My Secret Life in Paris
My Secret Life in Paris
MY SECRET LIFE IN PARIS Lucy Salisbury
Table of Contents
Paris, the last day of spring, the scent of fresh-baked bread in the air and the strains of la Marseillaise faint in the distance. Paris, the Aire de Villabé, a truckstop on the E15, the taste of a long-haul driver’s cock in my mouth and the feel of his hand on my bare skin as he fondled my bottom. Ah, romance!
Well, dirty, smutty, shame-filled sex anyway, but I wasn’t complaining. After years of reserved, correct behaviour as I climbed the greasy pole of corporate success I’d finally managed to live out one of my favourite fantasies, being made to pay for a lift by sucking the driver’s penis. Well, not made exactly, because both Claude and Jean-Luc had taken quite a bit of persuading before accepting that the very English blonde they’d offered a lift was really up for it, but once they’d got the idea they’d both been everything I could have hoped for.
Three times Jean-Luc had made me go down on him during the long drive, and now was my fourth, and last, to say thank-you for my lift before going into the city to take up my place as 2IC in the company’s French office. I was taking my time, savouring the taste and feel of his cock in my mouth and enjoying the mauling he was giving my bottom, with his hand well in down the back of my panties and one finger teasing the mouth of my cunt. He’d fucked me the night before, with my thighs spread to his thrusts in the little sleeping space at the rear of his cab, but the Aire de Villabé was a little too public for me to strip off, for all that my jeans were already unfastened and my jumper and top up over my boobs.
I was fairly sure I was about to get my mouthful when he did it, suddenly and with no warning at all. He didn’t even bother to ask, but merely pulled me off his cock, flipped me over and scrambled around to mount me from behind. I hadn’t even had a chance to get my jeans and panties down properly before he was up me, his massive, calloused hands gripping my hips as he pushed his cock in. Fortunately I was soaking wet and took it easily, but as I came up onto my hands and knees to get more comfortable I found myself looking out of the cab window and through another, into the face of the astonished driver.
For one awful moment we were staring eye to eye, no more than a few feet apart, before I put my head down, my face now burning with blushes and painfully aware that he still had a prime view of my upturned white bottom as I got humped from behind. I was sure he could even see Jean-Luc’s cock going in and out, but my babbled pleas were ignored and my struggles achieved nothing, my hips held in a grip like a vice. If he even knew then he didn’t care, thrusting ever harder into me and grunting like a bull gorilla as I squirmed on his cock, then suddenly whipping it free – not out of sympathy for my embarrassment, but to finish himself off all over my bare bottom, in full view of the other man.
I was left like that, wide-eyed in shock and humiliation, my rear cheeks sticking up like a pair of plum puddings with cream topping running down the sides and his cock rearing up between them as he gave himself a last little rub in my slit, then considerately wiped my bottom down with an oily rag. And that was that, my thank-yous said, my shame and embarrassment brought to a final peak, as wonderful as it was unexpected. I hadn’t even explained to Jean-Luc what I liked. He’d just used me, without the slightest thought for my privacy or dignity, an unspeakable thing to do to a woman – and exactly the sort of thing that’s always going on in my head when I come.
I didn’t know whether to thank him or slap him, but I’ve always been taught not to make a fuss so I simply adjusted my clothes, tidied up as best I could, retrieved my shoulder bag from the sleeping cubicle, kissed him goodbye and left. The man who’d watched me get my fucking was still staring, and he wasn’t the only driver in his cab along the line of maybe thirty lorries, which left me with a long walk of shame, pink-faced with embarrassment and painfully aware that at least a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on my rear view as I made for the services.
Fortunately there were lots of facilities, allowing me to make myself look more or less normal, if not actually respectable. My intention had been to end up looking like a smart, professional woman fresh off the Eurostar and not a dirty little tramp fresh off a lorry driver’s cock, but thanks to Jean-Luc’s rough handling I hadn’t quite succeeded. I’d repaired my make-up and put my hair up in a bun instead of the long blonde ponytail that had allowed me to pass for a student hitch-hiker, but there was no dealing with the oily handprints on the flesh of my hips and bottom cheeks, and on my jeans. Anybody who gave me more than a cursory inspection was going to realise that I’d been fucked from behind, but I had it all under control.
