Honor Banet's plan for a single small profitable patisserie-bistro was swiftly blasted to pieces by a combination of customer demand, Marq Haydn and other events beyond her control.

After opening on Carlisle Street, Rick Ford's prediction of people lining up for miles had not exactly come true ... but it came close.

After four months, Marq apologized for getting it wrong and advised that she should open another branch on the adjoining Jameson Avenue to relieve the pressure on her Carlisle Street shop.

Unfortunately, the place she had wanted on Jameson originally had been taken, but another smaller place had become available just a few yards away and Marq had immediately secured it for her in exchange for equity in 'Délices d'Honor' when she had balked at it being a gift.

Cornered in her - now their fully bought and paid for apartment - naked, wet, knowing she was being manipulated by the man even then ravishing her body, she had surrendered and agreed, albeit pouting with lip furled afterwards. That had earned her another round of ravishing.

A week later, she had a duplicate of her Carlisle kitchen being set up on Jameson with workers busily banging and hammering the location into shape, Marq moving with swift efficiency.

That location, a purely takeaway establishment, had become a roaring success as well, but she had outright refused to open on Bowen Street as he next suggested, insisting instead on going to Zurich because Marq had put his life on hold long enough.

Her refusal to expand came after she finished paying off her loan to the bank, in record time, to the disappointment of the bank's loan panel officers who were hoping for a longer profitable relationship. Multiple treat boxes and loyalty cards from 'Délices d'Honor' helped ease their pain.

Ultimately, Marq's denials that his life was 'on hold' had fallen on deaf ears.

"Honor," he had said, eyebrow quirked, still clothed as he held his frowning and very nude odalisque in his arms, "you are my life. Where you are is my home. How can my life be 'on hold' when I am with you?"

It was the wrong thing to say if what he had wanted was for her to stay and expand her business. Her determination to move and stay long term with him in Zurich only became much stronger.

She had been to Zurich multiple times for short stays with him by then, but she was resolved to actually live and make a home with him in his home city.

A business management graduate who enjoyed being in a kitchen herself, Faith Sabrina Banet offered to move and oversee the two eponymous 'Délices d'Honor' locations for her older sister. Nervous, Honor had accepted, especially after Marq, having surrendered to his wife's wishes to live with him in Switzerland, revealed that he had quietly analyzed and process engineered her operations and handed a tablet with the resulting manual with preset management and scheduling software to Faith.

"Nerd," Honor had muttered, eyes tearing, getting on his lap and kissing him.

"How the fuck," Faith had demanded, later, when the sisters were alone, "did you get so lucky, Honor?" She was scrolling through the tablet's screen and making notes.

"I don't know," Honor had said, genuinely confused.

She was still confused when she arrived in Zurich to stay, weeks later, and discovered that her husband had arranged for her to be shown a series of locations to choose from for a 'Délices d'Honor' in Zurich.

A month later she was staring at a kitchen that was virtually identical to the one on Carlisle Street. When he couldn't find identical equipment of suitable existing or refurbishable working order, Marq had found a bespoke engineering firm and ordered the item specially constructed to match.

Honor had looked at the kitchen and then at him with her hands over her mouth.

"Well?" he asked, looking enquiringly at her. "Is this okay?"

Honor started crying. "I don't ... I don’t deserve this!" Her eyes were utterly bewildered as he swiftly took her in his arms. "I don't deserve you ...! What did I do ...? Why are you doing this ...?"

He kissed her hair and held her as she buried her face in his chest, sobbing. The workmen around them stopped work to look, confused, many appearing distinctly uncomfortable.

"Look at me," he said, after she had quieted down. "Look at me, my love."

She sniffled, and finally, she lifted her head up to look at him, and she saw him smiling down at her.

"First," he said, "'Délices d'Honor' is making me a lot of money."

She giggled.

"Second, and most importantly," he continued, lowering his head toward her, "you're my life, my love, my everything, Honor Marina." He brushed a tear away from under her eye. "You deserve everything good I can do for you for just that alone."

"But you've done enough," she said, smiling through falling tears, "You've already done more than enough."

"No," he answered, wiping her tears away. "Never."

She stared at him for multiple heartbeats, overwhelmed. "I love you, Mr. Haydn. I love you so much."

He shook his head and kissed her on the forehead again. "You never answered the question."

"What?"

He grinned and gestured. "Is this okay?"

She smacked him on the shoulder. "You are silly, Mr. Haydn."

Then, ignoring the men around them, she brought his head down and laved her tongue over his lips before kissing him. Then she went on tip-toe to whisper next to his ear. "I need you inside me. Right now. Take me home so I can fuck you."

And he did just that. Their penthouse had a private lift from the underground garage, and he was inside her before it opened in their apartment, literally stumbling into their home conjoined together.

She spent the rest of the day, the night and all of the next morning mostly nude, fucking him, getting semen deposited inside both major orifices, and on different parts of her body.

Some even ended up in her hair. But that had happened when she took him for a picnic that night in a quiet corner of their neighborhood park, the short wrap dress undone with one pull at the knot.

It wasn't that far off from a normal day, in truth.

The highly successful 'Délices d'Honor' in Zurich opened on a side street off the Bahnhofstrasse two weeks later, with Marquin and Honor Haydn, and Alain and Jaya Banet in attendance. Colin, Grace and their new son Michael Justice Payne had flown over too. Faith, Valor and Cynthia Banet watched live from Colin's phone.

