Читать книгу My Secret Life in Paris - Lucy Salisbury - Страница 5

I hadn’t bargained for the intensity of Adrienne’s feelings for me, nor the way she’d simply taken charge, but over the following couple of weeks I had no time to sort things out with her. She wasn’t the first woman who had treated me like that, and not only do I really rather like it, I find it much easier to just go with the flow, especially when I need to exert strong control over other parts of my life. In this case it was work.

In the short time between my appointment and taking up the position, the French had decided to elect a socialist president, with predictable results. Most of the staff had been transferred, either to London or New York, leaving only a handful of key operators. Juniors aside, these were either too old and set in their ways to want to leave, or simply too French. My boss, M. Montesquieu, fell into both categories.

He would roll up at the office in the late morning, make a few kindly but condescending remarks to people, myself included, then disappear into his office, to emerge shortly after noon and roll out again and off to one or another of his favourite restaurants. Occasionally he would come back in the late afternoon, after taking on board at least one bottle of wine, make a few more remarks, some of them close to actionable, then doze off in the enormous black leather chair behind his office desk. To all intents and purposes, that left me in charge, which meant imposing my will on people who resented me for being younger than they were and in charge, for being English or for being a woman – in some cases for all three.

I had to be pin-sharp all day, every day, so that by leaving time it was sheer bliss simply to give in to Adrienne’s will. She wasn’t even a difficult mistress, because, although she liked to be firmly in control, she believed in punishing me only when I misbehaved. As she was divorced, and in receipt of an ample monthly income from her ex-husband, she had time on her hands. I didn’t have to shop or cook, and I was always welcome at her apartment, which was only a couple of doors down from mine in the Rue de la Cure.

For the first week I ate with her every evening and went to bed with her afterwards, only returning to my own flat when I had satisfied both her and myself. It was even possible to get back along the rooftops, as long as I left the window open on the landing. The flat lead roof above her apartment was good for sunbathing, if not perfect, because it was overlooked by several taller apartment buildings, although none of them particularly close. Now she had invited me to join her at the weekend, and I was wondering if she’d make me go topless or even nude, but by the time I left work on the Friday I was in need of something rather more immediate, and preferably both soothing and slightly painful.

The difficulty was M. Montesquieu. It would be wrong to say I found him attractive, at least in the conventional sense, as he was much too old for me, but he was a great bear of a man, which I like, and had a wholly inappropriate and old-fashioned attitude to women, which I don’t, but if it’s done a certain way I can’t stop it getting to me. If he’d been rude, or openly suggestive, I’d have been able to cope, putting him in his place with a few carefully chosen remarks and if necessary threatening to report him to head office. Unfortunately he was invariably polite, but still managed to make me feel very feminine and very vulnerable, in such a way that I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like for him to spank me. Not that I had any reason to think he’d want to do it, or even that he might find the idea appealing, but it’s my thing and I couldn’t resist thinking about it, with all sorts of peculiar fantasies running through my head as I walked back from the Metro.

First and foremost was the idea of him suddenly deciding that I was getting too big for my boots and that the best way to cut me down to size would be a spanking in front of the rest of the staff. I’d be made to circulate a memo inviting everybody to watch, perhaps in his office, or on the main floor so that absolutely everybody got to see, including any clients who happened to be about, perhaps a few couriers, repair men, anybody. Inevitably it would be on my bare bottom, to really humiliate me, with my suit skirt rolled up from the start. My panties would be pulled down, but not immediately, only after a few swats, to let me think I might be allowed to keep that last, vital piece of dignity before having my cunt and anus put on show to all the men and women I spent my days ordering around.

I meant to tell Adrienne and beg her to punish me for my dirty and disloyal thoughts, preferably by dealing with me in exactly the same way as I’d been dealt with in my fantasy, minus the large and embarrassing audience. Unfortunately she wasn’t there and I was left outside her door, clutching in one hand the bottle of Fleurie I’d picked up at Nicolas and in the other the flowers I’d bought for her. I looked and felt like an abandoned date. She’d said she would be there, and had probably only gone out to the shops, but I’d expected to be across her knee within a couple of minutes of my arrival and my frustration was in danger of boiling over. I tried to call her but there was no response, and with that I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself but all the more excited for that, I went back to my flat, swallowed a glass of the Beaujolais and crawled onto my bed, still on all fours and with my eyes closed as I began to fantasise. In my imagination I was back at the office, my face hot with indignant blushes as M. Montesquieu informed me that I would benefit from ten minutes across his knee with the rest of the staff watching as I was given a spanking. He’d tell me off, calling me a little madam and a spoilt brat, then send me off to distribute the memo, not by email but by hand, with everybody whispering together and smirking over my fall from grace as the message went around.

