Captive Women

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The Arrangement

Nicole was fascinated by the reclusive Englishman, intrigued by what she had come to regard as his rather odd s****l tastes. The local people, who of course knew nothing of his s****l proclivities, spoke with pride about the rich and powerful English Lord who had chosen “their” chateau for his residence; gossip was rampant, and elaborate explanations were put forth to explain his mysterious presence in France. These speculations were based on very little, since the villagers seldom caught more than a glimpse of his lordship through the tinted glass of his stately Rolls as it passed with serene indifference through their humble streets. When, on that warm summer’s day, the brief handwritten note arrived, inviting her to tea at the chateau, the young French girl was surprised, flattered, and quite naturally intrigued.

It goes without saying that Nicole lost no time in showing the note to Claudine. The two girlfriends shared the modest flat at 29 Rue de Broussard, and much else besides; they were close friends, intimate even. They had no secrets from one another. The excited girls speculated endlessly as to what the unexpected invitation might mean. The obvious implications of a rich older man utterly taken by a pretty young girl, were not lost on them.

Together they took great care, fussing over what Nicole must wear. After much debate, the girls decided on a light weight summer dress -- a simple cotton dress of pale pastel yellow, trimmed in white scalloped lace, with spaghetti straps that would show off her lightly tanned arms, nude shoulders and back, and allow an enticing, yet demurely modest, view of her superb cleavage. A beaded necklace of faux pearls seemed the perfect touch against the tawny skin of her upper chest. For a brief moment Nicole contemplated going without a brassiere, as she sometimes did on occasion, for she was proud of the jutting thrust of her taut young breasts, and besides she liked the sensual feel of the warm cotton fabric pressed against her n*****s. But after studying the thinness of the bodice, she decided that a bit of discretion regarding her choice of underwear was definitely in order.

However, even though the dress was so thin that one could see her legs clearly outlined as she stood in the sunshine, Nicole felt she could get away without a half-slip. Stockings were another matter. Normally, when wearing such a summertime dress, Nicole would have gone bare-legged, but Claudine convinced her that, as an English tea would undoubtedly be a rather formal affair, stockings were definitely in order. In the end, Nicole agreed, but stoutly resisted her girlfriend’s suggestion of pantyhose on such a hot and sticky August day, compromising instead on sheer thigh-high stockings of stretched nylon. Her favorite pair of white, high-heeled sandals were deemed the obvious choice for to be strapped on her feet.

Almost as an afterthought, the question of hat and gloves was raised, Claudine having recalled pictures she had seen of proper ladies taking tea in English gardens, was convinced that white gloves and a large sunhat were, of course, de rigueur. Nicole only laughed at her friend’s quaint notions of what constituted proper decorum. She was a care free spirit, one who enjoyed being free; loose and casual, her suntanned body barely kissed by minimal clothes like her light-weight summer dress.

Finally the day arrived and the two girls, huddled in barely contained excitement, stood watching from behind the curtains of their tiny kitchen window as the gleaming black Rolls Royce nosed its way into the narrow street and pulled up to stop in front of Number 29.

***

As the liveried chauffeur held the door for her, the girl in the yellow dress stepped out of the imposing Rolls to stand for a moment with heels together, squinting up at the pale gray walls of the imposing chateau. She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and strode purposely to the front door, heels clicking on the stone stairs with each measured step. As she stood at the door it opened as if by magic, to reveal the staid figure of an elderly butler standing in the shadows just inside the doorway. The dignified servant bowed his gray-fringed head in welcome, and asked her to follow him into the cool interior. And thus Mademoiselle deB. found herself face to face with the mysterious Lord Breedlowe.

The man who rose to greet her, from behind his dark polished, was tall and lean with high cheekbones and fine patrician features. His thinning gray hair was worn combed straight back from his high-domed brow. But it was the man’s eyes that were his most striking feature -- pale blue, piercing eyes that swept her up and down her body, studying her with cold, almost clinical detachment, before he nodded and extended a hand to her. His hand was soft and well-manicured, and he held her hand gently in his, while he thanked her for coming with courtly formality. There was no doubt this impeccably groomed and well-mannered man was the Lord of the Manor; before him the young woman suddenly felt like an awkward schoolgirl, awed by the refined wealth so evident in her tasteful surroundings, and by the sense of power that emanated from the gray-haired English Lord with the steely blue eyes.