Arriving by train from the Swiss capital to witness the opening and wish his sister-in-law well, was Dr. Marcel Arturo Haydn, a thinner and bearded doppelganger of his brother, who was just starting his medical residency in Bern.

Honor had been nervous about meeting him on her first trip to Zurich with Marq, but he turned out to be a less taciturn version of his brother who had immediately put her at ease and made her laugh, and she had loved him immediately.

Soon after, he had come along with the other Ascent Kapital GmbH partners and senior associates, along with Chailai, Jao and Mongkhut from Bangkok, for Marquin Eduardo Haydn's wedding to Honor Marina Banet, held at The Grande Marquee in the bride's home city.

The Grande Marquee's booking staff were curious and confused, but ultimately cooperative when Jaya Banet arrived and requested to change the groom's name in their register less than a week after booking for her daughter's wedding to another man.

Over the decades, the Grande Marquee had seen weddings cancelled, couples eloping and leaving their confused parents gaping at each other in the hall, grooms and brides being stood up at the altar, even a bride saying "I don't" when the priest had asked the faithful question. One memorable occasion saw the groom exposing the bride's ongoing affair with a coworker ... before dropping the bombshell that he and the bride's cousin, who was in attendance, had fallen in love and he was marrying her instead.

Even then, keeping the date and simply changing out the groom was fairly unique.

But when the wedding of Honor Banet to Marquin Haydn came around, the talk of the Marquee's staff was how radiant the bride looked, and how much she obviously loved her groom ... and how her wedding dress had gone from daringly sexy during the ceremony to wickedly erotic, losing bits and pieces of itself as the evening wore on.

Added to the dress revealing more and more of the bride's caramel brown skin while somehow staying on her in defiance of gravity was the revelation of the tattoo swirling around her body and a glinting chain gripping her from neck to waist down to her ankle.

Intriguingly, the chain appeared to be also connected to her breasts, and her new husband openly enjoyed playing with it as they danced together and she sat on his lap afterward, her lips parting each time he pulled on it.

In fact, Honor had flown back to Bangkok and gone to Pécheressa, Chailai in tow, for her wedding dress, requesting exactly what it turned out to be, a wedding dress for an odalisque; designed to be worn to reveal as much as a woman dared, ultimately to arouse and excite far more than to conceal.

Marq's eyes when he had seen her coming down the aisle almost made up for the masturbation filled week she had spent away from him before the day. His captivated look and the unexpected welling of tears in his eyes had more than lived up to her imagination.

And again, Honor Banet, minutes from becoming Honor Haydn, had wondered how one heart could possibly hold so much happiness as she looked up at her groom.

She knew her daily recordings of making herself come with her fingers while whimpering out how much she was missing him and them sending him the videos also had a great deal to do with the hungry way he was eyeing her. Not that she was eyeing him any less hungrily.

After they had exchanged their vows and a long breathless first kiss as man and wife, Marq had politely requested for ten minutes alone with his wife from her father.

Alain Banet, who had been initially taken aback by the backlessness and plunging neckline of his daughter's dress, had shrugged. "She's your wife."

Honor had followed her husband to the small and now empty groom's suite, naturally much smaller than the suite for the bridal party.

"Be still, Mrs. Haydn." Marq had ordered, thrilling her as he called her new name for the first time.

Marq had stripped her naked, leaving only her garter and shoes, and then proceeded to properly 'kiss his bride', starting from her lips and then all over her body, following the still fresh pattern he had painted on her body before they had parted a week before. He kissed her nipples and then in between her legs until she covered his chin with her liquid, keening, her back against the wall and struggling to remain on her feet as he pleasured her.

As expected, she had not worn any panties, and he had bent her over before her breathing had calmed, her legs spreading for him, more than ready to welcome him inside for the first time as her husband. But instead of his member, he pushed a new plug into her - heavy, knobbed, ridged and white - as if to match her dress.

And then he had made his odalisque stand, quivering, love and desire in her eyes, as he completed the ritual and attached a new zanjir of white gold, matching the wedding band he had slipped on her finger, to her body. Then he had dressed his odalisque and newly wedded wife himself, kissing her body again as he did so, before leading her out to their guests.

She had felt the heat rush to her face at the knowing looks and sly winks that greeted her, but her thoroughly aroused state after what he had done to her, the plug torturously moving inside her, and the look in her husband's eyes made it easy to ignore it all.

She held his hand and sought his lips throughout the dinner, and she kissed him repeatedly as they danced, the plug drawing out a steady stream of lubrication out of her as she clasped her husband to her shuddering body.

She loved kissing him.

She had the discipline to refrain from peeling off too many pieces and layers of her dress until after her parents bade them goodnight, Jaya Banet unable to hide that she was not intending on letting her husband sleep.

Soon after, Honor had lavished her tongue over Marq's cruelly smiling lips, and then, with only a nod and smile of thanks to her friends and remaining family, she had held her husband's hand and walked him off the dancefloor, the scandalous, arrest-worthy state of her wedding dress revealing exactly what she was leading her new husband away to do.

Sarah, naturally her maid of honor, led the whooping and cheering as they left, already fatefully hand-in-hand with a new man.

