Le Français Pt. 03

"Good girl," he said softly. "Now go upstairs.Lentement."

Chapter 18

"Slower, Detective," Marc ordered, following Sinead up the stairs.

While the redhead has a small bust, her ass was a perfect example of what a slender woman would aspire to carry around. It was full and firm without looking huge on her, built over what Marc could only assume was years of athletics as a teen and long into adulthood. It jiggled just enough to entice, and her hips naturally swayed as she walked. Especially as she climbed the stairs up to his loft.

Sinead looked over her shoulder at Marc and realized why he was demanding she walk slower and shot him a scowl, but she followed the order.

Marc smiled to himself and watched as the beautiful detective climbed his stairs. It was a simple pleasure, but one he enjoyed immensely.

At the top, in the loft portion of the apartment, he directed Sinead with a light hand in the centre of her back, just below her shoulder blades. She tensed slightly, her skin goose-pimpling under his touch, but didn't object. He turned her toward the bed and stopped her at the foot, standing next to her.

"These are for you, Detective," he said. The dress was sleek and black and would hug her body tightly at the stomach and hips but remained loose and daring at the bust. Only a woman with the build of Sinead would be able to carry it off - he bought different styles of dresses for Felicity with her exceptionally large bust, and it had been a fun diversion to find something he thought would suit the Detective. Along with the dress were matching heels - he'd been conservative with the stilettos and chosen a simple three-inch heel and closed-toe since it was winter, though he had a feeling Sinead could wear taller. He had also lain out a simple necklace and earring combo in silver, which would match her silver French-tipped nails by kismet.

"Um..." Sinead said, looking at the outfit. Well, that and the final piece of accessory that was laid out for her. "Is this what I think it is?"

"It's aplug anal," Marc said with a soft smile. "A buttplug, though I think it sounds better in French, yes?"

Sinead shook her head slowly, not responding to him.

"Detective, I am surprised," Marc said. "You have not used aplug anal before?"

"No," Sinead said, then looked at him. The anger and frustration were gone for the moment, replaced by uncertainty. "I've never, ah..."

"Ah,je comprends," Marc nodded and rubbed his hand softly on her bare back to assure her. "This is new for you. Don't worry,petite rebelle, it is simple and I think you will find it pleasurable after the initial surprise. And it is fairly self-explanatory to use, but itis necessary." He let his voice harden a little, to make the following an order even though he offered her options. "Would you like to put it in yourself, or would you prefer if I help you?"

She swallowed and looked back at the dress, shoes, jewellery and buttplug. She picked up the silver device and held it, feeling the weight of it and rubbing her finger along the smooth, metallic surface. "I- I'll do it," she said.

"Bien," Marc nodded and then gestured her towards the en suite. "You may go into the washroom. There is anal lube ready on the counter for you."

Sinead was flushed a little pink as she gripped the plug tighter and stared at the open door to the washroom and then walked toward it without looking back at Marc again. Her expression was conflicted, which told Marc that he was walking a fine line here.An anal virgin, he thought, still a little surprised by that revelation. With her ass, tough demeanour, secret kinky side and the fact that she'd been married - Marc had assumed she would have at least experimented herself, if not with her ex-husband. He wasn't surehow he felt about it; at his age virginity was almost a turn-off because it meant the woman wasn't sure what she wanted or liked. It was one of the many reasons he'd taken up his arrangement with Felicity to begin with.

But hehad Felicity, and Astrid's quips were still in his head. About breaking in his new playmate properly, and how Felicity had been 'too easy.'

Sinead was a challenge, and a woman who seemed worth the effort.

"Marc?" Sinead called. She'd entered the washroom and had mostly closed the door, but left it open a crack. Marc hadn't even noticed that until she called for him, and he wondered if she'd done that on purpose hoping that he would peek. Or checking if he would after he'd offered her privacy.

Marc went to the door and opened it fully, finding Sinead standing in front of the sink and mirror, looking at him with that same conflicted expression with a touch more embarrassment thrown in now. The bottle of lube was in front of her and she was holding the plug. "Yes?" he asked.

"I... Can you...?" she asked.

"Can I what?" Marc asked back, knowing he was toying with her a little.

