Sabine Deschamps is displeased, and my phone vibrates, increasing my anxiety.

The timing could not be worse; it is Pascal, and I will not answer it.

It is Thursday, and I sit outside my boss's office. This meeting with Sabine is crucial. Lisette is concerned that Raphaël will share that attachment more widely. We need his discretion and obligation for our plan to work. I should rehearse my lines, but the revelations from Tuesday night are too powerful. I see everything with fresh eyes, and my mind floats on a sea of honey. Snapshots seared into my mind are constant daydreams, and I want to swim through the memories.

Holding her hand, Lisette beamed as I led her to my bedroom. From the expectation in her sultry eyes, she looked to me as her guide. I did not reveal my inexperience; it would break the spell.

We kissed as if struck down by amnesia, and our reticence was a victim of temptation. Our unfamiliar instinct was a perverse guide. We giggled in a tangle of limbs when we found a dead end. Silky fingers led, lips followed, and poetry flowed in our movements. In an endless give and take, with murmurs of approval, we assumed nothing; everything was tentative. All that mattered was this intense passion for more.

The drip-drip of need became a flood, washing away our inhibitions. We folded into a never-ending embrace, engrossed in the sensual swish of skin against skin. Lisette lay prone with helpless eyes, and she writhed until I brought her to climax on my fingers.

Tempting fingers enticed copious juices from my breeched sex. Naked and overwrought, I trembled with excitement as a slippery pressure teased my clit. She honoured me for the first time between my legs. Patient, always gazing into my eyes, from supine to an intoxicating stare of determination. Bewitched as she sucked on my clit, helpless to her nascent skill, she bore witness to my little death.

She roused this long-forgotten and dormant woman who craved sensuality and fulfilment. A woman ravenous for the joys of passion. Lisette’s intuition bridged the gap. She found a stranger and welcomed her with the familiarity of a seasoned lover.

Lisette wriggled on top of me. Holding her thighs, I goaded her sex with my tongue, and she devoured mine in a languid soixante-neuf. She pitched up as I licked along her taint, flicking the tight rosebud of her ass.

Rubbing on her clit, it shook her body to its foundations, and she bawled my apartment down.

-=-

“Mademoiselle Bouchet!”

Sabine Deschamps is a jolt to reality. Walking into her office, the pane of frosted glass in the door rattles when I close it.

“Hello, Anaïs.”

This warmer tone is reassuring.

“Sabine. I trust you are keeping well?”

Reclined in her chair, she demurs, holding a cigarette; its fumes rise as tall wisps of grey smoke. Relaxed, bohemian and chic, Sabine stabs it into a half-full ashtray and gestures for me to sit. She bears the decades of academic toil on her world-weary face. Rake thin, with sunken cheeks and silver short, tousled hair; she is sharper than a tack.

I sit upright with clasped hands in my lap, yet my deviant mind rejoices. I ate out Lisette on her desk.

“So, Anaïs, I do not have long. Raphaël Valery?”

“Yes, he is a problem.”

Sabine leans forward and peers over her half-moon glasses. “More so than the other ‘men’ here?”

If that is a euphemism, she is a wise owl.

“It is his remarks in lectures. He calls me Madame. He knows my fiancé dumped me.”

Pursed lips dismiss my complaint. “His amorous attentions make me uncomfortable. Some of the female students feel the same way. Then there is an e-mail he sent me.”

“An e-mail?” Removing her glasses is the hallmark of her concern.

“Yes,” and I find my poise again, “It was sexual in nature.”

Sabine’s eyes narrow. “It was unwelcome?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Were you meant to be the recipient of this e-mail?”

What! She knows.

“Erm… no.”

Leaning back in her chair, she ponders my words. “Anaïs, your tenure is coming to an end, yes?”

“I… I hope to obtain a full-time associate position.”

Sabine wields power wearing velvet gloves.

She waves her glasses in my direction. “You are the recipient of the Deveraux Award, and the Deverauxs are some of our most prestigious patrons.”

“Yes… but… why is that relevant to this?”

“You are an excellent professor in the making, and your position here is assured. I will see to that.”

It sounds like a faintly concealed threat. “Is there a condition attached?”

She concurs with a sickly grin. “Monsieur Valery is a gifted student. His mother cares little as a trustee of this award, and Raphaël can do no wrong in her eyes. It is her brother who takes a keener interest.”

“Sorry, you have lost me. Madame Valery’s brother?”

“Pascal Deveraux.”