I needed my bottom smacked, whether it was by M. Montesquieu, Adrienne, the spotty boy who’d served me in Nicolas or myself, which was the only practical choice. Reaching back, I took hold of the hem of my skirt and rolled it slowly up my thighs, imagining how it would feel to have to do it with everybody in the office watching. I was in a slip, but that came up too, and the tail of my blouse, to leave first the tops of my stockings showing, then my panties, taut across my cheeks and distinctly moist where the gusset hugged my cunt.

The shame of having to spank myself was so strong I was sobbing even as I planted the first, firm pat across the seat of my panties, but nothing to what it would have been if it had been M. Montesquieu’s huge, fleshy paw. I wondered if I’d have gone meekly or made a fight of it, kicking and writhing so that I had to be held down across his lap by force, begging to be let off and promising to be a good girl even as my panties were exposed behind. He’d take no notice, keeping me firmly in place as he planted swat after swat across my jiggling cheeks, just to the point when I’d resigned myself to my fate, grateful that at least I still had my knickers up, before telling me they were coming down.

My bottom was already warm and my cunt desperate for the touch of my fingers, but I forced myself to hold back until I could concentrate on the most shameful moment of all, having my already well smacked bottom stripped bare in front of the watching staff. I took hold of my panties, imagining that it was not my hand but M. Montesquieu’s, and drew them slowly down. As I did so, I thought about the awful sense of consternation in my head as I was laid bare, my bottom exposed despite my crazy, pathetic struggles to keep myself covered, my threats, my curses, my appeals to his sense of decency, all ignored, and as I slowly put myself on show I began to babble.

‘No, please, Monsieur Montesquieu, not my panties, not that … at least leave me that. I don’t want to be spanked bare. I don’t deserve to be spanked bare, you pig, you great brute! No, please, they’ll see my –’

‘Cunt?’

Adrienne had spoken from directly behind me, much as she had at the Aire de Villabé and with even more startling effect, but as I made to turn over she reached out to place a restraining hand in the small of my back.

‘Oh, no, you don’t, Lucy, you stay like that and think about what you were doing while I tell you off.’

I obeyed, my head thick with chagrin for the position I was being made to hold, my bottom stuck up in the air and my panties rolled down to the tops of my stockings. But I was puzzled too. Adrienne was quick to explain.

‘I let myself in with the key I had cut the other day, when you lent me yours so that I could air your flat properly. Although as a general rule girls who masturbate ought to make sure they put the latch on first, and close the shutters. Didn’t I tell you about old Commandant Arnauld? He has an apartment at the back, with a roof garden. He likes to watch me sunbathing, and I imagine he can see into your window quite well.’

‘My modesty curtains are closed, but thank you anyway.’

‘Would you thank me if I opened them, right now?’

‘Adrienne, no!’

‘Why not? He’s a war hero. You should be more generous, and besides, from what I heard, you were fantasising about being spanked by your boss, with your knickers pulled down. That would be the Monsieur Montesquieu you were telling me about, I suppose. How old is he?’

‘That … that’s not the same thing at all, Adrienne! I was only thinking about it. Now please can I roll over? This is embarrassing!’

‘Stay as you are, it’s supposed to be embarrassing. But don’t worry, I’ll spare your blushes and leave the curtains closed, if only because old Arnauld isn’t the only neighbour at the back and I don’t want any complaints, especially as I am going to punish you.’

I didn’t answer, confused, deeply embarrassed and more ashamed of myself than ever, but desperately in need of what she was planning for me. She’d stepped away from the bed as she spoke, presumably to find something to beat me with. I’d have far preferred to be dealt with across her knee and by hand, but I’d not yet had a chance to teach her the virtues of English corporal punishment.

But at least some of them seemed to be popular in France too. After a moment’s thought she picked up the fluffy white bath towel I’d put out over the back of a chair. Memories flooded in, of having my bottom flicked as, naked and dripping, I ran a gauntlet of laughing girls, the wet ends of the towels cracking against my bare flesh, with Juliette Fisher at the far end to catch me and hold me while the others took turns to enjoy a little target practice. Unfortunately Adrienne didn’t seem to be very good at it, for she folded the towel along its length instead of twisting it from corner to corner, and it was still dry.