Her embarrassment subsided slightly to be replaced by frustration. "If you want this in my ass, you'll need to do it yourself," she said. "I can't."

Marc tutted as he smiled and entered the washroom, moving to stand beside her. "Of course,ma petite rebelle," he said. "Now, bend over slightly and spread your legs." She glared at him in the mirror but did so, pushing her bum out slightly. "Good," Marc encouraged her. "Now, take this hand and spread your perfect little buttcheek for me." She swallowed and did that, exposing some of her most intimate parts as she watched Marc like a hawk. But Marc didn't even look, knowing the power he was holding over her. Shewanted him to look, to be the monster that would abuse her vulnerability.

The game wasn't to give her what she wanted on the surface.

Marc picked up the bottle of lube and quickly applied a small dollop to his fore and middle finger, then placed that hand on the small of her back, slowly sliding the fingers down the cleft of her ass until he could feel the dimple of her asshole. At the same time, he maintained eye contact with Sinead in the mirror, and he could feel himself getting hard as she shuddered and her body clenched a little as his fingers found their target.

"Now breathe in," Marc told her, and she did. "And out." She exhaled slowly through her nose, and as she reached the end of the breath out Marc inserted his middle finger into her asshole up to the first knuckle.

"Tres bien, Detective," Marc crooned softly. Her body was stiff now, her asshole clenching around his finger, but she didn't cry out. Didn't even tear up. She looked at him with an expression caught between shock and surprise.

"Now breathe again," Marc ordered her, and after a moment she sucked in another breath. "Good," Marc said softly. "We'll go slow. Don't worry."

Chapter 19

Sinead looked at herself in the mirror, trying to reconcile everything that had happened in the last five minutes.

Her ass feltfull. It wasn't a feeling she was used to, and for some reason the fact that it hadn't really hurt was the confusing part about it all. Also, the fact that she'd had a man's fingers up there.

Marc had forced her to let him finger her butt, and then push that plug up there. It was smooth and cold at first, but it was already coming to a neutral temperature so it just felt... there. The problem was,had he forced her? She'd asked him to do it.

Maybethat was the part that was confusing her so much.

Once it was in, he hadn't even so much as patted a buttcheek before he'd left her. He'd just said she'd done a good job, and that she could take a minute to collect herself. And she'd beenthankful for that when he said it.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" Sinead muttered to herself.

A simple, elegant clock on the wall told her that their reservation was approaching fast, and she shunted her worries and confusion to the back of her mind. All of this was to serve her case, and she wasn't about to let all of this go to waste by not getting to dinner on time. Standing, Sinead took a breath and looked at herself in the mirror again, shifting the lock of hair that had fallen askew over her face back into place. The stylists had... she still couldn't really believe how she looked. She'd always known she was attractive and had put effort into that, but this was on another level. She didn't look different, she looked like an idealized version of herself.

It was just another confusing thing Marc was doing.

Clenching her fists, Sinead walked out of the washroom to find Marc waiting for her. With thatfucking smile of his.

"How does it feel?" he asked.

"Weird," Sinead answered truthfully.

"It will for a while," Marc nodded. "Let me see?"

Sinead narrowed her eyes and might have even flinched a little at the request.

"Sinead," Marc said sternly. "Bend over the bed."

She did, moving to the foot and putting her hands down on either side of the gorgeous dress she was supposed to wear. And then she reached back with one hand, like in the bathroom, and spread one ass cheek.Why am I doing that? She asked herself.He didn't ask for that. She didn't have an answer, so she kept doing it, letting him look at her. She felt the heat rushing up from her chest again into her cheeks. When it became too much she released her ass cheek and put her hand down to brace herself again.

Marc came up behind her, standing just next to her, and Sinead felt her body tense. He was going to spank her for stopping. Or for hesitating. She could practically feel his hand striking her skin, anticipating it. Anticipating the crack and the sting.

"Magnifique," he said. "You may dress now, Detective. I will be a moment changing, myself, and then we must leave to make our reservation."

He left, and Sinead stood up, gulping a little. Marc went into the walk-in closet, leaving her alone.

What was that? She thought. Her pussy was fucking wet! She could understand, sort of, how everything in the washroom might have turned her on, but why the hell was she more horny now than before? This wasn't supposed todo that. Why wouldimagining him spanking her do that? Why would she imagine it to begin with?

