V E R A
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Waking up a couple of hours before I was supposed to be at work, I decided to take advantage of the time by slowly getting ready for the day. Slipping out of my clothes, I remembered that the water temperature had been fixed last night. Instantly put into a good mood, I stood under the shower head for a few minutes, allowing my body to adjust to the almost scorching hot drops—my favorite kind of showers.
While I placed my left leg on the edge of the bathtub and placed a layer of shaving cream from my ankle up, I suddenly let my mind wander to the things I experienced yesterday. Creating streaks with a cheap razor over my soft skin, my thoughts once again narrowed in on the BDSM exhibit.
Although I was heavily interested in BDSM, I still didn't see myself as a submissive or a masochist. While the many facets associated with the lifestyle excited me, due to my lack of experience, I still wasn't sure where I fit in.
As I started to think about what it would be like if I got the chance to satisfy my curiosity, my mind brought me to Mr. Dupont, Damien, again. The only plausible reason for creating a room like that was because he was a part of that world himself, right? To know so much that you have every kind of contraption, toy, and restraint available for use, you'd have to be participating in those kinds of activities.
I couldn't come up with any other explanation. Hell, he hinted at it himself when he told me all that stuff about how being punctual is an act of discipline, blah blah blah. Cordelia also exposed that he was a man that craved control. There was no way this man wasn't bending women over his knee every chance he got.
In an attempt to stop thinking about him, I only became more aroused. As I finished shaving my body bare, I started to lather my hair with shampoo as well as conditioner before working on my body. Scrubbing every curve, the soap started to foam all over. Washing off the bubbles, my fingers roamed every inch of skin, causing me to create an image in my head that someone else was touching me instead.
I imagined someone standing behind me, gripping my throat with their hand, forcing me to look back at them as they fucked me with aggression. I imagined someone bending me over the bathroom sink and spanking me until my ass was completely red and I was unable to beg for any more. I imagined being completely restrained while having two fingers inside of me, keeping me from reaching my climax, unable to suppress my moans.
Just thinking about those things was enough to orgasm on the spot. However, I hadn't been able to bring myself to a climax in quite a while. The thoughts that ran rampage in my mind always had me wanting more and my fingers weren't giving me the release I needed, now more than ever.
Letting out a bothered sigh, I finished rinsing off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body.
Moving over to the bathroom counter, I squeezed any excess water out of my hair and ran a few creams through it before letting it air dry. Pushing my hair behind my shoulders, I dried off the rest of my body and looked for my outfit.
Today being another chilly day, I slipped into yet another long-sleeve black dress, this one having a turtleneck and an oval cut-out at the chest. Deciding that the knitted material would be enough to keep me warm, I placed my coat back onto the rack.
Pulling on another pair of sheer stockings and noticing the scratches on my knee, I made a promise to myself that I would do everything to keep these ones from ripping. A mental note to stop being so clumsy.
Noticing that I had a little less than an hour before I had to be at the museum, I sat on the floor and placed all of my makeup in front of me. Looking at myself in the huge circle mirror I had found at the boutique yesterday, I pushed my hair behind my ears.
Sighing, I started to pick out my flaws. From the hyperpigmentation and dark circles on my face to the way my ears stuck out a little, I had struggled my entire life to find things that I liked about myself. Every time I looked into a mirror, it was a reminder that I was stuck with all of this.
But while I had my days where I wanted nothing more than to cover up and not show myself to anyone, I somehow always reminded myself that this was the only body I was going to get and it took care of me and that was what truly mattered.
I think that's another reason why I grew to love art so much. No matter how messy the strokes of a painting were, someone was always going to be able to find the beauty in it.
As I finished applying my makeup, I took my hair from behind my ears and tried to shape my round face with two shorter strands that had grown out from my short-lived bangs phase. Pleased with my look for the day, I slipped into a pair of platform boots, grabbed my bag off the bed as well as the extra things I bought for my office and headed out.
❦
With twenty minutes to spare, I had reached the museum and decided on getting something to eat from the cafe that Cordelia told me about yesterday. After bringing the box full of miscellaneous decor and organization pieces to my office, I found my way back downstairs, looking for the cafe.
Reaching a big archway with doors that had Café Plaisir written across the top, I pulled open one of the doors and walked through. The aroma that filled the air was baked goods, coffee, and a hint of cigarette smoke.
Walking up to a glass case full of chocolate delicacies, I attempted to ask the man behind the divider for a crêpe.
"Uh, une crêpe au chocolat, s'il vous plaît."
Laughing at my pronunciation, he grabbed the dessert and placed it onto a plate, handing it to me over the glass case. Pulling some money from my bag, I looked back up and tried to pay for my food but the man had disappeared into the kitchen.
"It's free, Miss Adams. You don't have to pay for your guilty pleasures here." The same deep, sultry voice that had startled me yesterday filled my ears.
Turning around, I was once again, face to face with Mr. Dupont.
"Thank you." The only words I could get out whilst trying to regain my balance again as this man had a habit of sneaking up on people.
"Be careful, I don't want you to make a mess again." He stated. I laughed, thinking he was making a joke but soon realized he was being completely serious when he didn't join me. I cleared my throat and composed myself.
