His lighthearted laugh echoed around the small room. "But it is oh so good advice, I think. You also may wish to share this personal information with Mike, yes?"
Marcy laughed. "Yeah, right. Like that would be easy. One step at a time, André, but I'll pay attention, thank you."
"De rien. Amusez-vous, ma belle fille," he said, and left, locking the door behind him. Once he was gone she hit "play" and the scene between André and Jennifer began once more, exactly where she left off.
Marcy couldn’t believe the contrast between the two people. Jennifer was short, André so much taller. Jennifer was white and naked, he tan-skinned, fully and elegantly dressed. He had an overwhelmingly hard male presence, while she was soft and womanly.
André moved to a large wooden armoire, and took out a thick black leather collar. He gently pulled Jennifer's hair back, and placed it around her neck, fastening it tight. "Take a deep breath, ma petite," he said, and she did.
"Do you feel it?"
"Yes, Sir."
"It does not inhibit your breathing, yet you feel it firmly against the skin?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Excellent," he said, and his voice was low and slow and seductive as his hand circled her collar and her neck. "This collar is temporary. It will only be used during any scene you have with me. It is there to remind you of your obedience, surrender and submission to me. It is there to remind me of my ownership. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," she said and her body trembled.
His knuckles grazed gently down her cheek, once more in a sign of his approval. "Thank you for your trust. I am honored. Your submission is a priceless gift, ma petite. I will not abuse it."
"You're very welcome, Sir."
He gave her a charismatic and lust-filled smile, his teeth flashing white against his Mediterranean skin. "Right now, who do you belong to?"
"You, Sir."
"Very good, ma petite," he said and as a reward he put his hand between her legs, fondling her for a few moments, and then slipping a long finger inside.
Jennifer moaned and her arm shot out to grab his shoulder. André pulled away instantly, placing her arm back to where it belonged. "Non, ma petite. You have not earned the right to touch me yet. And I told you to be still, and to not make a sound, did I not?" Again his voice was mild, but the tone carried subtle menace.
"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir."
"It is nothing, ma petite," he said. "You are learning what your Dom wishes from you. These are small offenses that I shall let pass. Place your hands behind your back, and lock the fingers together." She instantly did so.
"Très bon. Now," He cupped her firmly between her legs. Jennifer bit her lower lip, and didn’t move. "This is mine, n'est-ce pas?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You are very swollen and wet," he said. "I can do anything I want with you, I think. Submitting to me, giving me absolute control arouses you, yes?"
"Oh, God, yes," she moaned.
André gave a deep, sexy laugh. "It is very well, ma petite." He began to explore her then starting from her toes he checked every part of her, in an interested, curious manner. Toes, feet, ankle, calf, thigh, hips, stomach, fingers, elbows, arms, shoulder, neck and face. Then he moved to her back, again starting from down low and moving upwards, buttocks, back, shoulder, neck and head. He avoided breasts and genitals, at first.
Her captor kept up a running dialogue as he caressed and stimulated her skin, remarking on how certain touches raised goosebumps here, or caused her flesh to dance and flinch there. He observed every mark, mole or blemish. Sharp-eyed and attentive André spoke in a low, seductive whisper.
He put his fingers between her legs and spoke a long sentence in French. He explained then that her sex had clenched upon his finger, sucking him in. Her body's hunger for him pleased him.
André muttered the odd curse as he saw evidence of her arousal glistening between her legs. He let her understand in explicit detail how much he wanted to fuck her, and told her the many ways he intended to have her.
He was utterly aware of her reactions.
The way he spoke to Jennifer, telling her how much he wanted her, made Marcy feel something, too, now that she considered the matter. Her breasts felt full and there was heat and sensation lower. Was she turned on? The idea of being desired by that amazing man was pretty hot.
André stood up and with one hand casually fondling Jennifer's breast, he pulled out something metallic from his pocket. He explained that these were nipple clamps, and it would please him for her to wear them. He prepared one breast, plumping and sucking until the nipple was red and distended, and then put the clamp on.
