"Honhonhonhonhonhonhonhonhonhon~ Cherié~" O God. O God. Why?!?!
You just had to be so arrogant as to make a bet with him. The biggest perv in the known universe. And you'd lost. ......
Yeah, to put it simply, you were screwed and maybe not only in the metaphorical sense if it was up to Francis. Even though you knew he was a massive pervert, your heart still couldn't help but flutter whenever he blew you a kiss or winked at you.
What could you say, you were fascinated by him and that 'French paradox 'of his. Which was of course the much published phenomenon/ puzzle of how French people eat a crap ton of fatty food and drink to their heart's content, and yet still manage to be svelte and sophisticated, not to mention cheese-eating surrender monkeys.
That had to be your favourite quote from "Julie and Julia" and you agreed with it whole-heartedly.
"So chérie~" You felt his presence behind you, jumping when he leant his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist. "Now you have to do whatever I want you do to, for the entire day. Those were the stakes we agreed, non?" His smooth voice was close to your ear, and you blushed when you felt him press closer to your body.
"Ye-yes." You replied, dreading what he'd make you do. "Ah non, chérie, from this moment onwards you will have to speak le français." Francis wagged his finger in front of you, the usual smirk on his face. "And now," he seated himself on his Bordeaux sofa," you will do what I want."
The Frenchman covered his excitement by acting like his usual self, albeit somewhat over the top. When you'd suggested to take a bet against him, he'd jumped at the chance to do whatever he had to win.
And now, you were practically his. The very thought of what he could make you do was smothering him. He beckoned you closer and when you were standing next to him, he stroked his thumb over your cheek, marvelling at how smooth and soft your skin was.
"Chérie, by this evening, I want you to do a lap dance for me." You froze, a blush creeping up to your ears. "Wha-?!"
Agonised, you searched for the word. "Qu-quoi?"
"That's better." He smirked, staring into your eyes. "You heard me. I want a lapdance from you."
And that was the predicament you found yourself in. The hot water from the shower was making your thoughts clearer and after scrubbing your body clean, you did the only thing you thought could help.
You googled it. Once you'd read several comments and methods online, you realised just about what you should do and started formulating a plan.
Francis smirked, swilling his whine around in his glass. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the look of pure embarrassment you had on your face when you admitted in your broken French that you didn't know how to give a lap dance.
He smiled happily, even if you couldn't give him one, just the thought that you would try made his breath hitch in his throat. Even if you were forced into it, he would love every second of it.
Silently, you padded through the room and quickly tied one of his hands to the chair he was sitting in, patiently awaiting you. He gasped in response and you took advantage of his surprise to relinquish him of his glass and bound his other hand as well.
"Quelle surprise!" You heard as you straightened up, your lips parted. You'd worn the one of the only sensual things you owned; some lacy dark underwear. His gaze was full of wonder as his blue eyes travelled along your body, his hands straining against his cuffs.
Just seeing you like this, with your (h/c) hair loose and slightly damp turned him on. And of course his binds and your scantily clad body weren't helping him keep his cool.
Your half-lidded eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips and you sat on him, making sure to brush his crotch with your ass several times as you got comfortable.
Playing with the back few strands of his wavy hair, you smiled adorably and cocked your head. "Confortable, mon amour?" you asked, not as stressed out as before about the French. "Oui, mon ange." His breath hitched when your hands trailed down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt tantalisingly slowly.
He struggled against his bonds only to have you shush him, your finger on his lips. When you started kissing down his neck he really begun to lose it, his pants growing unbearably tight and you'd only just started.
You slipped off him, earning you a moan of displeasure. Stretching, your back turned towards him, you rocked your hips as your hands rubbed over your own body, until you gently slipped your bra off, dropping it to the floor with ease.
Next you slid your panties off, stepping out of them elegantly. As if you'd just remembered he was still there, you smiled at him and sat back down on his lap.
Straddling him, you rubbed up to him. Giving him a full view of your cleavage, you glanced up at Francis from under your lashes, making sure to hover over him. He was pulling against his bonds now, his eyes glazed over in need.
Should you go easy on him?....Naw, it felt so good being the one in power at this moment. Besides you'd let him free in a moment. Stroking lower, you toyed with the band of his trousers, your fingers torturingly close to where his heat was burning most.
He moaned loudly, his head tilted back in pleasure as your fingers touched him, teased him, bought him so agonisingly close to his end.
But when he was about to finish, you withdrew your fingers and licked them one by one. The blond panted, trembling as your hands drew circles on his neck and chest. At that point, you decided you'd done enough, also the way his hips rubbed against yours kind of hastened your decision.
His bonds were removed and the second he was free, he grabbed you and pinned you to the table. "Let me show you the way the French love, mon ange." Well, like you could say no even if you wanted to.