Ironically, that man meant Sarah moved to Zurich before Honor did. Which meant she was also there, as 'Délices d'Honor's' earliest investor, excitedly holding her best friend's hand as the Zurich branch opened.

Along with her husband, Marq's best man, Deji Akinwole of Ascent Kapital GmbH.

Honor's best friend's relationship with Bryan Thomas did not survive the offer he received of a senior executive position in the Middle East.

Soon after taking the position, he had decently informed Sarah that he had met a former girlfriend who was coincidentally working in the same city for another company and, given the distance, he wanted to explore that relationship.

Sarah had been despondent, until less than two weeks later when Deji had flown in for the wedding.

Within a week of meeting the Lagos born and Vienna raised Deji Akinwole, an openly smitten Sarah Fernandez had gone from threatening his balls to becoming very partial to them and very concerned for their welfare.

"So," Deji had said, when they were introduced, "you're the woman who was going to 'stomp on my balls?'"

Sarah had smiled, charmed by his accent and his smile. "You got Marq here. So I suppose that's not going to happen."

"So I should rest easy?" Deji's gaze turned heated, his eyes running all over her body. "My balls are safe?"

Sarah met his gaze, her smile matching his own, turning predatory. "I didn't say anything about them being 'safe.' At all."

After Honor had come back from a three week honeymoon of absolute debauchery in which Marq had brought along the latest edition of the 'Holiday Sex Guide' and a determination to try everything in it, Sarah had gigglingly let her know that Deji's gift with his tongue - he was a polyglot who could speak his native Yoruba, Hausa, English, French, German and Spanish - extended beyond just languages.

Two months after meeting Deji, Sarah flew to Zurich to spend a week with him. It turned into a month. Then she came back with him in tow for him to ask her adoptive father for her hand in marriage. A week later, she had officially quit her job and was officially Mrs. Adedeji Akinwole, and she had flown back with her husband to Switzerland. Permanently.

Which was how First Sanctuary gained another anonymous annual benefactor from Ascent Kapital GmbH of Zurich, joining Marq Haydn, much to Honor and Sarah's delight. The nuns and monks running the organization were also delighted, while utterly bewildered at the mysterious influx of funds into their coffers.

Now a full time Swiss resident, Sarah had also been in attendance for the opening of the 'Délices d'Honor' in Switzerland's second largest city.

The demand for an outlet in Geneva had arisen from Phillipe Dufour's surprise visit to the 'Délices d'Honor' in Zurich. A native of Annemasse in France, Dufour also owned a home and a restaurant just across the border in Geneva and was practically a dual citizen.

His appearance had caused a sensation and his 'accidental' mention of a possible branch of 'Délices d'Honor' in Geneva had started a furore amongst the Genevois living in Zurich. Marq had not been too happy with Dufour for putting his wife on the spot but he had deferred to her to decide whether Dufour's patissier son could be a franchisee in Switzerland's second largest city.

In part out of gratitude for his letter to the bank, her long time awe of him, and a convincing analysis of the market, Honor agreed to partner with Dufour in Geneva. Marq immediately unleashed a team of lawyers to draw up an ironclad contract to ensure that his wife's interests were protected.

It took weeks, but both Dufour and Honor signed eventually and 'Délices d'Honor' opened in Geneva, across the street from Dufour's own Michelin starred restaurant. Somsak Kurusarttra was in attendance at the opening, along with other friends of Phillippe from Bordeaux.

He bemusedly informed them that his niece, Pradtana, had been very upset when he informed her that Marq Haydn had gotten married. Marq had the grace to looked abashed as Honor teasingly furled up her lip at him.

Honor and Sarah subsequently went for a post-launch visit to the new 'Délices d'Honor' in Geneva from Zurich by train. As projected, it was doing well and Dufour had spoiled both women at his restaurant and even exchanged some tips and tricks with Honor.

Knowing she was now married to Marq, Dufour's flirting had been significantly toned down and he was engaging and professional with both her and Sarah. She discovered that he knew Jerry Kane and he had called her former boss to surprise him with her on the phone.

Jeremy Kane had been true to his word. He had been one of her first customers on Carlisle, coming with his wife to have a coffee and some cake.

His wife, once a food writer, had eyed Honor suspiciously, making Honor think that Kane might have not hidden his feelings toward her as well as he thought. But then Elaine Kane bit into a pecan, peach cream and chocolate eclair, and she had immediately become very interested in talking shop with her husband's former employee. Seeing Honor's ringed hand and the lingering glances she regularly sent back to a gray eyed man with rimless glasses quietly sitting and working on a laptop at a table behind the counter, also made her much friendlier.

Kane had been surprised and happy to hear from her and he assured her that he went regularly to have something at 'Délices d'Honor' on Carlisle Street, but not nearly as often as his wife and her friends, who were on a mission to introduce Faith to their eligible bachelor sons, nephews and younger brothers.

Faith, despite a very active social life as a result, armed with Marq's manual and her own acumen, was successfully keeping the two initial 'Délices d'Honor' locations running smoothly and profitably since her older sister's departure, including introducing new items Honor had developed in her large kitchen at her Zurich home.

"David came by, to Jameson," Faith reported during one videocall.

"Oh?" Honor had raised an eyebrow. The Jameson location was only seven minutes away from Salford Carlisle Rowe, where David Brenner was still a senior associate.