One of the good things about being turned on by embarrassment is that I can cope with things that would leave many women wanting to curl up into a ball. Another is that I’ve gained plenty of experience in extricating myself from awkward situations. I plan, and this occasion was no exception, but I still started at the sudden sharp voice from behind me.
‘What would do you good, Lucy, is a taste of the whip.’
I’d dropped my lip-gloss and had to squat down and scrabble under the sinks to get it, which put a small, cruel smile on the face of the woman who’d spoken. She had pronounced my name in the French fashion and she looked the part too, quintessentially French and Parisienne – petite, with dark hair cut in a gamine style and wearing skintight black jeans and a cream-coloured roll-neck sweater.
‘You made me jump, Adrienne.’
‘Not as high as you’d jump to my dog whip. Stick your bottom out.’
‘Isn’t it a bit public?’
‘Stick your bottom out, Lucy.’
I made a face but obeyed, resting my hands on the sinks and pushing out my bottom to accept a single sharp smack across the seat of my jeans. It was given to put me in my place, which was very definitely on the receiving end where Adrienne was concerned. We’d met during my unsuccessful flat-hunting expedition a fortnight before, sharing an encounter in the Bois de Boulogne which had left it very plain that we each had what the other needed. I’d called her as I drove north in Jean-Luc’s lorry, but I hadn’t expected her to arrive at the Aire de Villabé before me, or to want to assert her dominance on the spot and in the ladies.
A woman came in just as Adrienne’s smack landed across my seat: slightly older, very smart in an urbane style, what they call bon chic bon genre, and the last person I’d have chosen to watch me get a spanking. Adrienne didn’t care, planting a second smack across my bottom as I quickly stood up straight, then marching out of the restroom with me in tow, blushing furiously as I tried to reassert myself with her.
‘I’m staying at the Hôtel l’Aigrette in La Défense, if –’
‘You’re coming with me, for now. We can go to your hotel later.’
‘But Adrienne –’
‘Be quiet, Lucy. Unless you’d like your bottom smacked again, right here?’
We’d come out to the main area of the services, a huge open space with maybe two hundred people to watch me get it if she carried out her threat. I was fairly sure she didn’t mean it, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way, so I shut up, while imagining how it would feel to be put across her knee and spanked in front of so many onlookers. She gave a dry chuckle, no doubt fully aware of what was going on in my head.
‘You call me out to meet you here, thirty kilometres out of town, and you don’t expect to be disciplined? You know how it works, Lucy.’
I did, although I’d expected her to wait until the evening before giving me what I undoubtedly deserved. A man would have done, almost certainly, and probably bought me dinner before coaxing me out of my clothes for punishment and sex, but not Adrienne. She liked to be in charge, in normal life as well as in bed, and that meant doing as I was told. Besides, she was right.
‘I’m sorry. Things got rather complicated.’
‘So I see. I thought you were coming from Calais?’
‘I was, but … but I went to sleep and woke up in Beaune. I had to get another lift.’
‘I’m sure you did, instead of taking the train, but then, the SNCF don’t take the use of a woman’s mouth as payment, do they? Did it work?’
‘Yes, both times, both drivers, Claude and Jean-Luc. I can’t remember exactly how many times they made me go down on them.’
‘I just hope you don’t expect me to kiss you. Stay here.’
She turned back and disappeared inside the building, leaving me wondering what was going on. Her little red Renault was parked at the end of a line of cars in front of the services and I went to stand beside it and wait. She came back holding a bottle of water and spoke immediately, her tone firm but also mocking and cruel.
‘I said, stay by the doors. Stick out your bottom.’
‘But Adrienne, people will see …’
‘How many times do I have to give you an order, Lucy? Stick out your bottom.’
I hesitated, but there weren’t that many people around and I did want to obey, because the shame of what I’d been ordered to do was just too strong for me to resist. Anywhere less anonymous and I wouldn’t have done it, but, as I turned my back and presented myself for her attention once more, I was reasoning that whatever people might think of a grown woman getting her bottom smacked outside a service station, they wouldn’t know that it was me. That only went so far to soothe my feelings as Adrienne’s hand landed across my rear cheeks with a sharp double slap. Quite a few people had noticed, and I was left blushing hotter than when I’d walked away from the lorries, but she wasn’t finished with me yet.
