Le Français

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Le Français is an original Law Enforcement series playing with the Cop/Not-a-Cop trope, mixed with some social power play, and (hopefully) realistic BDSM elements. The series will jump between categories based on the content of each part. This series is commissioned by the fantastic ThL!

In this chapter you can expect mild exhibitionism, backroom oral, D/s brat play, and BDSM play-punishment involving spanking for the purpose of submissive training.

Marc takes Sinead on a date that is more public than she expected, and Sinead needs to learn a lesson.

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Chapter 36

Sinead hated being in the dark about Marc's plan. She spent the next few days switching between grinding her teeth and clenching her fists, her nails digging into her palms. There was almost no movement in the Financial Forensics department - her two 'coworkers' only spent about half their time in the office, and the other half off doing audits somewhere. She continued to lack any formal assignments from the Captain, and she was starting to think she could probably just stop showing up to work and keep collecting her pay indefinitely. Or at least until someone else took over the department and actually looked at the timesheets.

But she wasn't that kind of woman, so every day she showed up to work and did her best to comb through reports and financial records.

Her first attempt at finding out what Marc's plan was had been to ask what she should wear - he'd told her to come ready to go out but to wear casual clothes. That did little to give her any hints. The next day she asked if she should wear the jewellery he'd given her, and he answered yes - all of it. That got her blushing in her office chair, thinking of the buttplug that was still sitting on the towel in her bathroom at home. She'd resisted the idea of putting it in during her masturbation sessions, though she knew from the one time she

had

done it that it gave her an achingly full feeling that heightened the sensations.

She just couldn't lose that battle to Marc right now.

Her last attempt, earlier in the day when she was supposed to meet him, was to ask what sort of shoes she should wear. That, finally, got her something she could guess with - elegant black heels. That meant they were going out... but did it? Sinead could picture any number of reasons Marc would want her in heels. He could want her to strut around naked in his apartment as his maid for the night. Or maybe he wanted to pin her against the wall and fuck her, and the heels would bring her ass up to a better height for him to enter her. Or it could be a dinner party at his home, and he was planning on showing her off even if it was casual.

Sinead's imagination, she knew, was likely her own worst enemy. The one thing she decided on was that if Marc planned on sharing her in some sort of weird gangbang scenario, that was definitely over the line of what she was willing to do. Marc, she was willing to compromise herself with. Not other people.

So, nails biting into her palm, she knocked on his apartment door at 6 PM just like he'd asked.

"Detective," he greeted her with that fucking smile as he opened to door. "

C'est si bon de te voir.

Please, come in."

"Marc," Sinead said cautiously, stepping in and letting him close the door behind her. She couldn't hear anyone else in the apartment.

"Let me take your coat,

ma petite rebelle

," Marc said, and she let him take her leather jacket from her shoulders so he could hang it up. "Keep your heels on though. We'll see if they suit your outfit, yes? I'm sure they will."

Marc led her into the open kitchen area, finding it blessedly empty, and accepted a small glass of wine he poured for her.

"So, you have the information?" she asked.

Marc tutted softly. "Straight to business, Sinead?" he asked. "I was hoping we were building a better rapport than that."

Sinead fucking hated that she blushed. "Sorry," she said. She hated that she apologised, too. "I'm just under the gun at work and whatever you've found could be a big help." She hated that she was lying, and that she

wasn't

under the gun. She should have been. She should have had a Captain breathing down her neck to get results. She hated that no one seemed to care what she was doing

except

for Marc.

"Ah, yes," Marc said. "Well, let me assure you, this should help." He pulled out a small thumb drive and took her hand, pressing it into her palm. "Everything is here. I have included some of my own notes."

"How did you get this?" Sinead asked. "If it was obtained illegally, it's not admissible in court."

Marc hesitated. "A... friend did a favour for me,

un petit service,

" he said. "So no, I doubt it would be usable in court. But it will certainly point you in the right direction."

Sinead grimaced as she looked down at the thumb drive in her hand, but clenched her fist around it and nodded. Then she looked back up at Marc. "It was just a favour? Did it cost you anything?"

Another uncharacteristic hesitation from him, which made Sinead wonder what he wasn't telling her. "What I paid,

ma petite rebelle

, is not important to you. What I ask is much more so."

"And what's that?" Sinead asked quietly.

"Come," Marc said, setting down his wine glass and leading her towards the stairs up to his loft.

Sinead swallowed the last of her wine and followed.

"Fuck me," she muttered to herself ten minutes later, looking at herself in the mirror. The dress, another new one that Marc had presented her with, was fucking gorgeous. There weren't any tags on it but she could tell it was designer

something

and it was like someone had made it for her. The black cocktail dress hugged her small curves like a glove and lifted her tits to look like they were two cup sizes larger. It was elegant and sexy and as she looked at herself in the mirror she knew she looked absolutely stunning. Like a femme fatale in a Bond film.

The only disruption to the process of her being given the dress and putting it on was Marc reminding her he needed proof that she was wearing

all

her jewellery. She'd bent over slightly, wearing nothing but her heels, and had peeled one of her ass cheeks aside to show him the plug was firmly planted in her ass. That had simply brought a positive hum of acknowledgement from Marc as he'd stepped back into his closet, mid-changing himself.