Jennifer gasped. "Sir, may I speak?"
"You may."
"It hurts, Sir!" she said, squirming.
"It does, and yet the pain will lessen. Wait now and we shall see." He stroked her soothingly, her shoulders and breasts until she seemed easier. "How does it feel? It is well now?"
"It aches, but it isn’t too bad, Sir."
He did the same thing with her other breast, going through the same procedure. There was a thin chain attaching the clamps together, resting on her sternum. He put one hand between her legs, fondling her and teasing her entrance. When he gave the chain a light tug, he gave a satisfied smile.
"Ma petite, when I pulled on the clamps, your sex pulsed. Did you feel it?"
Jennifer nodded. "Yes, Sir," she whispered.
"It is very well. I enjoy seeing clamps on you. I like that you endure this little pain for me. The nipple clamps, like the collar, are another sign of your submission. A reminder that you, in each moment, can feel my will. You are mine to do with as best pleases me."
Jennifer made a strangled cut off sound at that, and Marcy could understand it. There was something sexy about a man taking complete control, and doing as he wished. And yet it was still too much like Trent used to do to her.
Trent often made Marcy do things that she didn't enjoy. He treated her with subtle contempt and scorn. He never actually said it until he asked for divorce, but around him she felt like she was ugly, fat and unworthy. That was the ongoing vibe anyway. Prick.
André was only doing things that Jennifer would enjoy. He knew how to arouse her. He also made her feel beautiful and desirable. He was nothing like Trent. Marcy decided that if she couldn’t make herself climax, she still might ask André to teach her how.
André looked steadily look into her eyes. "Now, Jennifer, you will tell me when you last masturbated."
Marcy watched as a number of emotions transparently crossed Jennifer's face, almost too fast to register: Surprise, disbelief, mortification. It was unfortunate for her that she went red when she was embarrassed. The heat of her flush must have warmed her.
"Yesterday, Sir."
"You were with your husband?"
"No, Sir, I was in the shower.
"Did you climax?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Eh bien, tell me exactly. What were you thinking of when you came?"
Jennifer cleared her throat and looked away for a moment. Aware that she shouldn't look away she quickly met his gaze once more. "I thought of sex with a man."
"Oh?" he said encouragingly. "What kind of sex?"
"Just sex… normal sex, Sir."
André's implacable Dom eyes flashed. Unnerved, Jennifer flinched underneath that intense heated gaze. "You are a terrible liar," he informed her in a low stern voice.
In the Security Room, Marcy recoiled back in her chair, pulling away from the screen in shock and surprise. André's lips pressed together in disapproval, his eyes glittered and his jaw was implacably set. He was a very angry Dom.
André Chevalier, Marcy's lovable, affable boss… looked scary as hell.
27. Pain
André stepped back and returned to the armoire with leather, fur-lined hand cuffs. He ordered his sub to hold her hands out while he cuffed her, checking the fit and then attaching them to a large chain and some equipment that was out of th
e camera's reach.
"What I do now will frighten you I fear, ma petite," he said. "Take deep slow breaths. All will be well." He pulled out a remote from his pocket and touched something. Instantly there was the sound of mechanism switching on. The chain rose, and Jennifer's arms rose with it.
André patted her back comfortingly. "Keep your feet flat on the floor. Bon." When her arms were high over her head the machinery stopped. "It is well, ma petite?" he asked kindly.
Wide-eyed, her entire body shaking, Jennifer displayed every sign of nerves strung to breaking point. She moistened her lips and cleared her throat. Her chest heaved with every breath, her skin flushed pink and her pulse was elevated.
"What are you going to do?" she asked in a panicked gasp, forgetting to use the appellation 'Sir.' The look in her expression was exposed and vulnerable, like a wild animal with its foot caught in a trap.
André's arms folded around her. He wrapped a hand in her hair, and pulled her head back so that he could press his lips confidently against hers. He positioned her as he liked, did with her as he liked.