‘Now open your mouth.’
My question was abruptly choked off as she thrust something between my lips, a small, hard bar of soap, the sort they’d had in the ladies’ restroom. It tasted foul, but there was no mistaking the look on her face and I held it in as she offered the water bottle.
‘Take some. Swill it around your mouth. Then get in the car.’
She watched, amused but still full of authority as I took a swallow of water, my expression turning more disgusted by the moment as the soapy taste grew stronger. Yet I knew better than to spit it out and did as I was told, holding my mouthful as I climbed into the passenger seat of the Renault. Adrienne got in beside me and chuckled as she started the car, which was hardly surprising: my cheeks were popping and my eyes beginning to water. I tried to say something, but soap bubbles immediately started to issue from between my lips, leaving me feeling very sorry for myself indeed and painfully turned on as Adrienne rejoined the motorway, talking as she drove.
‘You should see yourself, Lucy. You do look funny, but then, that was my favourite thing about you from the start, the faces you pull when you are punished. I know you love it, but you always look so cross and so stupid at the same time, like you hate to be punished but you can’t stop yourself from taking it because you know what it does to you. This is good, because you deserve this, Lucy, for making me come out here, and for being such a slut. I mean, imagine it, allowing lorry drivers to make you suck them off in return for a lift, and more too, I’ll bet. Did you let them fuck you, Lucy?’
I nodded, deeply ashamed of myself for what I’d done, her every word pushing my feelings higher. Despite my best efforts to keep my mouth shut the soap bubbles had begun to dribble down my face and were hanging from my chin in a little frothy beard. Adrienne gave a tut of contempt at my confession and carried on.
‘I thought as much. You deserve the soap, Lucy, and you deserve what you’re going to get back at my apartment.’
She gave me a knowing look as she finished, then turned her attention back to the road. We’d played together twice, and both times she’d whipped me, her favourite sport and probably what she’d had in mind, but that was quite enough. The little plaited leather dog whip she favoured carried an agonising sting, and she had made me take it kneeling with my bare bottom pushed out in a way that left everything on show but carried none of the intimacy of an old-fashioned over-the-knee spanking.
The traffic was getting heavy and Adrienne stopped talking, leaving me to chew on the bar of soap in my mouth and reflect on the situation I’d got myself into. I did like her, and the way she handled me, and I badly needed safe friends in Paris, but she seemed determined to take full advantage of my sexuality, stripping me of every last shred of dignity. Half an hour we’d been together and already I’d had my bottom smacked in public and my mouth washed out with soap, but all I could do was submit and await my chance to teach her how I like to be dealt with.
She lived in the 16th arrondissement, in a small but select attic apartment off the Avenue Mozart, and exactly the sort of place I had my eye on for my own accommodation once I’d settled into my new job. It was more than an hour’s drive from the Aire de Villabé, but my mumbled requests to spit the soap out were met with refusal and the promise of additional punishment. By the time we arrived I was beginning to feel sick, my mouth was full of bubbles, and I’d had to puff my cheeks out to stop myself swallowing what was left of the bar. Adrienne grinned at my discomfort as I climbed from the car, making queer gulping noises and pointing at my mouth as I struggled to communicate my needs without committing open disobedience. She shook her head.
‘Not until we’re upstairs, little one, and then only because I don’t want mess on my carpet.’
I managed a nod, trying to seem genuinely thankful but wondering what would happen if I turned the tables on her and put her over my knee in the street. She was tiny, lightly built, not particularly strong either, while I not only stood nearly a foot taller but had spent most of the spring at an outdoor training camp, making my muscles lean and hard. It would have been the work of a moment to sit down on the bonnet of the Renault, haul her across my lap, get her out of her jeans and the no doubt fancy panties beneath and spank her until she howled.
Unfortunately I believe in consent and she had made it plain from the first that she only gave, never received. That didn’t stop me thinking about it as I was dragged upstairs by my ear and pushed in at the door of her flat, where I ran for the bathroom to spend five minutes gagging and spluttering over the sink while she stood watching from the doorway. Even when I’d rinsed my mouth a dozen times I could still taste the soap, and my eyes were watering so badly it looked as if I’d been in tears for hours. She merely nodded as I turned to her for inspection.