“Pascal Deveraux?”

Sabine’s expression conveys an abject pity. “He invited you to dinner in the University bookshop.”

“But… erm.” I am dumbfounded.

The wise owl has prey in her sights. “The staff gossip as much as the students.”

And the truth hangs there, as pungent as recent tobacco smoke.

She waves her spectacles, and the chrome swishes like a steel blade. “Raphaël is jealous. You have spurned his amorous intentions in favour of his uncle.”

“Err… of course, and… Pascal Deveraux is married, too. I… I did not know this. It will not continue.”

“Oh, dear child,” Sabine sighs. “Then, this matter has resolved itself. It will pass.”

I am numb, and my mind is vacant. She is already moving on to her next appointment.

“Anaïs, receiving the e-mail was a mistake… we all make mistakes. A mistake he will not repeat. Yes, Raphaël is indiscreet, and we are adults responsible for our choices.” She raises an eyebrow. “Will that be all?”

I rise from my chair, thank Sabine, and close the door behind me.

The pane of glass rattles like my nerves.

-=-

Blackmail is a dirty business, and obligation is easy to obtain when there is something to lose. That indebtedness is on me, not Raphaël.

I sit on a park bench away from the asylum. Mild and sunny, it is lunchtime, and I chew on a Salade Niçoise without an appetite. Someone got to Sabine before me, my career is at risk, and my private life is exposed. I fucked a Deveraux, and our plan is in tatters.

I am too stunned to find answers and rage with anger: lies… so many lies.

Pascal said he is involved in administration, and his surname is not Dubois. I doubt he spoke to Sabine because infidelity requires some discretion. It was Madame Valery, so her precious son could do what he liked. Sabine did not need to tell me anything. It is either her way of addressing the balance or a friendly warning.

Fuck that. I have a scrap of self-worth left, and someone is relying on me.

Lisette’s plan is now my plan. So I fucked Pascal Deveraux, might as well bang the fuck out of his nephew. It will be fun to compare the two and put Raphaël’s indiscretion to good use. I am sure Pascal will be delighted when he finds out.

Lisette and I are not pawns on a chessboard.

We are the chessboard and the pieces; our game, our rules.

-=-

Lisette and I sat in bed, laughing at life's situations. It is easy to forget she is nineteen, such is her dry wit. Turning to more salacious matters, her needs and desires flowed with a typical Gallic bluntness. Revived by chilled white wine, it was late, but what grew dim still burned bright.

She poured some on my breasts, and I was more concerned about the bedsheets until she licked it from them. Lisette rolled onto me, her determined eyes shrouded by a curtain of fiery hair. A slender leg rested between mine, and my thigh laid between hers.

“I want to try this,” Lisette whispered, punctuating it with a sucking kiss.

“Then try.”

A muscular appendage did not bludgeon me; instead, wet velvet grazed my sex. Above me, Lisette melted. Sweeping her hair back, engrossed in her beauty, the zephyr breeze of her gasps caressed my face. Following her sultry eyes, those full lips latched onto my breast, and she flicked its erect nipple. Tentatively, we communicated with encouraging words as my hands squeezed soft flesh, trying to guide her. I had doubts; it was too much for us; we were novices.

It was hit-and-miss, and we could not find a rhythm.

“Anaïs. I do this by grinding on my hand.”

Looking into her solemn eyes, she would not fail. “Then do that for me now.”

We shared this new experience, teasing her and matching her undulations. Lisette found it again, then again, weighing her eyelids. Simpering, the epitome of angelic beauty, I would not sully her lips.

“Anaïs,” she whimpered.

“Keep going, do it against me.”

Tasting my fingers, I fed them to her, too. The addictive sensations and the insanity of this tactile pressure gathered pace and strength. The sensuality of her soft mouth with its delicate contact was an assault by hot velvet. Sucking on her tongue, flicking it like her clit, she swooped against me. Wonder, need, hunger, it was a lie to say I was confident and self-assured. Maintaining this rhythm and guiding our bodies, we kept time.

It captured us, and we lingered eye-to-eye in this beautiful moment.

“God, this feels amazing, Lisette. See if you can go faster.”

With the tang of her juices on my lips, my fingers eased through her hair, roaming over her arm, shoulder, and down the valley of her spine. The harsh need for air replaced the distant music. Clasping at me, we writhed in harmony. Lisette was everywhere: against my body, floating through my mind, and illuminating my soul. My devious fingers dipped into the cleft of her behind, and I found that tensed knot of muscle. I tapped it, and she yelped, bolting as a filly for freedom.