"I promise I won't make another mess. It's just, you have a pattern of sneaking up on people without making a noise. It's kind of scary. Is that like, your thing?" I asked, mentally pinching myself to make sure I wouldn't start laughing again.
"My thing? I don't have a thing, Miss Adams. I do have you working in a place filled with valuable items and want to make sure you're not going to break everything I own." He said, the seriousness on his face not lifting for a second.
"Got it." I said, walking past him, slightly grazing his shoulder with mine. As I placed my bag on the corner of a chair, I set my plate onto the round table and sat down. Taking a bite from my crêpe, Mr. Dupont joined me. A full minute passed where we just exchanged stares.
"I was told that you met Nicolas." He started, taking a sip from the cup of coffee in his hand.
"That is correct." I responded.
"And how'd you like him?" He asked.
"Uh, good? I guess? Glad he's a coworker? That's a really weird question to ask." I responded, silently cursing myself for answering him in a mouthy way, yet again.
"I'm going to pretend like you didn't just answer your boss like that. Let's start over—what did you think of him? He's a very close colleague of mine and I want to ensure that the person that will be working for me, you, is able to get along with him." He answered with a stern look on his face.
"Sorry," I swallowed. "From the few minutes that I talked with him, he seems to be nice and very easy to get along with, you won't have to worry about me causing any problems." I debated telling him about how his friend had called him a big bully and told me to be patient when it came to the man sitting across from me. I decided to keep my mouth shut.
He nodded and continued staring at me, almost like he was trying to read my thoughts. To say I was feeling a bit uncomfortable and out of place would be an understatement. It felt like the man was looking right through me.
"Miss Adams, I have a question for you," He said, pausing for a second. "How did you like The Valley?"
Slightly choking on my food, I looked at him with wide eyes. I swallowed the piece of crêpe I had just bit and started anxiously tapping my heels on the ground.
"I don't mean to be rude, sir, but that's highly inappropriate—" I tried, fidgeting with my hands.
"If you'd like to discuss inappropriate, we can talk about the way you've discussed your feelings towards sex yesterday in my office. I promise you, this isn't any worse, Miss Adams." He retorted, lifting one of his eyebrows. "Now, tell me. What did you think of the interactive exhibit?"
All I could do was take another bite of my crêpe. Taking a minute to answer, I tried to carefully think of the next few things I was about to say to him.
"Well, I had told you earlier that I didn't know enough about it," I stated, still looking for the right words. "And while I got a chance to look around, it still doesn't change the fact that I have no experience with that kind of stuff."
At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to drop off the face of the earth. To openly admit to your boss, out of all people, that you had no experience when it came to something as intense as BDSM was entirely embarrassing.
"But what did you feel while you were in there?" He kept pushing for a proper answer out of me.
What did he want me to say? That I felt fear while also feeling complete bliss while I was in there? That I wanted someone to gag me, tie me up and have their way? Make me beg? That I wanted to go home and look in the mirror and see my ass stained red from someone's hands and see hickies placed all over my body, constantly giving me flashbacks of getting madly pounded while I cried out in ecstasy? That I wanted a chance to experience every single thing that that room had to offer?
"I felt..." I started, coming to the realization that I wasn't going to find an escape out of this conversation. "I felt at peace."
So I settled for the truth.
He straightened out and sat up. The look of curiosity on his face was quickly replaced with an upset one. A slight trace of what I could only describe as rage, sat in his eyes.
"I don't think you're aware of what you're saying," He snapped back, causing me to sink a bit into my chair. "You haven't experienced anything within that room and yet you claim you're at peace. BDSM is not what you think it is. It isn't some fantasy world you've created in your head—"
Immediately sitting back up, I grew tired of hearing him tell me how to feel.
I knew this feeling all too well. My entire life up until this point was always filled with my parents telling me that I didn't know what I wanted. My mother and father constantly saying that I was too naive or too much of a child to fully comprehend what I needed out of life. That they knew better.
In actuality, all I ever did was be open-minded. I wanted more for myself than what my parents wanted for themselves and they shot me down for it, every single time. And every single time, I had let them.
But this situation was different. We weren't talking about finding a career that made money or what the consequences would be if I moved to a different country. We were discussing me, purely me. The last thing I was going to let happen right now was allow him, regardless of him being my boss, to tell me that I didn't understand what I wanted.
"Mr. Dupont, I'm fully aware of what I'm saying. You asked me how I felt and I answered. Regardless of my experience with this specific lifestyle, I know better than anyone else what exactly it is that I want." I interrupted with a newfound confidence, which I knew could very well turn south in a few minutes. "You know, I shouldn't even be telling you these things but since you wanted to know so badly—yes, the minute I stepped into your little exhibit, I knew at the moment that I wanted it all. You can tell me differently all you want but right now, I'm telling you—I felt at peace."
At that moment, the man sitting across from me couldn't hide his resentment for me any longer. I went back and forth, debating whether or not I should push him the same way he pushed me.
But before I could stop myself, the words left my mouth.
"And based on my knowledge, sir, being in that room—I'm sure you feel right at home too."