‘You have to wet it first, Adrienne, or at least the tip, then you hold it up and spin it to make it work like a whip.’

‘Whatever are you talking about?’

‘How to use the towel to whip me.’

‘I said I was going to punish you, Lucy, not whip you. My whip is in my apartment, for one thing, and there’s not a great deal of point in spanking you, is there? You like it too much.’

‘Oh … please, Adrienne? It still hurts, and you can use my hairbrush if you like, or I’ll teach you how to use a wet towel.’

‘You’re a disgrace, Lucy. Now kneel up on the bed. That’s right, knees apart, and keep your skirt up.’

I obeyed, puzzled, as she cocked one leg up on the bed beside me in order to thread the towel between my thighs and pull it up, covering my back and front with the thick, soft material. As she began to tie the corners together at my hips I realised what she was doing.

‘Adrienne! No, you can’t put me in nappies, no …’

‘I rather think I just have, and why not? It suits you to be made a big baby, especially with your nappy on under your business suit.’

My answer was a sulky, choking sob, because that was all I could manage for the thought of what she was doing to me, and she was right. It did suit me, because it was hard to imagine anything more shameful than a fully grown woman being made to wear a nappy, unless perhaps it was wearing a nappy underneath a smart business suit. I let her do it though, my head full of consternation as she tied the corners of the towel at my hips to leave my bottom and belly encased in thick white towelling with a knot sticking out at either side. She then stood back.

‘Very pretty. Now pull your knickers up over the towelling.’

I obeyed, looking daggers at her as I wriggled my panties back up over my nappy-clad bottom until they were stretched taut, the towelling bulging out from the leg-holes and the twin knots hanging out at my hips. Adrienne gave her light, cruel chuckle.

‘Go and look at yourself in the mirror, Lucy.’

My wardrobe door was a full-length mirror, and I only had to shuffle a little way up the bed to see my reflection: my upper body fully dressed, as neat and correct as could possibly have been asked, in appalling contrast to the huge, fluffy nappy bulging my expensive black lace panties. I looked both ridiculous and grossly indecent, a girl done up as a painfully humiliating punishment or for perverted sex, maybe both. Adrienne gave me a moment to reflect on the state I was in, then spoke again.

‘I thought that might get to you, Lucy. Now pull your skirt down.’

I tried, but it wouldn’t go, leaving a good deal of my nappy showing both back and front, while I had to pull the knots up over the waistband on either side. By then Adrienne was laughing openly, and I had to admit that if it had been another girl in nappies rather than me I’d have done the same. As it was I was left choking with shame and unable to pull my gaze away from the mirror as Adrienne continued to give her instructions.

‘That’s right, very good, Lucy. Now turn your back to me and stick your bottom out. Superb, truly comic! Now to the mirror … yes, that’s right, darling, what a sight you are! Now face me and pull up the front of your skirt. Yes, just like that, and hold still, with that priceless expression on your face.’

She’d pulled out her phone and I realised she was going to take a picture, at which I rebelled.

‘No, Adrienne, seriously, no pictures! Do anything you like with me, but no pictures.’

To my vast relief she gave a solemn nod and put the phone away.

‘Fair enough. I was going to print one out and have it framed for you, as a reminder of your punishment, but perhaps it would be a little too risky. So then, what shall I do with you?’

‘You … you could, maybe, spank me in my nappy and make me kneel for you, still like this. I feel so ashamed of myself, Adrienne, just to be like this, and to be spanked –’

‘Would be appropriate, but perhaps rather too much fun for you, and besides, I’d have to pull your nappy down to get at your bottom and that would spoil the effect, or …’

She trailed off, her grin pure cruelty as she approached the bed once more, snapping out an order.

‘On your back, Lucy, it’s time you were changed, and time you were spanked.’

I lay down, shaking violently at the appalling humiliation of what was being done to me as my skirt was tugged up once more and my legs lifted to put me into the nappy-changing position. More than one person has spanked me that way, and it has to be about the most shameful, exposed position there is, with the unfortunate girl’s legs rolled high to show off every detail of her cunt and well-spread bottom cheeks – but I’d never had it done to me while I was actually in a nappy.

