My Secret Life in Paris

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

More from Mischief

About Mischief

Copyright

About the Publisher

Paris, the last day of spring, the scent of fresh-baked bread in the air and the strains of la Marseillaise faint in the distance. Paris, the Aire de Villabé, a truckstop on the E15, the taste of a long-haul driver’s cock in my mouth and the feel of his hand on my bare skin as he fondled my bottom. Ah, romance!

Well, dirty, smutty, shame-filled sex anyway, but I wasn’t complaining. After years of reserved, correct behaviour as I climbed the greasy pole of corporate success I’d finally managed to live out one of my favourite fantasies, being made to pay for a lift by sucking the driver’s penis. Well, not made exactly, because both Claude and Jean-Luc had taken quite a bit of persuading before accepting that the very English blonde they’d offered a lift was really up for it, but once they’d got the idea they’d both been everything I could have hoped for.

Three times Jean-Luc had made me go down on him during the long drive, and now was my fourth, and last, to say thank-you for my lift before going into the city to take up my place as 2IC in the company’s French office. I was taking my time, savouring the taste and feel of his cock in my mouth and enjoying the mauling he was giving my bottom, with his hand well in down the back of my panties and one finger teasing the mouth of my cunt. He’d fucked me the night before, with my thighs spread to his thrusts in the little sleeping space at the rear of his cab, but the Aire de Villabé was a little too public for me to strip off, for all that my jeans were already unfastened and my jumper and top up over my boobs.

I was fairly sure I was about to get my mouthful when he did it, suddenly and with no warning at all. He didn’t even bother to ask, but merely pulled me off his cock, flipped me over and scrambled around to mount me from behind. I hadn’t even had a chance to get my jeans and panties down properly before he was up me, his massive, calloused hands gripping my hips as he pushed his cock in. Fortunately I was soaking wet and took it easily, but as I came up onto my hands and knees to get more comfortable I found myself looking out of the cab window and through another, into the face of the astonished driver.

For one awful moment we were staring eye to eye, no more than a few feet apart, before I put my head down, my face now burning with blushes and painfully aware that he still had a prime view of my upturned white bottom as I got humped from behind. I was sure he could even see Jean-Luc’s cock going in and out, but my babbled pleas were ignored and my struggles achieved nothing, my hips held in a grip like a vice. If he even knew then he didn’t care, thrusting ever harder into me and grunting like a bull gorilla as I squirmed on his cock, then suddenly whipping it free – not out of sympathy for my embarrassment, but to finish himself off all over my bare bottom, in full view of the other man.

I was left like that, wide-eyed in shock and humiliation, my rear cheeks sticking up like a pair of plum puddings with cream topping running down the sides and his cock rearing up between them as he gave himself a last little rub in my slit, then considerately wiped my bottom down with an oily rag. And that was that, my thank-yous said, my shame and embarrassment brought to a final peak, as wonderful as it was unexpected. I hadn’t even explained to Jean-Luc what I liked. He’d just used me, without the slightest thought for my privacy or dignity, an unspeakable thing to do to a woman – and exactly the sort of thing that’s always going on in my head when I come.

I didn’t know whether to thank him or slap him, but I’ve always been taught not to make a fuss so I simply adjusted my clothes, tidied up as best I could, retrieved my shoulder bag from the sleeping cubicle, kissed him goodbye and left. The man who’d watched me get my fucking was still staring, and he wasn’t the only driver in his cab along the line of maybe thirty lorries, which left me with a long walk of shame, pink-faced with embarrassment and painfully aware that at least a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on my rear view as I made for the services.

Fortunately there were lots of facilities, allowing me to make myself look more or less normal, if not actually respectable. My intention had been to end up looking like a smart, professional woman fresh off the Eurostar and not a dirty little tramp fresh off a lorry driver’s cock, but thanks to Jean-Luc’s rough handling I hadn’t quite succeeded. I’d repaired my make-up and put my hair up in a bun instead of the long blonde ponytail that had allowed me to pass for a student hitch-hiker, but there was no dealing with the oily handprints on the flesh of my hips and bottom cheeks, and on my jeans. Anybody who gave me more than a cursory inspection was going to realise that I’d been fucked from behind, but I had it all under control.