‘There, and I trust you have learned your lesson? You go with men when I say you go with men. Is that understood?’
I wasn’t sure if she meant it or if it was part of the game we were playing, but I didn’t want to break the moment so I bowed my head as I answered her.
‘Yes, M’selle Adrienne.’
‘Good. Now turn around and put your hands behind your back, with your wrists crossed.’
I obeyed, peering back over my shoulder as I offered her my wrists. She was going to tie me, that much was obvious, and it was sure to be to keep me still for whatever punishment was coming, very possibly in some awkward, embarrassing and painful position. Sure enough, she’d no sooner lashed my wrists together then she pulled me, walking backwards, into her living room. I’d been there before, when I was made to kneel on the sofa with my jeans and panties down behind and my top up over my boobs while I was whipped, but this time she threw the tail of the rope over a beam and hauled my arms up behind my back.
‘I love this flat,’ she said as she did so. ‘It could have been designed for dealing with little tarts like you, Lucy. Open your legs, and pull your back in so that sweet little bottom of yours makes a nice shape. You are a woman, Lucy, and should always try to be elegant and poised, even while you’re being beaten. Now then, let’s have your trousers down, shall we?’
She’d tied the end of the rope to a fitting on the wall and now she put her hands around my waist, pulled open the button of my jeans and unzipped me before tugging them down. My panties followed and I was bare, my bottom fully exposed, not just my cheeks but the rear view of my cunt, and even my anus was on show. I was left like that, shaking badly, the pain already building in my shoulders, as she went into the bedroom to fetch the vicious little dog whip she’d used on me before. She came back and used the whip handle to lift my chin.
‘I see you’re still dirty from your fucking?’
‘I couldn’t get the oil off. His … his hands were dirty, the second lorry driver, Jean-Luc. He took me from behind, holding me by my hips. The man in the next cab saw … saw me getting fucked.’
‘I don’t wish to know the details of your sordid encounters, Lucy, just how many times you made the two men come?’
‘I … I don’t know. Six? Eight?’
‘We’ll call it eight, in your mouth, and you let both of them fuck you?’
‘Yes, but I was counting that.’
‘I wasn’t. You get one stroke for each time you let them come in your mouth and two strokes for each time you let them in up your dirty little cunt, got it? That makes twelve.’
‘Yes, M’selle Adrienne.’
‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other, and in future, if you so much as look at a man without my permission, you get the same treatment. Now then, let’s have your pretty little breasts bare, always a good thing for a punished girl.’
‘Yes, M’selle Adrienne.’
As she spoke she’d pulled up my top and jumper, leaving my breasts exposed and quivering. My nipples were stiff, and when she noticed she gave another little chuckle, amused and full of contempt for my helpless excitement. She made a loop in the whip and stroked the leather over my skin, tracing the shape of my dangling breasts and teasing my nipples.
‘How pathetic you are, Lucy, letting yourself get strung up with your little round bottom all bare and your top pulled up for a whipping – for a whipping, Lucy, like some disobedient slave girl or a reluctant whore way back when. Well, that’s what you want, and that’s what you’re going to get.’
She lashed out with the dog whip, catching me full across my cheeks to lay a line of fire onto my flesh and set me gasping for breath and treading up and down. It hurt like anything, and if I’d been free I’d have tried to stop it, or at least shield my poor burning bottom, but there was nothing I could do. Tied and helpless, I was hers to use as she pleased until she chose to release me, and that meant the full twelve whip strokes, delivered one by one across my naked bottom and hips until I was dancing and jerking on the end of the rope, my hair flying in every direction and my tits jiggling as much as my bottom cheeks.
Adrienne never once spoke, but delivered my whipping with cool detachment, just as if she had been my owner or mistress and I nothing more than a slave girl or a prostitute being given a mechanical, emotionless punishment. I knew it was a lie, and just how excited she was becoming beneath her cool exterior, but even as the twelfth stroke cracked down across my squirming bottom she held her poise. Then she tilted my chin up with the whip handle once more.
