Chapter 31
Audrey
I looked down at the warm water swirling around my feet, my heart pounding in my chest. The question hung in the air between us, demanding an answer I wasn’t sure I was ready to give. And yet…
“Yes,” I whispered, the admission feeling like both surrender and victory. “God help me, I do love him.”
Madame Dubois nodded, her expression softening into something almost maternal.
“Then perhaps, Mademoiselle, what happened downstairs was more than just a scene for your master’s pleasure.
” She wrung out the cloth one final time before rising to her feet with that same graceful efficiency.
“It may have been a glimpse of the future he envisions for you both.”
My mind reeled at the implication. Could Pierre truly be considering something so permanent? Marriage? The idea seemed simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.
“But the way he uses me,” I said, my voice catching. “The things he makes me do…”
“Are exactly what you need,” Madame Dubois finished for me, her tone matter-of-fact. “I’ve watched you closely since your arrival, Mademoiselle. You bloom under his control. Your body responds to his discipline in ways that cannot be faked.”
I couldn’t deny the truth of her words. Each humiliation, each painful lesson had driven me deeper into a submission I’d never known I craved. The shame of it still burned, but beneath that shame lay something profound—a sense of rightness, of belonging.
“Come,” Madame Dubois said, helping me to my feet. “Let’s get you ready for dinner. Monsieur is waiting.”
She led me back into the bedroom, where she retrieved the black lingerie set from earlier. I bit my lip as Madame Dubois expertly fastening the hooks of the basque up my spine, cinching my waist and pushing my breasts up until they threatened to spill over the lacy cups.
“The stockings as well?” I asked, glancing at the sheer black nylons.
“Of course,” she replied. “Monsieur appreciates attention to detail.”
I sat on the edge of the bed as she rolled the stockings up my legs, attaching them to the suspenders with practiced skill.
I stepped back into the tiny panties, wincing as the delicate lace brushed against my tender flesh.
The high heels completed the ensemble, transforming me from punished girl to something more deliberately seductive.
“Perfect,” Madame Dubois pronounced, stepping back to assess her work. “Now remember, Mademoiselle—your punishment is complete. Dinner is a reward, not a continuation of your discipline.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath to steady myself. The thought of sitting through a formal dinner wearing only lingerie still mortified me, but after what had transpired in the library, it seemed almost tame by comparison.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “For everything.”
Madame Dubois smiled, a rare softening of her usually professional demeanor. “You’re welcome, Mademoiselle. Now, shall we go down? Monsieur doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I followed her out of the Lavender Suite and down the grand staircase, acutely aware of how exposed I felt in just the lingerie.
Each step in the high heels made my body sway in ways that emphasized my femininity, my vulnerability.
The welts from the cane still throbbed beneath the tiny panties, a constant reminder of my submission.
As we approached the dining room, I heard the low murmur of male voices. My heart raced, my palms suddenly damp with nervous perspiration. Madame Dubois paused at the doorway, giving me an encouraging nod before announcing our arrival.
“Mademoiselle Campbell, Monsieur,” she said formally.
I stepped into the room, my eyes immediately finding Pierre.
He sat at the head of the elegant table, still in his dinner jacket, looking every inch the aristocratic master of the chateau.
Monsieur Dubois stood nearby, a decanter of wine in his hands.
Both men turned to look at me, their gazes traveling over my scantily clad form with undisguised appreciation.
“Audrey,” Pierre said, his voice warm with approval. “You look exquisite. Come, sit beside me.”
He gestured to the chair at his right. I crossed the room on trembling legs, feeling the weight of their eyes as I moved. The cool air of the dining room moved over my exposed skin, making my nipples tighten against the lace of the basque.
Pierre stood as I approached, pulling out my chair with old-world courtesy that seemed bizarrely at odds with my state of undress. I sat carefully, wincing slightly as my tender bottom made contact with the cushioned seat.
“Wine for Mademoiselle, Etienne,” Pierre instructed, resuming his own seat.
Monsieur Dubois stepped forward, filling my glass with a deep ruby liquid. “A Chateau Margaux, 2010,” he informed me. “One of Monsieur’s favorites.”