One of the good things about being turned on by embarrassment is that I can cope with things that would leave many women wanting to curl up into a ball. Another is that I’ve gained plenty of experience in extricating myself from awkward situations. I plan, and this occasion was no exception, but I still started at the sudden sharp voice from behind me.

‘What would do you good, Lucy, is a taste of the whip.’

I’d dropped my lip-gloss and had to squat down and scrabble under the sinks to get it, which put a small, cruel smile on the face of the woman who’d spoken. She had pronounced my name in the French fashion and she looked the part too, quintessentially French and Parisienne – petite, with dark hair cut in a gamine style and wearing skintight black jeans and a cream-coloured roll-neck sweater.

‘You made me jump, Adrienne.’

‘Not as high as you’d jump to my dog whip. Stick your bottom out.’

‘Isn’t it a bit public?’

‘Stick your bottom out, Lucy.’

I made a face but obeyed, resting my hands on the sinks and pushing out my bottom to accept a single sharp smack across the seat of my jeans. It was given to put me in my place, which was very definitely on the receiving end where Adrienne was concerned. We’d met during my unsuccessful flat-hunting expedition a fortnight before, sharing an encounter in the Bois de Boulogne which had left it very plain that we each had what the other needed. I’d called her as I drove north in Jean-Luc’s lorry, but I hadn’t expected her to arrive at the Aire de Villabé before me, or to want to assert her dominance on the spot and in the ladies.

A woman came in just as Adrienne’s smack landed across my seat: slightly older, very smart in an urbane style, what they call bon chic bon genre, and the last person I’d have chosen to watch me get a spanking. Adrienne didn’t care, planting a second smack across my bottom as I quickly stood up straight, then marching out of the restroom with me in tow, blushing furiously as I tried to reassert myself with her.

‘I’m staying at the Hôtel l’Aigrette in La Défense, if –’

‘You’re coming with me, for now. We can go to your hotel later.’

‘But Adrienne –’

‘Be quiet, Lucy. Unless you’d like your bottom smacked again, right here?’

We’d come out to the main area of the services, a huge open space with maybe two hundred people to watch me get it if she carried out her threat. I was fairly sure she didn’t mean it, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way, so I shut up, while imagining how it would feel to be put across her knee and spanked in front of so many onlookers. She gave a dry chuckle, no doubt fully aware of what was going on in my head.

‘You call me out to meet you here, thirty kilometres out of town, and you don’t expect to be disciplined? You know how it works, Lucy.’

I did, although I’d expected her to wait until the evening before giving me what I undoubtedly deserved. A man would have done, almost certainly, and probably bought me dinner before coaxing me out of my clothes for punishment and sex, but not Adrienne. She liked to be in charge, in normal life as well as in bed, and that meant doing as I was told. Besides, she was right.

‘I’m sorry. Things got rather complicated.’

‘So I see. I thought you were coming from Calais?’

‘I was, but … but I went to sleep and woke up in Beaune. I had to get another lift.’

‘I’m sure you did, instead of taking the train, but then, the SNCF don’t take the use of a woman’s mouth as payment, do they? Did it work?’

‘Yes, both times, both drivers, Claude and Jean-Luc. I can’t remember exactly how many times they made me go down on them.’

‘I just hope you don’t expect me to kiss you. Stay here.’

She turned back and disappeared inside the building, leaving me wondering what was going on. Her little red Renault was parked at the end of a line of cars in front of the services and I went to stand beside it and wait. She came back holding a bottle of water and spoke immediately, her tone firm but also mocking and cruel.

‘I said, stay by the doors. Stick out your bottom.’

‘But Adrienne, people will see …’

‘How many times do I have to give you an order, Lucy? Stick out your bottom.’