“Ooh, you like that!”

“Yes!” she cried, “I do.”

We held it together, and hot, snorted air raced, and Lisette’s tongue plundered my mouth. Our lips sucking and yielding, taunting each other with searching tongues. We were as one and danced on a knife edge. Lisette pitched up, eyes flickered close, and she pouted. Kneading her perky breast, we reached the denouement of noise and pleasure. Heavier now, she ground with leaden hips.

“You can do it,” I purred, “Cum for me… cum.”

Her breathing weakened, and her body slowed. Upturned eyes locked on mine, her lithe body quivered. It multiplied inside her, building and building, as she cried out louder. Lisette convulsed above me, pouting with an expression of total purity. With a yelp, she shuddered as if it seized her last breath. Lisette craned over me and gripped me tighter, shaking and grinding until it broke her resolve. Hungry for air, I rescued her, holding her close as she quaked through its remnants.

“Good?” I swept her hair from her face.

“Magical,” she murmured.

It was just that, and placing her lips onto mine - no one had kissed me like that for a very long time.

“Your turn.”

The irony of Lisette’s words cajoled me. Moulded to my body, I peered into someone I dared not look at, and she smiled with pride. No words could describe this dream, and I would not spoil the moment by asking for anything. Peering down at me, she captured my spirit, and the embers flickered into life. She took my breast, and fiery kisses inspired my restless body.

“Anaïs. You can do this.”

Her earlier vulnerability emboldened my courage. Kept in place, she peered up, enjoying my struggle, and flicked her tongue over my nipple. Stronger hands guided me, and random sparks fused into lightning bolts. The sensation felt so distant and fleeting. Riding together, she matched the loft and fall of my sex and brought me to the gallop. Clinging to her, I began to quake, shaking with increasing violence. Pleading with my eyes, unable to speak, I stretched out so taut, my entire being needed release.

“Cum, Anaïs, cum.”

The weakest truth is more powerful than the most potent lie. Words I never expected to hear pulled the trigger. I twisted and bucked; Lisette tightened her grip. The summit of a giant wave peaked, and the deluge came. Her undulations did not halt as its rapture flailed me like a ragdoll. Ecstasy and ancient animosities combined, draining my mindless body.

Still and breathless, I basked in this personal epiphany. Lisette rested in my arms, brushing her fingers through my hair.

“Holy shit, Anaïs,” she panted. “You needed that.”

It was a weak chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, I did.”

I peppered her with soft kisses, “Thank you… thank you.”

Motionless in contentment, Lisette nestled against me, and I traced a pattern on her arm in gratitude. My disconnected mind found only clumsy words; she did not mind. Interspersed with kisses, she confessed how long she waited for tonight, and my admission flowed easily, too.

“Lisette, we could make up for lost time. Stay with me tonight?”

Rising over me, she smoothed my hair and placed her answer on my lips. “You are wonderful.”

“You are too,” I sighed. “Wonderful.”

-=-

My half-eaten salad goes in the bin, and I leave the park. Ambling along the side streets, Lisette expects, and her revenge is mine now, too.

Across the boulevard, the reflective glass hides its seedy purpose, and a metallic anxiety sticks in my throat. Furtively, I dart into the shop. It is a small comfort that I am alone, except for a disinterested youth behind the counter immersed in his newspaper.

My heart threatens to burst as I walk between the displays. This place caters for all the sexual vices I know and many I do not. There are vibrators and dildos of different sizes in all the colours of the rainbow. That French maid’s outfit would look fantastic on Lisette. There is the frilly, the slutty, satin, latex, and leather. There are gimp masks, harnesses, ball gags, handcuffs, ropes, straps and chains.

Against my fingers, this collar is soft, and the leash is cold chromed metal.

I find it on a limbless mannequin. With thick harness straps, it juts out in shiny silicone. There are several implements to choose from, catering for all preferences: small, medium, and oof. One is so large that it cannot support its weight and looks like a horse’s cock.

This one looks about right, something just above average. Lisette has a tight kitty, and her ass is unsullied. I want to be on the receiving end of it, too. The shop cares about its customers, and bottles of lubricant are close at hand. They are connoisseurs of kink.

There are cosmetics as well. No, it is a vibrator that looks like a lipstick.

I pick that up as well.

