone into the bedroom Mimi occasionally shared with Eugène Mazoyères, but quickly came back, opening the door to look in surprise at Quigley and the kneeling Thrift.
‘Monsieur Quigley, Chastity, or should I say Thrift, as is your real name, I believe?’ M’selle Laroche asked. ‘Eugène explained, but...’
She sounded puzzled, and distinctly gruff when addressing Thrift, who tried to wriggle away and turn at the same time, presenting her bound wrists to Quigley.
‘Godfrey, please!’ she begged.
‘No, no, leave her,’ Mimi put in. ‘Fleurette and I, we would very much like to speak with her.’
She had come into the bathroom, also M’selle Laroche, who still looked doubtful but with an increasingly firm set to her mouth.
‘Nothing too rough, girls,’ Quigley admonished, but both of them ignored him.
‘You spanked me,’ M’selle Laroche stated.
‘You hit me, Mimi Caze, and left me tied in a public lavatory!’ Mimi added.
‘You tied me too, and gagged me with my own pantalettes!’ Fleurette stormed.
‘As you did to me! Worse, you meant to have me put in nappies!’ Mimi screeched
‘She did what?’ Fleurette asked in astonishment.
‘It is true,’ Mimi carried on, her voice thick with indignation. ‘Eugène has told me. In order to lure Monsieur Quigley here to the barge in which she was to escape down the Seine she set up an assignation. She told me I was to be paid a million francs. She told him I liked to be put in nappies and spanked!’
Fleurette shook her head in apparent disbelief, then turned to Thrift.
‘If we were to put you on the clysopomp every night for a season, with each of the girls flushed into your face in turn, it would not be enough. As it is, it seems we must content ourselves with what retribution is available. Excuse me, Monsieur Quigley.’
‘Gently, gently,’ Quigley chided, but the girls had already dragged Thrift back into the middle of the floor.
‘Remember, Monsieur Quigley,’ Fleurette pointed out as she took a grip of Thrift’s hair, ‘you too have been wronged.’
‘Very true,’ Quigley responded, ‘and yet I do feel that we should take these things as part of the cut and thrust of an exciting life. The Great Game gets a trifle rough at times, after all, and...’
‘Just enjoy the show,’ Mimi interrupted him. ‘Who knows, perhaps I will even tug your cock for you while Fleurette tortures Thrift, maybe more...’
As she trailed off she opened her painted lips, just far enough to show the point of her tongue within her mouth. Quigley swallowed and put his hand to his cock as if by an irresistible impulse.
‘Godfrey!’ Thrift urged. ‘Help me!’
‘You’ll be fine, my dear,’ Quigley responded vaguely, then rallied a little. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let them do anything really nasty to you, and you do enjoy a little humiliation, after all.’
‘Godfrey!’ Thrift repeated.
‘For the sake of Heaven, make her shut up!’ Mimi urged.
Fleurette responded by reaching up under her skirts to pull off her pantalettes, a heavily frilled blue pair, which she immediately pushed at Thrift’s mouth, while squeezing her cheeks to force her to open up. Thrift gave in, deciding it was best to let the girls have their fun and not risk antagonising them any further, while for all Quigley’s infatuation with Mimi Caze he was sure to prevent her receiving any lasting damage.
‘Good, and very appropriate,’ Mimi said as Fleurette forced the pantalettes deep into Thrift’s throat. ‘Indeed, let appropriate be our watchword. What she did to us, we shall do to her, and perhaps a little more.’
‘She has already wet herself,’ Fleurette pointed out.
‘So she has,’ Mimi replied. ‘On purpose, no doubt, the little slut.’
‘I was tickling her,’ Quigley explained.
‘She can mop it up later,’ Fleurette said, ignoring him. ‘First, her spanking.’
As she spoke she had regained her grip in Thrift’s hair, dragging her towards the toilet. Thrift gave in to the pressure, shuffling across the slippery floor on her knees until she reached the lavatory. Mimi lifted the seat, laughing.
‘Like this, Fleurette!’
Thrift was dragged into position, bent down across the lavatory, her breasts dangling into the bowl, her head hung down at the far side and her bottom stuck up in the air. Fleurette planted one stinging slap across Thrift’s wet cheeks, then stopped.
‘She used a hairbrush on me, if you would be so kind as to fetch one, Mimi? She even pussy whipped me, the little bitch! This is going to be a true pleasure, Chastity, or Thrift or whatever you are called, a true pleasure!’
Mimi had left the room, but Fleurette began to spank Thrift anyway, applying hard slaps to the crest of her bottom to set her wriggling and kicking her feet. Quigley stayed as he was, his eyes fixed on Thrift’s well spread bottom cheeks as she nursed his erection. She bit her lip, feeling cheated and above all, used, but she had been betrayed by her own body as much as by him, her cunt open and puffy with the juice running freely from her hole in her excitement.
‘Thank you,’ Fleurette said as she accepted a large, long-handled hairbrush from Mimi, ‘and now...’
She broke off as she applied the brush to Thrift’s bottom, raising a loud, wet smack immediately followed by her victim’s muffled yelp of shock and pain. Her hand closed on the cord binding Thrift’s wrists and she laid in, smack after smack applied to the dancing, jiggling bottom cheeks in front of her. Thrift was crazy with pain in an instant, writhing in her tormentor’s grip, kicking her feet and shaking her head in a wild, futile effort to fight the agonising bite of the heavy brush, with her fat breasts splashing in the water of the lavatory bowl, a detail she barely noticed. Mimi did, waiting until Thrift’s bottom was red all over before speaking in a voice high with sadistic delight, while her eyes glittered with wicked intent.
The Reluctant Stripper Page 20