I hesitated, but there weren’t that many people around and I did want to obey, because the shame of what I’d been ordered to do was just too strong for me to resist. Anywhere less anonymous and I wouldn’t have done it, but, as I turned my back and presented myself for her attention once more, I was reasoning that whatever people might think of a grown woman getting her bottom smacked outside a service station, they wouldn’t know that it was me. That only went so far to soothe my feelings as Adrienne’s hand landed across my rear cheeks with a sharp double slap. Quite a few people had noticed, and I was left blushing hotter than when I’d walked away from the lorries, but she wasn’t finished with me yet.

‘Now open your mouth.’

‘What –’

My question was abruptly choked off as she thrust something between my lips, a small, hard bar of soap, the sort they’d had in the ladies’ restroom. It tasted foul, but there was no mistaking the look on her face and I held it in as she offered the water bottle.

‘Take some. Swill it around your mouth. Then get in the car.’

She watched, amused but still full of authority as I took a swallow of water, my expression turning more disgusted by the moment as the soapy taste grew stronger. Yet I knew better than to spit it out and did as I was told, holding my mouthful as I climbed into the passenger seat of the Renault. Adrienne got in beside me and chuckled as she started the car, which was hardly surprising: my cheeks were popping and my eyes beginning to water. I tried to say something, but soap bubbles immediately started to issue from between my lips, leaving me feeling very sorry for myself indeed and painfully turned on as Adrienne rejoined the motorway, talking as she drove.

‘You should see yourself, Lucy. You do look funny, but then, that was my favourite thing about you from the start, the faces you pull when you are punished. I know you love it, but you always look so cross and so stupid at the same time, like you hate to be punished but you can’t stop yourself from taking it because you know what it does to you. This is good, because you deserve this, Lucy, for making me come out here, and for being such a slut. I mean, imagine it, allowing lorry drivers to make you suck them off in return for a lift, and more too, I’ll bet. Did you let them fuck you, Lucy?’

I nodded, deeply ashamed of myself for what I’d done, her every word pushing my feelings higher. Despite my best efforts to keep my mouth shut the soap bubbles had begun to dribble down my face and were hanging from my chin in a little frothy beard. Adrienne gave a tut of contempt at my confession and carried on.

‘I thought as much. You deserve the soap, Lucy, and you deserve what you’re going to get back at my apartment.’

She gave me a knowing look as she finished, then turned her attention back to the road. We’d played together twice, and both times she’d whipped me, her favourite sport and probably what she’d had in mind, but that was quite enough. The little plaited leather dog whip she favoured carried an agonising sting, and she had made me take it kneeling with my bare bottom pushed out in a way that left everything on show but carried none of the intimacy of an old-fashioned over-the-knee spanking.

The traffic was getting heavy and Adrienne stopped talking, leaving me to chew on the bar of soap in my mouth and reflect on the situation I’d got myself into. I did like her, and the way she handled me, and I badly needed safe friends in Paris, but she seemed determined to take full advantage of my sexuality, stripping me of every last shred of dignity. Half an hour we’d been together and already I’d had my bottom smacked in public and my mouth washed out with soap, but all I could do was submit and await my chance to teach her how I like to be dealt with.

She lived in the 16th arrondissement, in a small but select attic apartment off the Avenue Mozart, and exactly the sort of place I had my eye on for my own accommodation once I’d settled into my new job. It was more than an hour’s drive from the Aire de Villabé, but my mumbled requests to spit the soap out were met with refusal and the promise of additional punishment. By the time we arrived I was beginning to feel sick, my mouth was full of bubbles, and I’d had to puff my cheeks out to stop myself swallowing what was left of the bar. Adrienne grinned at my discomfort as I climbed from the car, making queer gulping noises and pointing at my mouth as I struggled to communicate my needs without committing open disobedience. She shook her head.

‘Not until we’re upstairs, little one, and then only because I don’t want mess on my carpet.’