"He tried to talk to me and asked me if he could get your number so he could call you." Faith made quote marks. "He said he wanted to 'apologize' and 'congratulate' you. 'For everything.'" Faith shrugged. "I took the liberty of saying 'No.'"

"Thanks," Honor said. "Next time, tell him there's really no need for us to talk. But I appreciate and accept his apology." She paused, remembering her last encounter with her former fiancee, and added. "And I wish him well."

Jerry Kane had kept his word at the outset about sending some business to her to produce hors d'oeuvres and off-center pieces whenever the hotel's catered events uncomfortably stretched his kitchen's capacity.

The second such event was for the founding day celebration of Salford Carlisle Rowe. That was the first time she had seen David since he had staggered out of her apartment building's lobby.

He had been visibly surprised to see her as he entered with his other associates. She was assisting her former kitchen colleagues with arranging the pastry display. As soon as their eyes met, he had approached her with a determined look.

Marq, helping carry in some of the treat boxes, had put them down and intercepted him with a calm, dead, stare.

"Stay away from my intended, Brenner."

"Your ... what?" David said, a little too loudly.

"I'm marrying him, David," Honor had said, lifting her hand for him to see.

Too late, David Brenner realized that his secret was out. His watching colleagues were now aware that his fiancee, the celebrated owner of 'Délices d'Honor' on Carlisle Street, where many of them now stopped for flavored coffee and unique pastries, had left him. And by the whispers erupting behind him, many recognized who it was she had left him for.

David had looked past Marq, at her, rage twisting his handsome features. "So that's it? He flashes some money at you, and we're done? After three years? I was ready to forgive you ..."

"Forgive 'me'?" Honor gasped.

"That's how it works!" David snarled. "You forgive me, and I forgive you! And we work things out! You don't just run off and whore yourself out to the first rich guy ..."

"Brenner," Marq said, stepping forward. "Don't use that word to refer to her again. Ever."

"Oh?" David said, looking from him to her. "So that's how 'Délices d'Honor' got started? That's how you got that 'loan', right? On your back for this ...?"

"Mr. Brenner." said a cold voice behind him before Marq could take a step toward him.

David spun around to see a rail thin and balding man, several inches shorter than him, and his mouth had dropped. "Oren ...! I ...!"

"Call me Mr. Rowe for now, Mr. Brenner." said Oren Rowe, Managing Partner at Salford Carlisle Rowe. He continued to glare in silence and David Brenner seemed to shrink in size until he appeared much smaller than his six foot three inch frame.

"Given the circumstances," Rowe finally said. "I would advise you not to attend this party, Mr. Brenner. You will go home and consider how badly your behavior here reflects on SCR and give me some convincing answers to my questions about your future with us tomorrow."

David, eyes wide, looked around at his colleagues, who were all averting their eyes, then he had looked at Rowe and meekly said. "Yes, sir."

David Brenner, up and coming senior associate at Salford Carlisle Rowe, left.

Oren Rowe didn't watch him leave. "Herr Haydn, I apologize for the behavior of my associate. I assure you, our attorneys at Salford Carlisle Rowe ..."

"Thank you, Mr. Rowe," Marq interrupted. "But your apology should go to Miss Banet here, my intended bride."

"Of course!" Rowe recovered smoothly. "Honor Banet, of 'Délices d'Honor'! Your strawberry and mango cappuccino has become my favorite morning beverage. I have it delivered first thing on my desk every morning. Please forgive us for Brenner's ..."

Not too long after, Honor had been forced to decline all external catering orders as foot traffic customer volumes made it impossible for 'Délices d'Honor' to meet such commitments.

Honor learned later that David had kept his job, based in large part on the genuinely excellent work he had done on the merger in Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur and Singapore, but his promotion to junior partner was to be delayed for another two years.

She had also learned that he was still telling his colleagues about their upcoming wedding up until the confrontation and his faux pas in front of Oren Rowe; that he had sincerely believed that their relationship could have been 'worked out.'

Without her asking, Rick Ford and Tony Moreno, among the proud owners of the first 'Délices d'Honor' loyalty cards, filled her in on what happened with the former Jillian Blake, now Jillian Peters again because Tom Blake had threatened all manner of dire legal consequences if she continued to use his last name. Tom Blake had gone even further than kicking her out of their apartment; he sent his video recording of her and David on Honor's bed to her manager, prominently displaying the time and date, mentioning the location and who it was she was enjoying herself with.

Enraged and jealous, because she had broken off his own affair with her on the excuse that she was 'repairing' her marriage, and also because she had said she was going to be at a business lunch, instead of under her neighbor's fiancee, the man had fired her. Jillian had promptly sued, and the ensuing fracas had destroyed both their careers in their firm, and her former boss' marriage.

Thomas Blake threw out everything that bore even a hint of his former wife, keeping only his son. And as Jillian left the city to start over elsewhere, leaving their son behind, Tom Blake was moving the child's younger and very pretty school teacher into his apartment with a ring glittering on her finger. Jillian, who had always been so confident in her beauty and her ability to captivate men, had been said to be shocked at how swiftly and completely Tom Blake had erased her from his life.

The last Honor had seen of Tom Blake had been in their apartment building's lobby as she was leaving with Marq for Zurich and not returning until the next year. He was walking in with his son and his significantly curvier fiancee. He had waved, and gratifyingly, Honor saw that his new lady was holding a 'Délices d'Honor' takeaway cup.