Nicole remembered how nervous she had been at that first meeting; how she sat across from the massive desk, erect, on the edge of a low slung chair, knees pressed together, like an applicant applying for a position -- and indeed that was not far from the mark. A silver tea service had been brought in and quietly placed on the sideboard, but for the moment at least, her host showed no interest in it. Instead, he seemed interested only in her. His eyes took in the delightful sight of the willowy brunette, fresh and young and lightly-tanned in her sleeveless sundress, the shallow scooped bodice of which gaped openly to provide him with an intoxicating view of that cuddly bosom when she leaned forward to accept her cup of tea.

When he told her he had seen her at the beach, and had been studying her, Nicole was flattered, if a bit disconcerted by the news that she had been observed without her knowing it. She was quite an attractive girl, but of course, he added smoothly, she knew that. A pretty girl like her would have a lot of boyfriends, he ventured. Perhaps even someone very special, he asked judiciously. Nicole assured him that, at the moment, there was no one who was “special” to her, and he seemed quite pleased to hear it. He went on to ask her about herself and her family, her friends, and her work at the travel agency. He seemed particularly interested in her current her living arrangements, and when she revealed she had a flat-mate, and he asked her to describe Claudine in some detail for him. After a rather lengthy interview, Lord Breedlowe seemed to have reached his decision.

Now he smiled at her like a benevolent uncle, leaned forward, and spoke in a lowered voice, as if taking the young girl in his confidence. He explained that a man in his position occasionally found it useful to have a “female companion”; Nicole felt a quiet thrill shoot through her at his carefully chosen words. He had been looking for a suitable local girl for some time -- some he could trust. And now, he wondered, if the position might interest her. He waited to see some sign of encouragement, and when Nicole mumbled a few words to express her willingness, he smiled and continued in a more expansive voice.

He wished to make it clear at the outset that what he had in mind was a s****l liaison, he emphasized the word, before continuing in his dry conversational tone; he hoped things could be arranged so that they were not terribly inconvenient for her. She would be required to visit him on a regular basis, say once a month, if that was acceptable to her. Certain things would be expected of her: for example, he wished to freely enjoy the sight of her in various stages of undress. The demands placed on her, would be really quite modest: allowing herself to be admired, allowing the occasional loving caress. Then too, he would want to see her dressed in a way that pleased him, in clothes carefully selected and purchased just for her.

“Oh, yes, there’s one more thing,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “And I hope you don’t mind. From time to time, it may be necessary for you to be spanked. Nothing too severe of course,” he hastened to add when he saw the sudden alarm spring up in her dark brown eyes. “Just a bit of a warm-up of that pretty little derriere of yours, Nicole. Have you ever been spanked before, My Dear?” he asked, mildly curious.

The raven haired girl lowered her head and shook it slowly from side to side. Now Nicole was not unaware of the pleasure some were said to find in the practice -- that peculiarly English institution of disciplining girlish bottoms; the thought of submitting to such a spanking did not entirely displease her. In fact, the very thought gave her a mild tingling sensation for Nicole was a pleasure-loving young woman whose lively appetite and s****l curiosity compelled her to seek ever-new experiences.

“In all things, Nicole, I shall require your absolute obedience,” he continued, “and equally important, your absolute discretion. Finally, I shall expect a one-year commitment from you. If you agree to the conditions that I have outlined, I am prepared to offer a generous payment for your services.”

He then mentioned a sum that the young girl thought of as quite handsome, but when she realized he was talking about English Pound Sterling and not Francs, his largess took her breath away. For a working girl like Nicole, what he offered to her would be a fortune.

Nicole stared at him, unbelieving, while he sat there smiling at her with that self-confident smile and that easy sense of authority he wore like a kindly father; she couldn’t help smiling back. She was inordinately pleased, flattered to find the English gentleman was so obviously taken with her good looks; she told him she would be honored to have such a very generous “arrangement” with him.

