Other Colors -- Ch. 15 (part 2) - Sex Stories

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Other Colors -- Ch. 15 (part 2)

Date: 5/15/2016, Categories: BDSM, Author: mascodagama, Rating: 1, Source: LushStories

adjusted his lapels, and re-buttoned his jacket. "I fear I may have been too bold, Madame. It is not my place to comment on Monsieur Caine’s affairs. Nor to distract his guests while they are trying to dine," he lowered his chin, "I hope you will forgive the indiscretion." “Il n'y a rien à pardonner,” still empty, my voice was vaporous. "I'm glad we spoke, Monsieur." He pursed his lips again, "Avez-vous besoin d'autre chose?" "Non merci," I murmured. "I'm a little tired, actually. I think I might lie down for a while." He nodded, smiling gently, "Of course, Madame." I watched him vanish out of the parlor, wheeling along the little cart in front of him. With no small show of effort, I pulled myself up, and staggered upstairs. My mind was a swirling mess by the time I made it to my room, and I collapsed face-first on the bed in a stupor. Comment dit-on ‘what-the-fuck’ en francais? I groaned into the duvet. My thoughts were made of sea foam. Each time I tried to gather them up, they dissolved between my fingers. So she tried it... I rolled over, staring into the drooping, white canopy above the bed. And he stopped her. I blinked. My eyes were stinging, and wet. Granted, according to Jules the girl was unstable. But I couldn't help but wonder. I couldn’t help but wonder what made her that way. In what little I had witnessed, being close to Dmitri was both dizzying, and addictive. And I couldn't deceive myself into believing it was healthy. Like all addictions, in the long term ... it was undoubtedly deleterious. Even deadly... I blinked again. Camus said there was only one philosophical problem. I think Pope proved there were two—the second being mixed metaphor—when he changed 'sea' to 'siege' in Hamlet's soliloquy. ‘ Être ou ne pas être ... ’ I thought of Diane Arbus, her quiet eyes hidden behind the camera lens, and of Sylvia Plath setting out some milk and buttered bread for her children. My shoulder tingled, and I shut my eyes. My mind just starting to spin out of control again, when my phone rattled on the nightstand, and plucked me up out of my spiral. I leaned over, dazed, to take a look. I had sixteen new texts, all but two of which were from Marie. I glanced over the most recent. *OMFG penny!!! A man came by & took yr stuff… r u really not coming home???* Tabarnac. I thumbed through a few of its predecessors. *sooo...did he blow yr mind last night???* *penny???* *r u ignoring me??????* *fine. im going to the theatre with R. meet up later. K?* *omg omg omg omg omg* *call me call me call me!* *plz…* *im freaking out!!!!!* I sighed. I suppose it was careless of me to have not gotten in touch with her straight away that morning. Had she pulled the same stunt on me, I probably would’ve called in the Royal Canadian Mounties before I even rolled out of bed. Marie, thankfully, was less given to the toxicities of wild-eyed worry. Nonetheless, she did seem awfully worked up. I dialed, and she answered on the first ring. “Penny?” “It’s me,” I scrunched my ...