Honor had smiled and waved back.

________________________

"Hey!" Honor cried as he spun away from her, easily dodging her attempt to steal the mini-roll back. "That's for Deji! Don't ...! "

Marq popped the roll into his mouth with an evil grin.

Honor folded her arms under her breasts, glaring at him, lip furling up in an annoyed pout.

She realized her mistake a heartbeat later as Marq's eyes narrowed, head tilting predatorily. "Oh ...!"

Three hours was well past his refractory period, especially after a full week away from her, she chastised herself as he caught her in his arms, his lips descending on hers.

Not that she was trying to get away. She kissed him back. She always did.

She loved kissing him.

Doing certain things around Marq Haydn, perfectly normal things, like pouting, tended to draw consequences. In this case, she'd compounded it all by doing it while in nothing more than a knotted wrap that stopped at her crotch.

Folding her arms had just served to lift up her breasts while lifting the hem above her newly clean shaven cleft. The fact that the material was mostly nude brown and sheer, exposing her zanjir bodychain and newly painted tattoo made his reaction entirely predictable.

She was screwed. Or about to be.

She smiled against his lips, her arms around his neck as he lifted her and placed her on the kitchen island, moving between her legs.

She gasped as he pulled back and yanked the flimsy wrap off, hissing sharply as he pulled on her chain, squeezing her nipples as they came to attention. She closed her eyes, shuddering as he caressed her, his hand travelling down to her belly, between her legs, making a quiet growling noise of approval as she leaned into him, spreading herself wider.

Naturally, she was wet. He had been kissing her to distract her from his hand reaching for the tray of rolls she had promised Deji, his closeness igniting her warmth even before the touch of his lips on her neck.

"I promised Deji ..." she complained as he spread her even more open, holding her legs apart, making her lean back, hands braced behind her.

He said nothing as he teased her with his member, pushing and stroking against her slit but not entering, making her start to snarl in frustrated anticipation until he relented and inserted, her vaginal walls parting for him. She spasmed and levered her body forward, throwing her arms around his neck and melding her body against him, burying her face in his neck, humming and planting kisses on his throat as he settled inside her.

She held him still, not wanting him to move yet, because she always wanted to savor his presence at first, to revel and luxuriate in the the way he filled her.

"So Deji gets eleven pieces instead of twelve," Marq said, after a full minute of stillness, their breaths mingling. "What's the problem?"

"You're so annoying," she said, furling her lip and sniffing, then kissing him.

He pulled on her chain again, cruelly making her squirm. "I really do not see the problem, Mrs. Haydn. I'll just take another one and make it an even ten."

Honor looked at him exasperatedly after biting her lip at the sensation. "The 'problem' is that we bakers do things in dozens, not tens."

Marq shrugged.

"And he'll know and call you an olè!" she reminded him, referring to the last time Deji discovered Marq had stolen from his treats.

Honor had thought he was inexplicably cheering for her smugly grinning husband in Spanish until Sarah had knowledgeably informed her that "olè!" in Yoruba means 'thief!'

Marq was evidently totally unconcerned at the prospect of Deji calling him a thief. Instead he raised an eyebrow as he cupped her breasts, "Is a 'baker's dozen' not thirteen?"

She rolled her eyes at him before leaning forward to take his lips again.

She loved kissing him.

He began to stroke into her pussy for the second time that morning, making her cry out just as the bells of Grossmünster Cathedral began to ring in the distance.

He had lived in a smaller, comfortable apartment that had more than adequately served his needs. Honor had genuinely liked it when he had first brought her to Zurich as his intended bride, appreciating its understated elegance and had been more than happy to make a home of it with him.

But it had a fairly small kitchen for a single man who only cooked rarely when he knew the woman he loved would prefer something larger.

So he had immediately taken her to see multiple properties with large baker equipped kitchens despite her protests until he saw her eyes involuntarily light up in one, in the Fluntern quarter in District - Kries - 7.

Honor had already immediately loved Zurich, and she had immensely enjoyed exploring the city, having Marq as her tour guide, awed especially by the Vier Hauptkirchen - the four main churches - of Zurich. She had visited each of the Grossmünster, Fraumünster, Predigerkirche, and St. Peterskirche in turn, and enjoyed the Kunsthaus, Lake Zurich and simply strolling through the Lindenhof and window shopping on the Bahnhofstrasse. But she would have loved it if only just because she woke up wrapped in his arms every morning, even before the penthouse apartment with the huge kitchen he had bought entirely with her happiness in mind.

It also had a balcony with enough greenery and hidden alcoves for her to be nude and enjoyed out in the day light or under the night sky.

Which was fortuitous, because Marq had continued his assault on her modesty.

After more than three outfits torn to shreds, she had given in to pragmatism.

So she mostly wore his shirts, simple wraps and sarongs when at home, ranging from the thin and silky to the radically sheer. Some days, she simply wore nothing. Luckily, she had bought a lot of other items - all designed to leave her as 'accessible' as possible - with her soon-to-be husband in mind when she went to Pécheressa for her wedding dress.

Soon there was no corner of the penthouse in which he had not eaten, touched or ridden her to a loudly screaming or quietly whimpering come, leaving multiple wet spots behind.