Just then André Chevalier owned Jennifer Whittington.
Jennifer fell into that kiss, kissing him back like he was her only salvation or perhaps her only contact to reality. André kissed and stroked her for some time, until her breathing slowed, until her color eased. When she had calmed, he pulled back from her, keeping one possessive hand upon her nape.
"Better now?" he asked, giving her collar a little tug and a slow sexy smile.
"Yes, thank you," she whispered.
"You forget to call me sir, but I excuse this small breach," he told her in his calm voice.
"Oh, sorry, Sir."
He put a hand between her legs, and lightly stroked her there. "Your sex is dripping for me, ma petite. You are frightened and powerless, bound and spread before me. I can do anything I wish to you, n'est-ce pas? You are here for my pleasure. Yet the submissive within enjoys this, yes?"
Jennifer's body shook in small, uncontrollable tremors, as if she was suffering from intense cold. "Yes, Sir. It's…I.."
"Tell me," he coaxed in a soothing French murmur. "This position of bondage and helplessness, it is unnerving, yes?
"I'm scared to death, yet I'm also excited and completely turned on. I don’t understand it, Sir. I've never felt anything like this before in my life."
"Thank you, ma petite. You have pleased your Dom with your honesty. You are a novice. I do not disregard this fact."
He gave the chain attached to her nipple clamps a little tug, while caressing between her legs. Jennifer moaned and her eyes closed for a moment. André nodded with satisfaction.
"The sensations I create, they are a little distraction," he said, and then took a step back from her, commanding all her attention.
"Listen to me now, Jennifer."
Her eyes flew to his.
"I am going to punish you, for you lied to me and you have broken a most important rule. For me the greatest value of the BDSM lifestyle is the lack of deceit. Honesty is beyond price and I will have it from you. To speak falsely is a violation of our contract. I refuse to dominate a submissive that lies to me."
This merciless threat hit its mark. Jennifer whitened as the blood left her face. Obviously she prized whatever knowledge and training André had promised to give her.
He returned to the armoire and brought back a spreader bar and a riding crop. He dropped the crop on the dark wooden floor. He then began to fasten the bar between her legs, explaining all the while what it was.
André had clearly done this many times before, because she had been drawn up to the perfect height. Her feet were steady on the ground, her arms raised over her head. He clipped the spreader bar to two bolts holding to the floor so that she couldn’t swing. Jennifer, Marcy decided, wasn’t going anywhere.
André picked up the riding crop, and she looked at him nervously with wide and anxious eyes. He trailed it from her collar bone, between her breasts, down to her stomach. "Do you admit that you lied to your Dom?" he said with soft menace.
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."
"And you lie to your husband often, too, I suppose?"
"I… don't always lie. Sometimes I just… well I avoid telling him the truth, Sir."
"Then it is a diversion? A lie of omission?"
"Um… yes, Sir."
"You love your husband, yet you come to me as you are not sexually satisfied, yes?"
"Yes, Sir. That's why Charles and I came to you."
"Jennifer," he said in a tone of reprimand. "Never be afraid to talk of what you crave. You should speak honestly to the man you married, a man that cares for you."
He stepped closer, and put a hand around her throat, pulling just slightly at her collar. It was a subtle message, proof that for now, she was a possession. That André owned her.
"Shall I tell you why you do not enjoy sex, Jennifer? Deceit is a barrier to intimacy. Do you know your husband? Does he know you? The intentionally spoken lie, and deliberately omitting to speak the truth – these are equal failings for success of the relationship. This lack of intimacy prohibits pleasure, comprenez vous? How can two people be close enough to honestly enjoy one another if all is pretense?"
Marcy paused the video, rewound and heard those words once more.
Oh my God.
The realization was shattering. Trent was a chronic liar and he also avoided telling her so many things. Marcy understood that now. But what about her? Years of pretending to enjoy sex when she hated it, making excuses to dodge it, and never once talking about the problem.