Adrienne was as cool as ever, casually pulling my panties up my legs and twisting them in her fist at the level of my ankles to hold me in position while she pulled open the knots at my hips. With my nappy loose she tugged the front out from under the waistband of my skirt and turned it down on the bed, to leave me bare once more. I had everything showing, every little tuck and fold of my pussy, every tiny wrinkle of my bottom hole, blatantly displayed, and yet with the towelling still against my skin I couldn’t forget that I was still in nappies.

I’d thought she’d just spank me, which would have been bad enough, but she was determined to make my ordeal as humiliating as possible. She made a quick trip to the bathroom and came back with powder and cream, hauled my legs up to spread me out once more, sprinkled the powder over my bottom and pussy, then applied cream to my anus and the slit of my cunt. When she touched my clit I nearly came, my back arching and my muscles squeezing tight, but she merely turned her attention back to my bottom hole, sliding one finger deep in up the creamy little ring. A moan escaped my lips as my anus tightened on her finger, which earned me a tut of disapproval and a rebuke.

‘You dirty girl, Lucy. Can’t you control yourself at all, even when you’re having your nappy changed?’

Her finger was still deep in up my bottom and I shook my head, acknowledging the truth of the state I was in, and that whatever she’d done to me it was ultimately my own choice and my own fault. Just two hours before I’d been giving a performance review to a group of managers, most of them older than me, and now I was on my back, having my nappy changed, with my girlfriend’s finger up my bottom as she tormented me.

‘I could make you come so easily, couldn’t I, my little piglet, or I could make you beg for release. I could make you go like this all evening, even sleep like this, and you’d do exactly as you were told, wouldn’t you? Maybe I should even send you into work like this, with a note for Monsieur Montesquieu, asking him to take down your nappy and spank you? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Lucy?’

‘You bitch!’

‘A bitch, am I? Right …’

She had pushed her thumb in up my cunt as she was speaking and was masturbating me in a leisurely, offhand fashion as her words drove my sense of shame ever higher, but at my response she pulled her hand free, wiped it on my panties and began to spank me, slapping my well-spread bottom and the lips of my cunt to set me gasping and moaning on the instant. I had to come, then and there, with the appalling picture she’d created fresh in my head. My hand went down between my thighs and I was rubbing at my clit while she continued to spank me, laughing all the while at my helpless excitement.

‘That’s my girl, that’s my little piglet. Do it, rub your dirty little cunt while you think about the state you’re in, in a nappy, Lucy, and I know what you’re thinking about too. You’re thinking about having big, bad Monsieur Montesquieu spank your naughty bottom at the office, with your nappy pulled down at the back and your creamy little bumhole ready for his fat old cock, aren’t you!’

Suddenly there was anger in her voice, maybe mock, maybe real, but I was already starting to come and couldn’t hold back my words.

‘Yes, just like that, in my nappy, in front of everybody, then with it pulled down at the back, and he’d fuck me, and bugger me, and make me suck his cock, and spank me and spank me and spank me!’

I screamed, every muscle in my body locked tight as I came under my own fingers, with Adrienne now slapping hard across my open cheeks and on the lips of my cunt, viciously hard smacks I barely felt in my ecstasy.

‘I’d do it too, you little bitch,’ she spat out, ‘but learn this, Lucy. I choose who gets to do dirty things to you – me, Adrienne Vauligneau, and that includes what you think. Now lick my cunt.’

She gave me a last furious salvo of spanks before letting go of my panties and climbing onto the bed. I was still coming, and spread my thighs wide to my fingers even as she straddled my body. My mouth opened wide as she tugged up the tight black dress she was wearing and pulled her panties aside to present me with her naked cunt. I was licking immediately, pathetically grateful for what she’d done to me and more than happy to oblige her in any way she pleased.

My orgasm had begun to fade, but I stayed as I was, my legs wide, my fingers stroking at my pussy and the hot red skin of my cheeks, my bottom wriggling in my open nappy, revelling in my own shame as I licked my mistress to ecstasy. She wasn’t exactly gentle about it, grinding her cunt against my mouth and calling me a bitch and slut as I struggled to lick her properly, and also telling me that I belonged to her, over and over again, as she came to her own climax under my eager tongue.

Even then she wasn’t done, but rolled me onto my front for a dozen firm swats with my own hairbrush before ordering me to strip. I was made to put my nappy back on as before and serve her dinner like that, in the nude but for the puffy white towelling encasing my hips and bottom and belly, then to get down on my knees and kiss her boots before apologising for my wayward behaviour in fantasising about somebody other than her.