Even more disturbing was that she had left spots of her liquid in more than a handful of hidden and not so hidden spots in parks around their neighborhood, going naked in more than one picnic spot they had discovered together.

She had been mortified ... but she had loved every moment of it.

She had stopped lying to herself about enjoying being taken where they could be caught. He had broken her that way. Or maybe it was something in her that he had brought out. After all, she realized, it was something that featured in quite a few of her small library of risqué romances, which she had shyly shown him back in her apartment. Not surprisingly, he had insisted she recreate her library in Zurich. And make it bigger, with even more daring and prurient content.

In every way, he was more than living up to her demand that she would continue to be his odalisque even as Mrs. Marquin Haydn.

She had specifically made her demand as a non-negotiable part of her future life with him within hours of accepting his marriage proposal, in their hotel room away from her parents' home - where she could be as loud as she wanted.

Wearing her chain and her new ring and nothing else, she had licked and sucked him until he was a shuddering mass, and then she had taken him inside her with one downward slap of her body on his, squealing her own pleasure as she watched him in satisfaction as he lost control, his cum shooting into her body as he near painfully gripped her breasts and roared.

She was sure they were heard by whoever was in the hotel rooms around them. She didn't care.

"Mr. Haydn," she said, looking down at him, his spent penis inside her, in control. "I love you and I'm going to marry you. But I need you to promise me something."

Breathing hard, he was still able to smile. "What is that, Miss Banet?"

She got off him, and then she adopted the odalisque's position of offering, arms braced behind her, leaning back, breasts out, legs spread, heels on the bed.

"That you're not going to treat me like some good girl wife you keep at home. I demand to still be your slut, your own personal whore ... your odalisque. To be used anywhere, anyway and anytime you want. Just like our deal." She met his eyes, demanding, open and vulnerable. "Is that clear, Mr. Haydn?"

He went over to her, and he had touched her between her spread legs, and she had quivered as she covered his fingers with their combined fluids. "Crystal clear, Miss Banet."

"Well?" she asked, lips touching his as he leaned close, hissing and quivering even more as he played with her cunt and her chain. "Do you promise?"

"Yes, Miss Banet," Marq said, fingering her, "I promise. You shall be my odalisque, my slut, my own personal whore. I promise to use and enjoy you anywhere, anytime, and in any way I desire."

He took his cum and lubrication covered fingers to her mouth. "You shall be mine," he continued, as she cleaned his fingers, eyes fixed on him, "and my heart and the rest of my life shall belong to you."

"Good," she said, when she was done, and she lunged forward to kiss him. "Fuck me. Use me. Enjoy me."

She then proceeded to clean him up, using her lips, mouth and tongue on him again, patiently, taking her time, relishing every moment as he writhed and gasped underneath her.

When he was hard again, she took him inside her and 'sat-still' on him until he was straining under her, her own control slipping as she hyperventilated on top of him, and then she rode him until he came, grasping her body and calling out her name.

It was as good a way of sealing a deal as any, and, as promised, he was true to his word about using, and enjoying, her anytime, anywhere and in any way he wished.

The result was she was in a regular state of Pavlovian wet tension whenever she was alone with him and close to any place hidden - or not so hidden - not knowing when or where she would find herself being taken for his pleasure, not knowing when she would suddenly find her body being invaded and used. Or simply find herself being held or kissed, his lips at her ear, telling her what he wanted to do to her.

And then proceeding to do it.

She loved it.

He had mounted her in multiple restaurant and hotel bathrooms, fingered her in alley ways, in the car or as they sat together at events. He had eaten her in cloakrooms and dressing rooms, and interrupted hikes and road trips to fuck her or make her suck him off the trail.

Memorably, he had made her come twice in a club on the same night, first finding a dark corner and entering her standing from the front as she arched against him in seven inch stripper heels and a sheer cut-out mini skirt, her breasts virtually uncovered, so excited from his open molestations and then the sheer wickedness of their transgression that she had orgasmed as he entered her through the slit opening over her pussy. Then later, she'd sat on him in a darkened booth, in a poor facsimile of a 'sit-still', masking her movement of his cock inside her as if she were moving with the music playing around them.

She had been masked, which meant that her face had been the only part of her body that had been decently covered. That she could wear something so minimal in a crowd still sent waves of embarrassed heat through her body.

But she had done it, and worn even more revealing outfits for him, and knew she would do it again whenever he wanted. Her second sojourn on the island with him had been spent proving just that; wearing only her chain and body paint, a straw sunhat and a short and sheer wrap that barely covered her crotch her only items of clothing for a week.

She was his odalisque, and he enjoyed 'displaying' her as they experienced more of what the adults-only island had to offer. They went to the other restaurants, revisited the beach and he even took her dancing.

'Dancing on' him in a darkened corner until he spurted inside her was one thing, but she had been determined to enjoy dancing 'with' him in the more conventional sense.

Eventually, she was able to successfully get him to learn some basic tango steps, a lesson finally lasting longer than fifteen minutes without her getting rudely interrupted by his libido being stirred up by her nearness. Since he insisted on her being naked or nearly so when she tried to teach him at home, she succeeded only because she took him with her to a tango class. In Buenos Aires.