True, talking to Trent about anything was virtually impossible. Yet, Marcy saw now that some of their marriage failures could be placed on her head. If she had tried to reach Trent, and found he couldn’t be honest and expose himself to her, then she would have smartened up and divorced Trent sooner for a start.
André's earlier words echoed in her head: "Some people lie in all things; they hide, conceal and pretend. Such are long term habits, you understand, often routine behaviors that they are unaware of. No one really knows them, for they let no one in."
Marcy's earliest memories were of keeping the peace. She hated confrontation. Her dad was a yeller - easily irritated and annoyed with her – not unlike Trent, actually. Had she married a mean version of her father? Her childhood was spent desperately trying to gain her father's approval. Being a "good girl" – being exactly what he wanted, rather than who and what she was.
Of course in life she would naturally use the same habits she had learned as a kid.
As an adult she had always been quiet and self-contained, doing anything to avoid arguments. Marcy hadn't told Trent that she intended to conceive, because she was afraid he would say no.
"Lack of intimacy prohibits pleasure," that is what André had said. Marcy knew that she longed for intimacy, for that relief that came from being able to be totally oneself with another. It was being comfortable enough with someone not to hide. To be exactly who you are.
Why couldn't she be honest with Mike? Fear of losing him, fear of him scorning her failure and stupidity. Pity perhaps? What if she couldn’t climax? Mike might despise himself, too. She didn’t want to hurt him.
Marcy was not a risk taker. That was the bottom line. She didn't have the courage that Jennifer had.
I've been a coward when it comes to sex, Marcy realized. I have a habit of avoiding or even lying in order to be 'safe.' That has to stop if I want to be happy. I'll never have the intimacy I long for if I continue to hide.
28. Punishment
When Marcy recovered from this cathartic moment, she hit play again. Poor Jennifer was about to get whipped with a riding crop. It was supposed to be a punishment. Marcy figured that André wouldn’t go easy. Not when his sub had lied to him.
The video came on.
"Eh bien." Jennifer, I am going to give you five painful strikes on your most beautiful derrière. They will hurt very much, and you will count each o
ne. When I am finished, you will thank me for disciplining you and all will be forgiven. You may speak freely for now, ma petite. And you may make any sound you wish."
He waiting for a moment, and then ran his hand down her arm from elbow to shoulder. "Nothing to say? Very well. Don't forget to count."
"Crack,"
"Ow! One!" Jennifer screamed.
"Crack"
"Two!"
He stopped after three, blew cool air on the red welts of her buttocks and soothed them with gentle fingers. Jennifer was breathing rapidly, her eyes wide, snapped open and aware with each strike. A bright sheen of sweat covered her body. Tears flowed, running down her face. Her nose was running too. She looked unhappy, tense, frightened and uncomfortable.
André seemed to think that this was all normal.
As Marcy watched, she became aware of something else. The pain had awakened Jennifer, too, somehow. Exposing her fully. Stripping her down to her essential self.
"Ma petite," André said with gentle reassurance. "You are doing so very well. You have never been struck on the buttocks?"
"No, Sir. Never."
"No? Not even as a child?"
"Not even then, Sir."
A string of incomprehensible French was his response. "Mon Dieu! How bravely you suffer this torment! I am most proud of you. Tell me now, how do you feel?"
"Vulnerable. Exposed…. ashamed," she said with a hitching breath.
"Such a perfect truth, spoken from your oh so beautiful lips," he said, his hand circled her nape and her collar in a calming, yet possessive manner. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and with capable and pragmatic skill, wiped her face and nose.
"It is not difficult to speak to me, do you see?" he said pressing a kiss her on the forehead and tucking the handkerchief back in his jacket. "I am very understanding with anything you say. That you feel helpless and exposed pleases me. You are my sub, and as such you shall be completely open to me. Yet you need not be ashamed. You have learned a very important lesson this day. For you will speak only truth to me from now on, oui?"
"Yes, Sir."