I wore a little black dress, two narrow straps over my shoulders, and black heels, with a coat to keep warm from the cold night air. My n*****s were visible through the thin, tight material. Even when my n*****s weren’t hard, you could still see them, but I suspected when Bastien said he wanted me to wear nothing, he meant literally nothing. It was common for French women not to wear bras, but I always did for the support and the warmth. I did not wear panties either—and I was very aware of that fact.
I approached the curb at the road, my coat buttoned to keep the warmth against my body. The SUV pulled onto the street and came to a stop where I stood. The back door opened, and the behemoth of a man emerged in a buttoned-up shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows.
It was the first tim