She had been punished - or rewarded - for that; the next time she took him to the class, she'd had to dance with him while contending with a thoroughly distracting plug inside her pussy. She was sweating and leaking out of herself when the class was over, and she had cursed at him in a steady stream until he got her to their hotel, screaming when he yanked it out and entered her at last.

She had been so wet she had soaked through her leggings, and so aroused she had come within seconds of him sheathing himself inside her, spasming hard and screaming his name as he grasped and held her on his cock.

He had enjoyed that.

He thoroughly enjoyed experimenting with her body, always looking to find new ways pleasure her, to find what would send her to the heights of ecstasy or torment her by keeping her on the cusp. He introduced new toys; new plugs, new restraints, new contraptions and more, even before she became Mrs. Haydn, escalating it even more afterwards.

He was careful and methodical, because she was still sensible, disciplined and fastidious Honor, and ... because he loved her. The items he inserted inside her body were all self-cleaning and sterilizing with body safe materials and agents he had carefully researched himself, his engineering skills and meticulousness turned toward pleasuring and enjoying his odalisque.

Watching her struggle to meet his demands on her body invariably aroused him, ending in him riding her until she was whimpering in his arms, reveling in his unabashed enjoyment of her, aroused by his manhandling as he bent, manipulated and took her at will.

His constant unwaning hunger for her flustered, embarrassed, flattered and delighted her in turn, becoming a fact of life she needed to arrange her days and nights around.

'Délices d'Honor's' growth meant she needed a proper office from which to manage her growing company. The off-Bahnhofstrasse location included such an office, and her love had shown it to her before taking her home so she could have her way with him as she had demanded.

But his ever present need for her meant he called her out of her office regularly, which often meant Honor returning, flushed with rivulets of cum running down her thighs. Just as regularly, he showed up as she was working at her desk because 'Délices d'Honor' off Bahnhofstrasse was conveniently close to Ascent Kapital's headquarters, meaning that she had left multiple wet spots in every corner of her office, and every corner of his own. Heading out to a meeting or into 'Délices d'Honor's' kitchen with a mess of his semen and her own liquid leaking out of her had quickly become normal.

It wasn't all him; sometimes, she called him out to meet her, or called him over to her office, or walked over to Ascent Kapital GmbH, entered his office, shut the door and got naked, or just 'naked enough', in short order. On more than one occasion she had walked into his office simply to take him in her mouth and swallow him as he exploded, and then leave with a smug smile on her face.

Some times, they met and just had lunch.

But her staff quickly learned not to disturb her when her husband was on the premises, something that had embarrassed her at first. But Marq had been completely dismissive about it when she mentioned it as she kissed him in her office, blinds closed. Soon after that, she was on her desk and he was stroking into her pussy, stripped completely nude save for her zanjir to prove his point. She was quickly forced to agree, moaning as he pulled on the chain; she was his odalisque - his to enjoy where, when and how he desired - and, ultimately, he had every right to strip her naked and fuck her in her office.

As such, she was the proud owner of more than a dozen 'zanjirs' - the odalisque's neck-nipple-waist-thigh-ankle bodychain - which she typically waited for him to put on her himself, a ritual he insisted on, making her present herself to him, her eyes dilated and fixed on him as he affixed the chains to her naked body, touching and caressing her as he bound and clasped her.

He had also assumed the duty of painting the patterns she now regularly sported on her body and shaving her mound, a ritual that she eagerly looked forward to because he teased her; licking, kissing, fingering and tonguing her as she lay bound and suspended off the ground on their swing until she was finally freshly tattooed and shaven.

And then he would sheath himself inside her and hold her on him as she lost her mind with relief and delight. He would invariably be shaking with his own desperate need by then as well, his iron control fraying by the time his bound and spread wife and odalisque was begging for his presence inside her.

Honor Haydn loved being Marq Haydn's odalisque, being relentlessly subjected to his carnal desires and demands, being his plaything, fully embracing the special surge of pride and joy she experienced whenever she made him come, whenever he released inside her or on her body.

But she also loved the fact that, in his own quiet and forceful way, he made her know that he enjoyed and valued her company, and that he genuinely wanted to know what she thought and what had happened to her or crossed her mind that day. She loved that he was proud of her accomplishments and that he shared his thinking on his own projects with her.

She loved being his wife.

She loved that she was not just Marq Haydn's proud odalisque, his slut and whore, but his confidante and love, who was there to hold him, kiss him and tell him she loved him, knowing that her love and devotion were fully and sincerely reciprocated in turn.

There were days, sex-free yet wonderful days, when all that happened between them was him helping her experiment in the kitchen, or stroking her hair as she snuggled up to him in a T-shirt and shorts, or just holding her in nothing but her panties or a sheer wrap, or nothing at all, because she enjoyed being nude around him and showing him her breasts almost as much as he liked seeing them.

But, as he made love to her in their kitchen, this was, she was grateful to note, not that type of day.

He had been gone for a week as the Solar Isle project's prototype had been launched for its second test in international waters miles off the Maldives coast. Expanded to a mile in diameter, it would float for three months with minimal human intervention, gathering power and data.

It had been a successful exercise, and Honor had known that she would be very heavily exercised herself when he got back. After a week, she was very anxious to be used and enjoyed, so she had gone to pick him up herself in dark shades, a trenchcoat, high stripper heels, and her bodychain.