Frustrated with herself, Sinead let out a grunt and sigh, then turned to the dress.

"Marc?" she called after a moment.

"Yes?" he called back.

"There's no underwear here," she said.

"You don't need any with that dress,petite rebelle," he called from the closet.

She'd known that would be the answer, and wasn't sure whether she'd hoped he would have given her an out or not.

Sinead picked up the dress and examined it some more. The fabric, whatever it was, felt amazing in her hands and she immediately knew it had to be expensive as hell. Why did he have a dress like this? How many other women had worn it? Was he actually some serial killer freak, and this was his ritual before he killed her?

She knew that was ridiculous, and she put on the dress. It fit her perfectly. The fabric felt sexy against her skin, which she wasn't sure how to take. Her breasts felt completely exposed without anything cupped to them, but when she looked in the mirror she saw the cress exposed a swathe of the centre of her chest but fully covered her from any danger of exposing herself. Unless she decided to pull it aside, there wouldn't be any nip slips.

Or if he does.

She was fairly certain he wouldn't though.

The bottom hem of the dress hugged her thighs - it wasn't a mini skirt, and she wasn't at risk of flashing anything, but it was still short enough that she was keenly aware of the fact that she wasn't wearing any underwear. She put on the heels, which again fit her perfectly and made her wonder how he knew her shoe size, but they matched the dress perfectly.

Another glance in the mirror and she felt... she wasn't sure. Sinead knew how good she looked in that moment. Knew that she didn't just look like a snack. She looked... beautiful wasn't right either.

She looked sophisticated. She looked like she could have been going to a gala.

Marc came out of the closet as she was putting on the earrings - silver hoops that were well under the size of looking slutty, but much more than the studs she usually wore.

"Ah," he said, smiling as he came up behind her holding the necklace. It was a thin chain with a silver rose pendant, and she automatically pulled her hair to the side as he reached around her and fastened it behind her neck. It was an intimate gesture, something she remembered from the very earliest stages of her marriage. Something that had gone by the wayside within months, and years before the divorce.

"La perfection. Quel beau couple, tu ne trouves pas?" Marc said, looking at her over her shoulder in the mirror. He looked handsome himself in the dark suit. "Come, Detective. Your investigation awaits."

Chapter 20

Marc drove, escorting Sinead down to the parking structure under his loft building and opening the car door for her. She was wearing her leather jacket over the dress, which he was happy to see worked as he'd suspected and looked stylish. Getting her a whole new coat or jacket to go with the dress seemed overkill.

Sinead seemed nervous and quiet during the ride - not in a timid way, but in a focused one. Her dress rode up a little sitting in the passenger seat, exposing a good deal of her thighs, but Marc limited himself to a couple of glances. He pulled right up to George and got out, coming around the car as the valet opened the door for Sinead. He got there in time to offer the redhead his arm to help her stand, and she took it. Dropping the keys with the valet, along with the twenty as a pre-tip for the service, he escorted Sinead into the restaurant. They were met at the front by Sophie, the maitre d' who had arranged his last-minute reservation, and he noticed that she raised an eyebrow seeing him accompanied by someone other than Felicity.

Still, she began leading Marc and his 'date' towards his usual preferred table but he hesitated to follow as Sinead put a hand on his arm.

"We need to sit over there," Sinead whispered, nodding towards the far end of the restaurant.

"Sophie," Marc called quietly. "Would it be possible to move to the east side of the dining room?"

Sophie came back to the host stand, checking the reservations quickly. "That can be arranged, Monsieur Fornier." Marc could tell by the gleam in her eye that Sophie wasdefinitely intrigued by the changes to Marc's usual desires. He certainly didn't patronize George on a weekly or bi-weekly basis, but once every month or two was certainly enough that the highly trained staff knew of his usual wants and needs.

"Thank you," Sinead whispered quietly to Marc as they followed Sophie through the restaurant. It was the middle of their service time, so the place was about two-thirds full and likely to reach capacity within the next half hour.