“Good!” he pronounced briskly, rubbing his hands together as he got to his feet. “And now perhaps for some tea to celebrate of our new relationship. But first, My Dear, …I should like to see your breasts.”

“Here! Now!” Nicole unsure of what she heard, fumbled in her confusion. It was all happening so fast.

“If you don’t mind.” he replied courteously. “You have such lovely breasts. I’ve seen them before, you know. Surely you’re not adverse to showing your beautiful body?”

“But of course,” she answered with a Gaelic shrug, which she hoped would give an impression of complete indifference, even if it was a sham.

He made it clear as to what he wanted. She was to stand before the desk. She was to take off her dress and brassiere, but she was to leave on her panties, the necklace, stockings and high heels.

***

Nicole now shook off her nervousness and proceeds to reach up behind her, blindly feeling for the zipper at the back of the dress. She opened the dress, and let the loose bodice fall away, keeping her head down, lowered eyes on the floor.

“No, Nicole,” he stopped her abruptly. “Look at me. I want you to always look at me, while you’re taking off your clothes.”

He took his place, sitting back comfortably behind the desk, so that she stood before him as she swept the thin spaghetti straps off the knobs of her shoulders, curling her fingers into the opened neckline and dragging the sagging bodice down, to work the bunched skirt over her hips, before letting it fall to the thickly carpeted floor. With a single delicate step, she stepped out of the puddled dress, to stand before his lordship in her fine silk underwear: a matching set of bra and panties, slick and smooth and cream-colored.

Breedlowe was inordinately pleased to find, that rather than the more common pantyhose, the girl was wearing sheer thigh-high stockings, honey-colored nylons that sheath the evocative feminine contours of a pair of fine tapering legs. The stockings left several inches of smooth thigh flesh delectably exposed between their wide elasticized top bands and the high arching leg bands of her creamy colored panties.

Remembering his order to always keep her eyes on his, Nicole reached up in back to undo her brassiere, slipping the shoulder straps down each arm and gathering up the loosened bra, freeing her firm young breasts for his edification. She was gratified to see the genuine look of approval that came to his smiling eyes when her unfettered t**s juddered into place.

She felt his eyes appraise her willowy body, tanned and lovely, the firmly mounded tight breasts with that same even tan, thrusting out with in bold saucy impertinence; the string of pearls that fell between them, white beads against the tawny skin; the narrow torso and creamy briefs banding her compact hips, and the long tapering thighs that led the eye down the slender lines of slim nyloned legs to the open toes of high heeled sandals strapped on her feet. He beckoned her to him, and she came around the desk, thinking he wanted to take her. But he only meant for her stand closer, no more than an arms-length away, so he could more closely appreciate her beauty. He had her turn around for him, pirouetting in place, to present her back: long and gently sloped with a pair of neat high-domed buttocks encased in the snugly fitted panties. He studied the seductive curve of that pantied behind that sat poised just inches away. The high-cut leg bands arch up to leave a generous portion of Nicole’s pert cheeks and smooth haunches all left deliciously bare.

He let the girl stand there while he regarded her in silence. Nicole could feel a tingling of anticipation as she stood with hands at her side, waiting for his touch. But to her surprise he didn’t touch her, not then, not that first time. Instead, he dryly announced that it is time they had their tea, and she was politely asked to resume her seat. But when she moved to retrieve her discarded clothing, he stops her. He wants her to serve him, and then to pour herself a cup, and take tea with him dressed so provocatively -- just as she was.

And so it was Nicole first met the peculiar English Lord: The French girl, now topless, in a pair of cream-colored panties, sitting awkwardly in the low curved-backed chair, easing back to cross her stockinged legs with an air of nonchalance that she doesn’t really feel. She holds the cup and saucer before her, as she endeavors to make small talk with a man who can’t take his eyes off her. The wealthy Englishman, cool and detached, calmly sips his tea, watching her over the rim of the cup with blue unwavering eyes.