I murmured my thanks, taking a small sip to steady my nerves. The wine was exquisite, rich and complex on my tongue. Across the table, Madame Dubois began serving the first course—a delicate soup that smelled of herbs and butter.
“Did you enjoy your riding lesson today, Audrey?” Pierre asked conversationally, as if inquiring about a perfectly normal activity.
I nearly choked on my wine, the memory of being naked astride étoile flooding back with vivid clarity. “It was… educational, Monsieur,” I managed, my cheeks heating.
“I thought so,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You have natural talent, though your posture will need work. I’ve asked Etienne to schedule regular lessons during your stay.”
My stomach fluttered at the thought of more ‘riding lessons’ like today’s. Would the Duboises be present for those as well? The idea should have horrified me, yet I couldn’t deny the shameful excitement it provoked.
“What do you think of the soup?” Pierre asked, changing the subject with practiced ease.
“It’s delicious,” I replied truthfully, grateful for the momentary reprieve from more provocative topics.
Every bite seemed to have every possible delicious thing in it: onions, leeks, even luscious bacon that somehow both gave its smoky note to the soup as a whole and retained a bit of extra, pleasantly chewy flavor in each lardon.
“Aimee’s specialty,” Pierre said with an appreciative nod toward the housekeeper. “A family recipe passed down through generations. So ancient it doesn’t even have a name—we just call it country soup.”
The meal progressed with surprising normality, despite my state of undress.
Pierre directed the conversation toward art, literature, and music, drawing me out on topics I felt comfortable discussing.
The Duboises served each course with professional efficiency, their eyes occasionally lingering on my exposed flesh, but their demeanor remaining perfectly composed.
By the time the roast arrived I had almost forgotten my near-nakedness. The wine had relaxed me, and Pierre’s genuine interest in my opinions had made me feel valued in ways that transcended the physical.
“Audrey,” Pierre said as Monsieur Dubois poured coffee, “I’ve been thinking about your work at Energy Partners.”
I looked up, surprised by this turn in the conversation. “Yes?”
“The project you mentioned—about renewable energy implementation in rural communities, through behavioral incentives. I believe I might be interested in funding it directly.”
My heart skipped a beat. The project had been my passion since arriving in Paris, but budget constraints had kept it theoretical rather than practical. “Really? That would be… amazing.” I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice.
“I’d need to see a proper proposal, of course,” Pierre continued, his tone businesslike in spite of the incongruity of discussing professional matters with me in lingerie. “But I’ve reviewed your preliminary work on the Energy Partners website, and it shows promise.”
A strange feeling washed over me—gratitude mingled with confusion.
This was what I’d wanted professionally, yet it came packaged with a personal dynamic I never could have imagined.
Pierre was simultaneously offering me career advancement and training me as his sexual submissive.
The dichotomy should have felt jarring, but somehow it didn’t.
The idea that he’d actually gone to the decidedly unglamorous website to look me up filled my chest with a warm glow I couldn’t deny.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “I’d be happy to prepare a formal proposal.”
Pierre nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Good. We’ll discuss the details tomorrow.” He turned to Madame Dubois. “Aimee, the meal is excellent as always.”
“Merci, Monsieur,” she replied with a small bow of acknowledgment.
As we ate the succulent beef, Pierre began to speak of his family history.
“My ancestors fought in the First Crusade,” he told me, his voice rich with pride as he pointed to a coat-of-arms high on the wall of the dining room. “The Lemieux name has survived revolutions, world wars, economic collapses. We’ve always adapted while maintaining our core principles.”
I listened, fascinated by this glimpse into the heritage that had shaped him.
“I suppose it seems odd,” he said after a thoughtful pause, “that someone with my background would be so interested in something as modern and American as the New Modesty program.”
“I’ve wondered about that,” I admitted softly.
Pierre put down his fork, turning to face me fully. His expression grew more intense, more focused.
“I think what appeals to me is that the New Modesty preserves the traditional relationship between the genders,” he explained, his hand finding mine and enveloping it.
“Throughout history, society functioned best when there was a natural order—when a strong protector, like a knight or a prosperous businessman, could guide a young woman toward her best self, as well as give her opportunities to prosper at his side.”