I managed a nod, trying to seem genuinely thankful but wondering what would happen if I turned the tables on her and put her over my knee in the street. She was tiny, lightly built, not particularly strong either, while I not only stood nearly a foot taller but had spent most of the spring at an outdoor training camp, making my muscles lean and hard. It would have been the work of a moment to sit down on the bonnet of the Renault, haul her across my lap, get her out of her jeans and the no doubt fancy panties beneath and spank her until she howled.

Unfortunately I believe in consent and she had made it plain from the first that she only gave, never received. That didn’t stop me thinking about it as I was dragged upstairs by my ear and pushed in at the door of her flat, where I ran for the bathroom to spend five minutes gagging and spluttering over the sink while she stood watching from the doorway. Even when I’d rinsed my mouth a dozen times I could still taste the soap, and my eyes were watering so badly it looked as if I’d been in tears for hours. She merely nodded as I turned to her for inspection.

‘There, and I trust you have learned your lesson? You go with men when I say you go with men. Is that understood?’

I wasn’t sure if she meant it or if it was part of the game we were playing, but I didn’t want to break the moment so I bowed my head as I answered her.

‘Yes, M’selle Adrienne.’

‘Good. Now turn around and put your hands behind your back, with your wrists crossed.’

I obeyed, peering back over my shoulder as I offered her my wrists. She was going to tie me, that much was obvious, and it was sure to be to keep me still for whatever punishment was coming, very possibly in some awkward, embarrassing and painful position. Sure enough, she’d no sooner lashed my wrists together then she pulled me, walking backwards, into her living room. I’d been there before, when I was made to kneel on the sofa with my jeans and panties down behind and my top up over my boobs while I was whipped, but this time she threw the tail of the rope over a beam and hauled my arms up behind my back.

‘I love this flat,’ she said as she did so. ‘It could have been designed for dealing with little tarts like you, Lucy. Open your legs, and pull your back in so that sweet little bottom of yours makes a nice shape. You are a woman, Lucy, and should always try to be elegant and poised, even while you’re being beaten. Now then, let’s have your trousers down, shall we?’

She’d tied the end of the rope to a fitting on the wall and now she put her hands around my waist, pulled open the button of my jeans and unzipped me before tugging them down. My panties followed and I was bare, my bottom fully exposed, not just my cheeks but the rear view of my cunt, and even my anus was on show. I was left like that, shaking badly, the pain already building in my shoulders, as she went into the bedroom to fetch the vicious little dog whip she’d used on me before. She came back and used the whip handle to lift my chin.

‘I see you’re still dirty from your fucking?’

‘I couldn’t get the oil off. His … his hands were dirty, the second lorry driver, Jean-Luc. He took me from behind, holding me by my hips. The man in the next cab saw … saw me getting fucked.’

‘I don’t wish to know the details of your sordid encounters, Lucy, just how many times you made the two men come?’

‘I … I don’t know. Six? Eight?’

‘We’ll call it eight, in your mouth, and you let both of them fuck you?’

‘Yes, but I was counting that.’

‘I wasn’t. You get one stroke for each time you let them come in your mouth and two strokes for each time you let them in up your dirty little cunt, got it? That makes twelve.’

‘Yes, M’selle Adrienne.’

‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other, and in future, if you so much as look at a man without my permission, you get the same treatment. Now then, let’s have your pretty little breasts bare, always a good thing for a punished girl.’

‘Yes, M’selle Adrienne.’

As she spoke she’d pulled up my top and jumper, leaving my breasts exposed and quivering. My nipples were stiff, and when she noticed she gave another little chuckle, amused and full of contempt for my helpless excitement. She made a loop in the whip and stroked the leather over my skin, tracing the shape of my dangling breasts and teasing my nipples.

‘How pathetic you are, Lucy, letting yourself get strung up with your little round bottom all bare and your top pulled up for a whipping – for a whipping, Lucy, like some disobedient slave girl or a reluctant whore way back when. Well, that’s what you want, and that’s what you’re going to get.’