‘There we are, Lucy, all done, although I have to say that you weren’t very dignified about it, wriggling around and squealing like that. Do you know what you remind me of? A piglet, that’s what. In fact, I think I shall call you Cochonette in future, at least until you learn to show a little restraint during punishment.’
I didn’t answer, looking up at her through the now bedraggled curtain of my hair. My skin was slick with sweat, my bottom a mess of burning welts, my thighs slippery with the juice from my sex, and the humiliating nickname felt exactly right, rather kind even, as if I were a pet, to be named as she pleased, treated when I was good and punished when I was naughty. I nodded my acceptance, but she wasn’t content, pushing my chin up a little higher and looking down into my face as she addressed me again.
‘What is your new name, Lucy?’
‘Cochonette, M’selle Adrienne.’
‘Good. I think we are beginning to understand one another. I’m going to enjoy owning you, Lucy, my darling. Now, to judge by the smell of you, you want to come, and so do I.’
I’d expected her to be cruel, perhaps leaving my hands tied behind my back as I was put on my knees to lick her to ecstasy, but she quickly unfastened the knot at my wrists and I felt pathetically grateful as I slumped down to the carpet. My shoulders ached and my welts stung badly, but she was right: more than anything else I needed to come. I stripped off my clothes in seconds and crawled nude across the floor to her. As I buried my face between her thighs to lick her cunt, my fingers were already busy with my own.
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 –’
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?’
‘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?’
‘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.
I had a problem, but it wasn’t one I was particularly eager to fix. Adrienne was just too good, with an extraordinary ability to strike to the heart of my sexuality and the strength to stop me backing out when my feelings began to get stronger than I might otherwise have been able to handle. Putting me in a nappy had brought out my feelings of sexual shame in a new and delightful way, while spanking me in that awful, humiliating position had been the final, perfect touch. The episode had also established a wonderful intimacy between us, as we now shared a secret sufficiently taboo to shock all but the most debauched.
That was the good side. The bad side was that she had assumed ownership of me, so fast and so completely that I’d missed my opportunity for the very necessary heart-to-heart talk we should have had on our first day together. I hadn’t even told her I had a boyfriend back in London, Magnus, and, although we agreed to a fully open relationship while I was in France, he was sure to visit. So was Stacey, who’d been keeping my bottom warm for me since shortly after I’d joined the company and would want to continue doing so.
Yet if I did tell Adrienne about all this, I was going to end up with relationship issues – either a discontented partner or an ex living almost next door, an ex who’d spanked me and put me in nappies. That was the last thing I needed, with my job more difficult by the day and the pleasure of coming home to Adrienne ever more important. I meant to tell her on the Saturday but it was a cloudy, cool day and we went shopping instead of sunbathing. Sunday was the same, cuddled up together in bed for most of the morning, and when it brightened up in the early afternoon she suggested walking to the Bois de Boulogne. I knew what that meant, and again it was an irresistible alternative to an upsetting conversation all too likely to turn into a full-blown row.
The first time I’d met Adrienne she’d been with her friend Giselle, who worked in insurance but had a taste for the gothic and darker side of sex, dressing completely in black at the weekends to enjoy watching men being dominated, particularly by other men. She wasn’t averse to girls either, and I’d already had my face sat on, but what she really liked was to see a man, the more respectable the better, with another man’s cock in his mouth.
Giselle was coming with us and we met in their favourite café in the Rue Poussin, full of nervous excitement as we drank a round of pastis to get up a little Dutch courage. As I knew from Adrienne, the important thing was to go out at dusk rather than after dark, and to stay clear of certain areas. If there were any police around, we were simply three innocent young women out for a walk, as she explained as we made our way up the Route de Boulogne à Passy.
‘They’re not really concerned with the amateurs, or the locals, more the reputation of the area for sex tourism. Still, we have to go a little way in, because I think we ought to introduce Lucy to a Brazilian, don’t you, Giselle?’
‘Yes, a big one. I’ll call Sabrina.’
I began to speak, already feeling as if I was a toy for their amusement and not quite ready for it, but then went quiet, telling myself I’d get the best experience by letting them take control. A brief phone call and Giselle had arranged something for me, something that set my heart fluttering as we turned in among the bushes, because I had a fairly shrewd idea what they were planning. She made two more calls, leaving me with a serious case of the jitters as I imagined being made to service a string of men.