"Merci, Sophie," Marc said as she presented them with a table. He quickly palmed a twenty into her hand as he shook it with both of his and then stepped around to pull out a chair for Sinead. She sat, and Marc slipped into the seat across from her. "Have I mentioned that you look radiant, Sinead?" he asked. "Comme le soleil qui perce à travers les nuages."

Sinead gave a little grimace of a smile as her eyes flicked to the table next to theirs where three men were sitting. "You know I'm not fluent," she said. "I don't know what you're saying when you speak that quickly."

Marc smiled to himself. "I suspected," he said. "But that makes complimenting you all the more fun."

She rolled her eyes and looked at the other table again.

"Is that?" Marc asked, trying not to draw attention while keeping his voice at a normal speaking level.

The Detective nodded.

Marc took his own surreptitious glance. Of the three men, one was white and the other two were darker skinned. The white man seemed to be in his mid-thirties, with what Marc judged to be an Eastern European look to him, maybe from somewhere in the Balkans. He wore a decent suit, though it could use a little tailoring to fit him properly, and had the beginnings of a widow's peak forming that Marc had a feeling the man would fight as long as he could. The two other men were both black, one wearing his hair in dreadlocks arranged into a neat tail, while the other was bald with his scalp polished until it reflected the light. From the sound of their accents, they were from the Caribbean, maybe Jamaica.

"So a good table, then?" Marc asked with a grin.

"Very," Sinead said and shot him a thankful look.

The sommelier approached, and Marc smiled as he greeted the man, then glanced across at Sinead again. "Do you mind if I order for us, Sinead? I think I have a good sense of what you might enjoy."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Surprise me," she agreed.

Marc smiled and turned, ordering in French.

Chapter 21

The fact that the food was distracting her from trying to listen in on Victor and his Jamaican guests was annoying the hell out of Sinead.

Marc had ordered a bottle of wine for each of them, and then they'd started with a gazpacho - definitely not something that Sinead would have ordered. Who the fuck liked cold soup?

Well, apparently she did.

The dish had been overrun with flavour and she couldn't get over how delicious it had been. Then had come some sort of tuna sashimi, but fused with French techniques and served with a jasmine-infused soy sauce and rhubarb. She'd almost fallen out of her chair on the first bite.

Now they were onto their their main course, and Marc had ordered them both the veal tenderloin which was served on a bed of fresh corn (where they got fresh corn in the middle of winter in Canada, Sinead couldn't guess) that had been seasoned perfectly, along with a plum sauce that was nothing like what she would get in the grocery store. It was creamy and rich and she wanted to lick her fucking plate when she was done, so she was eating in little bites just to savour it.

The problem was that, even though the food was great, and when she focused she could listen in on the conversation happening over at Berisha's table, she was also having fun.

"So, go back to the last story," Marc said, smiling that fucking smile of his in-between bites. "You had a look when you talked about graduation from college."

Sinead smiled and rolled her eyes a little. "It was nothing," she said. "Just a silly dare between a few of us."

"Well, clearly it wasn't nothing," Marc chuckled. "I can't tell by the way you're smiling."

"Stop," Sinead laughed, reaching over and patting his arm. "Fine. There was a group of us that only wore our underwear under our graduation gowns. One of the boys even went naked."

"Lingerie, or something more normal?" Marc asked.

"Lingerie, obviously," Sinead grinned. "If I was going to risk getting caught, I had to wear something worth getting caught in."

They both laughed, and Sinead felt a twinge of realization. She was laughing. With Marc. The man who was making her wear a buttplug at that very moment just so she could get close to Victor Berisha. And she wasflirting with him. Her mind flashed back to just an hour earlier, flushed as she looked into her own eyes in the mirror of his bathroom as he fingered her ass, preparing it for the buttplug. To him walking up the stairs behind her, staring at her naked ass. To kneeling in front of him, being forced to suck his cock.

She was flirting with the man who was leveraging her for sex. Except he wasn't fucking her.

Sinead grit her teeth and leaned back in her chair, trying to focus on the conversation over at Victor's table. That movement shifted her centre of gravity just slightly, and it was enough to make her keenly aware of the buttplug all over again. She sniffed softly, not at any pain, but at the tingle of... naughtiness she felt. Sitting there, in a fancy restaurant, with a fuckingbuttplug in her. It was so wrong.