She lashed out with the dog whip, catching me full across my cheeks to lay a line of fire onto my flesh and set me gasping for breath and treading up and down. It hurt like anything, and if I’d been free I’d have tried to stop it, or at least shield my poor burning bottom, but there was nothing I could do. Tied and helpless, I was hers to use as she pleased until she chose to release me, and that meant the full twelve whip strokes, delivered one by one across my naked bottom and hips until I was dancing and jerking on the end of the rope, my hair flying in every direction and my tits jiggling as much as my bottom cheeks.

Adrienne never once spoke, but delivered my whipping with cool detachment, just as if she had been my owner or mistress and I nothing more than a slave girl or a prostitute being given a mechanical, emotionless punishment. I knew it was a lie, and just how excited she was becoming beneath her cool exterior, but even as the twelfth stroke cracked down across my squirming bottom she held her poise. Then she tilted my chin up with the whip handle once more.

‘There we are, Lucy, all done, although I have to say that you weren’t very dignified about it, wriggling around and squealing like that. Do you know what you remind me of? A piglet, that’s what. In fact, I think I shall call you Cochonette in future, at least until you learn to show a little restraint during punishment.’

I didn’t answer, looking up at her through the now bedraggled curtain of my hair. My skin was slick with sweat, my bottom a mess of burning welts, my thighs slippery with the juice from my sex, and the humiliating nickname felt exactly right, rather kind even, as if I were a pet, to be named as she pleased, treated when I was good and punished when I was naughty. I nodded my acceptance, but she wasn’t content, pushing my chin up a little higher and looking down into my face as she addressed me again.

‘What is your new name, Lucy?’

‘Cochonette, M’selle Adrienne.’

‘Good. I think we are beginning to understand one another. I’m going to enjoy owning you, Lucy, my darling. Now, to judge by the smell of you, you want to come, and so do I.’

I’d expected her to be cruel, perhaps leaving my hands tied behind my back as I was put on my knees to lick her to ecstasy, but she quickly unfastened the knot at my wrists and I felt pathetically grateful as I slumped down to the carpet. My shoulders ached and my welts stung badly, but she was right: more than anything else I needed to come. I stripped off my clothes in seconds and crawled nude across the floor to her. As I buried my face between her thighs to lick her cunt, my fingers were already busy with my own.

I hadn’t bargained for the intensity of Adrienne’s feelings for me, nor the way she’d simply taken charge, but over the following couple of weeks I had no time to sort things out with her. She wasn’t the first woman who had treated me like that, and not only do I really rather like it, I find it much easier to just go with the flow, especially when I need to exert strong control over other parts of my life. In this case it was work.

In the short time between my appointment and taking up the position, the French had decided to elect a socialist president, with predictable results. Most of the staff had been transferred, either to London or New York, leaving only a handful of key operators. Juniors aside, these were either too old and set in their ways to want to leave, or simply too French. My boss, M. Montesquieu, fell into both categories.

He would roll up at the office in the late morning, make a few kindly but condescending remarks to people, myself included, then disappear into his office, to emerge shortly after noon and roll out again and off to one or another of his favourite restaurants. Occasionally he would come back in the late afternoon, after taking on board at least one bottle of wine, make a few more remarks, some of them close to actionable, then doze off in the enormous black leather chair behind his office desk. To all intents and purposes, that left me in charge, which meant imposing my will on people who resented me for being younger than they were and in charge, for being English or for being a woman – in some cases for all three.

I had to be pin-sharp all day, every day, so that by leaving time it was sheer bliss simply to give in to Adrienne’s will. She wasn’t even a difficult mistress, because, although she liked to be firmly in control, she believed in punishing me only when I misbehaved. As she was divorced, and in receipt of an ample monthly income from her ex-husband, she had time on her hands. I didn’t have to shop or cook, and I was always welcome at her apartment, which was only a couple of doors down from mine in the Rue de la Cure.