We’d come to an area of dense undergrowth cut through with a maze of little tracks, but Adrienne and Giselle seemed to know where they were going, and led me to a place where a huge oak sheltered an area of open grass. Leaning against the tree was a person who could only be Sabrina, well over six feet of improbably voluptuous curves packed into a leopard-print dress and supported by lipstick-pink high heels, with a mane of glossy blonde hair falling almost to her waist. She stepped forward as she saw us.
‘Hello, girls, and the new one.’ Her voice was deep and rich. ‘I thought you said you had a little something for me?’
Adrienne applied a firm pat to the seat of my jeans, sending me a couple of steps forward.
‘We do, this. She’s called Lucy and she’s very English.’
Sabrina had joined us, and to my shock and horror her hand went straight between my legs to squeeze my pussy. Then she stepped back with an arch look, wrinkling her nose.
‘Do I smell pussy? I certainly think I felt pussy.’
I was too taken aback to speak, and Giselle was laughing, but Adrienne merely sounded amused.
‘Yes, Sabrina, fresh English pussy, and she’s yours to play with.’
‘Why, thank you. Look up, pretty one.’
She put a finger under my chin, in that same commanding gesture Adrienne so often used, and tilted my head up to look into her eyes. I could feel myself melting, unable to resist the way they were using me. Sabrina had clearly accepted Adrienne’s offer, for her fingers were exploring the contours of my hips and bottom, my waist and breasts, as she looked down at me. Her gaze had me mesmerised, and even as she hauled up my top to bare my breasts to the cool evening air I couldn’t find the will to resist, but put my hands on my head to make them lift and give her full, easy access.
‘Perky little thing, aren’t you? And such stiff nipples, like little corks.’
Her hands were cupping my breasts, her thumbs making circles around my nipples, bringing both teats to erection and making me whimper in response, then cry out as she ducked down to take one between her teeth. I closed my eyes, lost in shame and ecstasy, and it wasn’t until I opened them again that I realised we were no longer alone. Two men had come into the clearing, one small and dapper, one plump and curiously soft-looking, but both so diffident in their manner that I wasn’t even alarmed, just increasingly ashamed of myself. Giselle make quick introductions.
‘These are Guignol and the Flea, both old friends who’ll do exactly as they’re told. Kneel, the pair of you.’
Both men knelt in the wet grass without hesitation and Giselle went over to them, while Adrienne barely acknowledged them and Sabrina continued her exploration of my body.
‘Top off, I think. Let’s have you properly bare.’
My T-shirt was hauled off over my head and I was left topless. Sabrina nodded as I put my hands back on top of my head.
‘Very perky, and very obedient. Wherever did you find her?’
Adrienne pushed a hand between my legs from behind as she replied. ‘Last month. We caught her peeping at us, so now she’s mine. I call her Cochonette.’
‘What a naughty girl. I hope you gave her a good spanking?’
A powerful shiver passed through my body at the crucial word and Sabrina laughed. ‘Oh, my, she’s one of those is she? Does Cochonette like her little piggy bottom spanked?’
She was speaking right into my face, her finger under my chin once more, her tone full of mocking laughter. My blushes must have been enough to give her the answer and I couldn’t bring myself to make the awful admission, but Adrienne stepped in.
‘She likes to be punished, yes, but it’s better to whip her, or she’ll enjoy it too much. Come along now, Lucy, where are your manners? I’m sure Sabrina would like to see what you’ve got packed into those skintight jeans.’
I hesitated and glanced at the two men kneeling beside Giselle, but they were both looking at the ground and seemed to have been ordered not to watch. It gave me an odd feeling of power, for all that I’d been ordered to take my jeans down in front of them. My hands went to my fly, popped the button and eased down the zip, but before I could wriggle my jeans down over my hips Adrienne took hold, stuck her thumbs down the waistband and gave a single sharp tug. I gasped as it all came down, jeans and panties too, down over my hips and lower still, into a tangle at my knees, leaving my bottom and pussy naked as well as my breasts. Sabrina ducked down as Adrienne spoke.
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