Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
My mind reeled at the implication. Could Pierre truly be considering something so permanent? Marriage? The idea seemed simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.
“But the way he uses me,” I said, my voice catching. “The things he makes me do…”
“Are exactly what you need,” Madame Dubois finished for me, her tone matter-of-fact. “I’ve watched you closely since your arrival, Mademoiselle. You bloom under his control. Your body responds to his discipline in ways that cannot be faked.”
I couldn’t deny the truth of her words. Each humiliation, each painful lesson had driven me deeper into a submission I’d never known I craved. The shame of it still burned, but beneath that shame lay something profound—a sense of rightness, of belonging.
“Come,” Madame Dubois said, helping me to my feet. “Let’s get you ready for dinner. Monsieur is waiting.”
She led me back into the bedroom, where she retrieved the black lingerie set from earlier. I bit my lip as Madame Dubois expertly fastening the hooks of the basque up my spine, cinching my waist and pushing my breasts up until they threatened to spill over the lacy cups.
“The stockings as well?” I asked, glancing at the sheer black nylons.
“Of course,” she replied. “Monsieur appreciates attention to detail.”
I sat on the edge of the bed as she rolled the stockings up my legs, attaching them to the suspenders with practiced skill. I stepped back into the tiny panties, wincing as the delicate lace brushed against my tender flesh. The high heels completed the ensemble, transforming me from punished girl to something more deliberately seductive.
“Perfect,” Madame Dubois pronounced, stepping back to assess her work. “Now remember, Mademoiselle—your punishment is complete. Dinner is a reward, not a continuation of your discipline.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath to steady myself. The thought of sitting through a formal dinner wearing only lingerie still mortified me, but after what had transpired in the library, it seemed almost tame by comparison.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “For everything.”
Madame Dubois smiled, a rare softening of her usually professional demeanor. “You’re welcome, Mademoiselle. Now, shall we go down? Monsieur doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I followed her out of the Lavender Suite and down the grand staircase, acutely aware of how exposed I felt in just the lingerie. Each step in the high heels made my body sway in ways that emphasized my femininity, my vulnerability. The welts from the cane still throbbed beneath the tiny panties, a constant reminder of my submission.
As we approached the dining room, I heard the low murmur of male voices. My heart raced, my palms suddenly damp with nervous perspiration. Madame Dubois paused at the doorway, giving me an encouraging nod before announcing our arrival.
“Mademoiselle Campbell, Monsieur,” she said formally.
I stepped into the room, my eyes immediately finding Pierre. He sat at the head of the elegant table, still in his dinner jacket, looking every inch the aristocratic master of the chateau. Monsieur Dubois stood nearby, a decanter of wine in his hands. Both men turned to look at me, their gazes traveling over my scantily clad form with undisguised appreciation.
“Audrey,” Pierre said, his voice warm with approval. “You look exquisite. Come, sit beside me.”
He gestured to the chair at his right. I crossed the room on trembling legs, feeling the weight of their eyes as I moved. The cool air of the dining room moved over my exposed skin, making my nipples tighten against the lace of the basque.
Pierre stood as I approached, pulling out my chair with old-world courtesy that seemed bizarrely at odds with my state of undress. I sat carefully, wincing slightly as my tender bottom made contact with the cushioned seat.
“Wine for Mademoiselle, Etienne,” Pierre instructed, resuming his own seat.
Monsieur Dubois stepped forward, filling my glass with a deep ruby liquid. “A Château Margaux, 2010,” he informed me. “One of Monsieur’s favorites.”
I murmured my thanks, taking a small sip to steady my nerves. The wine was exquisite, rich and complex on my tongue. Across the table, Madame Dubois began serving the first course—a delicate soup that smelled of herbs and butter.
“Did you enjoy your riding lesson today, Audrey?” Pierre asked conversationally, as if inquiring about a perfectly normal activity.
I nearly choked on my wine, the memory of being naked astride Étoile flooding back with vivid clarity. “It was… educational, Monsieur,” I managed, my cheeks heating.
“I thought so,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You have natural talent, though your posture will need work. I’ve asked Etienne to schedule regular lessons during your stay.”
My stomach fluttered at the thought of more ‘riding lessons’ like today’s. Would the Duboises be present for those as well? The idea should have horrified me, yet I couldn’t deny the shameful excitement it provoked.
“What do you think of the soup?” Pierre asked, changing the subject with practiced ease.
“It’s delicious,” I replied truthfully, grateful for the momentary reprieve from more provocative topics. Every bite seemed to have every possible delicious thing in it: onions, leeks, even luscious bacon that somehow both gave its smoky note to the soup as a whole and retained a bit of extra, pleasantly chewy flavor in each lardon.