Then, I see it, and a bomb goes off in my mind. The possibilities multiply and dissolve my nervousness. I return to the shop door and retrieve a black plastic basket. The youth never looked up.

“Everything you wrote,” I mutter. “On our terms.”

We have a new plan.

-=-

The daylight is weakening. Entering the pokey shower, we giggle together. I cover Lisette’s body with iridescent suds. My hands worship every curve, savouring every nuance of her expression as I clean, tease, and provoke. Rinsing it away, we are conspirational, and she plays on the innocence this requires. I could ravage her here and now.

“Anaïs, I am not nervous.”

She has nothing to prove. “I know. If it is too much, use your safe word.”

It is ridiculous. After a few hours on the internet, I sound like an expert. I am not. Lifting her chin, I stoop to place my lips upon hers.

“For luck.”

Lisette glides from the shower naked, and her evocative gait aggravates my desire. Looking back, she grins. Her grace typifies the contrast between the lyrical feminine and the mechanical male. Washing my anger away, the foam falls from my body, slapping the shower tray.

On bare feet, I am naked and approach Lisette with stealth. Gathering her hair, I craft it into a long ponytail. She is a living, breathing doll.

Led to my bedroom by the hand, she giggles at the soft ropes, strap-on, and collar in stark contrast with the purest white linen.

My fingers trace along the breadth of her shoulders, down the curve of her spine to the flair of her hips to her peachy behind. I tease her ass, invoking a surprised yelp, and slide my hand around her waist. We ease together, skin against skin.

There is no ambiguity about what I place on her neck.

“Are you ready, Lisette?”

“Not yet.”

She takes my hand from her taut midriff and guides it towards the hillock of her mons. We are together in the tall dress mirror, and our gaze lingers. Taunting her smoothest skin of all, it is shorn just for me.

“Please…” Her petition fades as I nuzzle her earlobe.

Opening her folds, a cascade of her essence wets my fingers, and they slip over that stiffening button.

She exhales as if it is her last, “Oh God, yes.”

“Is your phone charged?”

Lisette murmurs and exhales with a sudden gasp, “I want lots of pictures.”

She pants as I breech her soaked folds. “Good girl.”

Lisette melts into my arms. “I want to be tied up.”

“You will be helpless.”

“Oh… oh God.”

We are equals, and I am not naturally dominant. It is a role I will play with relish, even if it is beyond my experience. I am flattered that Lisette rises to orgasm so quickly. It is not just my touch; her mind embraces her fate. She is on a collision course with her fantasy described in her lurid words. Placing my lips to her neck, a nip from my teeth raises the pitch of her whimpering.

“Oh God! I want to…”

“Tell me,” I whisper into her ear; she must grant me this gift.

“I want to wear a collar.”

“You will. Just as you described.”

Kneading her breast, Lisette groans and shakes, and her legs threaten to buckle like a newborn dear.

“I… I want you to…”

“What?”

Her nipples stand erect and are hostage to my touch, and her wriggling hips steer my fingers to her clit.

She quivers like the earth moves beneath us. “I want you to own me.”

“I will.”

“Oh, God… Anaïs. Yes! I am yours.”

“We will dominate Raphaël as equals.”

Cursing, she bucks as her body tenses, “Yes! Put that dog on a leash!”

Pressing into her drenched flesh, she squeezes on my digits. “Lisette, you must seduce him for us.”

She writhes and whimpers, “I must show him the pictures… not send them.”

“Yes, my pet.” That singular word makes her body reel. “And?”

“Tell him what I want,” she pants.

“And?”

“I will share my lover for a ménage à trois.”

“And?”

“Fuck him hard, dominate him.”

“I look forward to hearing about your triumph.”

She murmurs as my nimble fingers define her fate. Reaching behind me, her hand rubs on my sex, and I grant her this privilege with a muted gasp.

Struggling on shaking legs, Lisette is ready to combust.

“When he is exhausted, what will you do?”

Lisette’s body tightens by the second. “W… What?”

“Hold out your hand.”

I place it into her palm and close her fingers around it. “Cage him, lock him up, and make him boil with lust.”

Suddenly stiff, she trembles like a bass string, “Oh fuck!”

“Cum for me, pet.”

Lisette unwinds with frantic gasps, and throws her head back as her body quakes. Kissing her neck, she whimpers to a halt. Modest in its severity, it loosens her for many more. She sits on the bed, peaky, still panting, I will have give her so many more soon.

Removing it from the draw as a surprise, Lisette beams.

My very own slutty French maid - collared and leashed.