She stood and waited in the Arrivals hall, holding a board with his name on it. Once he saw her, she had walked away with him following. He caught up to her in the parking lot, just beside her new Phoenyx VX 4 sedan, a half Venetian mask now on her face, easily discovering her nakedness under the coat ... and also the 'Pécheressa' made harness securing the hook curling into her pussy.

He had harnessed the first of her custom made vaginal hooks to her body himself, being there to catch and hold her as she had stumbled at first, nude, quivering and breathless, her gait changing as the flexible silicone head slid and twisted inside her, quite different from the plugs and balls he had started with.

He found that the hook had her practically leaking, her inner thighs covered in her creamy lubrication as he greeted her with a kiss on her lips and then, as tradition demanded, with a sharp sucking kiss on each rudely pointing nipple.

He always kissed her nipples because his odalisque now got upset and pouted when he did not.

She drove, setting their destination from Zurich's airport to their Fluntern home, not entirely surprised when Marq reprogrammed their route through an out of the way wooded park not far from the airport. She gamely followed the routing, and went off the road when he told her to.

Then she had stopped and stepped out of the car so he could draw out the hook, making her spasm and squeal against his lips, then she had gasped as he entered her from the front, her arms around his neck, leaning back against the car.

"I missed you, Mrs. Haydn," Marq had growled, his gray eyes glinting behind his glasses as she tightened around him, flexing her hips.

"I missed you, Mr. Haydn." She smiled.

It was the beginning of fall so it was starting to get a little cold but she had no problem staying warm as he began to explore her, starting to slide in and out of her.

He noticed her skin goosepimpling though. "You're cold ..."

"No." His odalisque said, voice rough, demanding. "Take. Your. Time. Fuck me. Enjoy me."

He did, and she had come as he pulled on her chain, slamming hard into her lubrication-leaking pussy as she threw her head back in a silent gasping cry before he finally relieved himself inside her.

Her last Decision injection was less than two months away from wearing off, and by mutual agreement, she was not taking another one. But she had already begun to feel a surge of joyful excitement every time he spurted his seed into her womb.

She held him still, letting him know there was no rush, no need to focus on anything else, even yards from a road under an overcast sky.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear, because she did.

That done, she had kissed him, moaning and shuddering as he knelt and reinserted the hook into her pussy. He stood and kissed her lips and then kissed her nipples again, making her smile happily and tell him she loved him again. And then she had entered the car again and continued driving him home, coat parted so he could enjoy the view and freely touch what he wanted.

'I like seeing your breasts,' he had said, and she loved letting him see them, and hold them ...

Seeing no one in the basement, she didn't bother closing the coat for the walk to the private lift to their apartment.

She shrugged out of it completely even before it closed to take them up, all outside cares cast aside, to continue her welcoming and taking care of her husband.

She displayed herself for him, in the odalisque's pose of offfering and welcome, enjoying how his breath caught every time he saw how wet she got for him, especially with his semen spattered on her skin and leaking out of her pussy. Especially when she began to stroke and touch herself, because he loved to watch her masturbate and come, either with her fingers or her toys.

Then she bathed him, fed him, sucked him and then she 'sat-still' on him as she asked and listened to him tell her how the new Solar Isle launch had gone.

Later on he had asked her about her own activities, after she had ridden him to release, getting off him to clamp her lips around his member when it was clear that he was on the brink, stiffening and gasping underneath her as she furiously stroked herself with her fingers so she could come with him.

On the couch in the living room, lying beside him, his penis comfortably nestled inside her, her breasts being lovingly kneaded and cupped in his hands, it took a lot out of Honor to recount her trip with Sarah to survey prospective locations for a 'Délices d'Honor' in Bordeaux. They'd found one, thanks in no small part to Philippe Dufour, not too far from L'Ecole Des Arts Culinaires.

He thrusted into her pussy every few minutes, making her cry out and writhe at the interruption, especially when he began playing with her swollen clitoris in addition to her breasts, but she was able to get it out by the time she was incapable of speech as he was pistoning into her off the couch, making her sob in ecstasy as she made a large wet spot on the carpet beneath them.

Afterwards, she had held him, not allowing him to exit from her, insisting on his presence until she had calmed.

He carried her to their bedroom and wrapped her in his arms, containing her as she fell asleep, his hands in their place cupping her belly and breasts, making her feel safe and loved as he breathed her in, sandalwood, lychees, mangoes, baking, her sex, his cum and a scent that was at once all woman and distinctively her.

And now he was fucking her again as Zurich's four cathedrals sounded the hour.

Abruptly, he slowed down, his lips leaving hers. "Don't you have an appointment? With ...?"

She growled and seized his lips, shutting him up. She did have an appointment. With a British publisher that very much wanted to publish her finally finished and edited cookbook in time for the opening of the first 'Délices d'Honor' in London.

A similar arrangement for two outlets was being shepherded to life in Bangkok by the newly formed Ascent Blue Dragon Enterprises, owned by a Jao Chaimongkhon, to be managed by a Chailai Kunakorn.

But all that was of less importance than the fact that the man who wholly owned her heart and body was wonderfully, deliciously, inside her right then, where he belonged, and Honor Marina Haydn knew what - who - her priority was.

Him. Always.

"Take. Your. Time." Marquin Haydn's odalisque said, looking into his eyes. "Enjoy me. Fuck me."