He came out again now, walking up behind her as she watched him in the mirror. He softly shifted some of her hair from her shoulder and leaned down, planting a delicate little kiss on her shoulder. "

Très bien, ma petite rebelle

," he said. "You look stunning as always."

"Where are we going?" Sinead asked him, resisting the urge to lean back into him a little as he held her upper arms gently and looked her over in the mirror.

His smile - that

fucking

smile - was as cryptic as usual. "Just a little party."

Chapter 37

"Marc, this is too much," Sinead murmured. He'd driven them, and she hadn't figured out where they were going until they pulled up in front of the Royal Ontario Museum and a valet had taken the keys to park the car. A red carpet was rolled out from the main entrance to the big, old building and spotlights were illuminating it like there should have been celebrities taking photo ops and interviews before a movie premier or award show. There

were

plenty of people, and some of them might have actually been celebrities, but the signs all proclaimed the event to be some sort of a fundraiser.

"What do you mean, Detective?" Marc asked. He'd offered her his arm and she'd taken it, and now they were waiting in line to have their invitations checked.

"All of this," Sinead said. "The dress, and the event. We shouldn't be seen together in such a public place?"

"Why not?" Marc asked.

"Because it's not right!" Sinead hissed. Despite the chill in the evening air, she could feel her cheeks flushing.

"It's not right that I bring a beautiful acquaintance to a fundraising event as my guest?" Marc asked.

Sinead ignored the fact that her stomach knotted when he called her an 'acquaintance.' "So this isn't a date?"

"

Ma chère

, none of what we have been doing has been dating," Marc said quietly. "You made it very clear, that first time I invited you to dinner, that you were not interested in such a thing. This is simply another of our adventures."

Sinead grimaced and looked away down the street. Part of Avenue Rd, leading down to Queens Park, was blocked off and had Paid Duty officers manning the traffic directions. She didn't recognise any of them immediately and hoped that would stay true. The last thing she needed was someone asking questions. Well, beyond Jules.

That worry was a distraction from what she was feeling about what he said, though. All of this - this trading, and the teasing, and the fucking buttplug, was because Sinead had refused to sit down and have a dinner with the man. She'd blown him off. Now she kept thinking of when she'd blown him, kneeling naked in his living room.

Sinead had acted like a cunt, and now she was being treated like one.

"Sinead," Marc said, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Tonight is about having fun. You look like you've sucked on a lemon."

"Maybe that's what it's like, getting dragged places without being told where we're going," Sinead retorted, letting her frustration bubble over. She knew it was a mask, one of her defensive mechanisms, but she did it anyway. "Did you consider that maybe I wouldn't want to come to something like this?"

"No," Marc said flatly. "And don't be absurd,

ma petite rebelle.

You look astounding, half of the men around us are stealing glances at you, and we are about to have a lovely time drinking exquisite drinks and eating unnecessarily complicated hors d'oeuvres as we make small talk and, most importantly, take in some of the exhibits. Now stop being childish, your pouting is unattractive."

Sinead flushed again and found herself standing a little straighter, feeling like she'd just been dressed down by one of her teachers back in the Academy. The last time someone had talked to her like that had been her ex-husband, and she'd never let him get away with it. She wanted to blow up at Marc and tell him where he could stuff his attitude

and

his buttplug, storm away and take an Uber back to get her car. She had what she needed from him. This could all stop.

But... she

had

been pouting. And she

was

being childish.

Fuck you

, she thought at Marc. But when he glanced at her again she smiled apologetically, and she wasn't entirely sure if she was faking it or not.

The real problem was that this was exactly the kind of event she would have died to be attending if she'd been the cop on the corner directing traffic, working some Paid Duty overtime and imagining herself all dressed up. She was living out the reality of her own desires, and she was ruining the experience by being... not spiteful, but something.

Her smile stayed in place as Marc presented his invitation to the man at the podium, and they were gestured onto the red carpet. There were a few photographers present, snapping shots for the organisation running the fundraiser, but Sinead doubted anyone would care about her or Marc when local politicians or a few Toronto-born entertainment stars might be in attendance.

Inside, the ROM was brightly lit and decorated to match the high-class event. Marc said hello to some folks, leading her deeper into the building, and soon she felt herself falling back into that persona she'd affected while they were undercover with Victor Berisha at the bar. She laughed and made jokes. She spoke with women of all ages, all dressed to the nines and completely comfortable with the setting, and that made

her

feel comfortable. Marc introduced her as his companion and guest for the evening, and no one blinked an eye, and everyone seemed friendly. Several folks, when it came up that she was a police detective, were impressed and curious. Only two asked if she could help handle their parking tickets.

"She's very lovely, Marc," said one woman. Sinead had been separated by Marc as they were drawn into different conversations, though they were only a few feet apart. "But please tell me things haven't soured with Felicity? I was so hoping to see her tonight. I just adore her."

"No, no," Marc said. "Nothing like that. She had plans of her own tonight, and I was blessed to have a connection to the Detective and she agreed to accompany me."

The woman continued the conversation, but Sinead missed whatever was said.

Who the fuck was Felicity?

Chapter 38

Marc couldn't help but smile, glancing over at Sinead as she socialised with a gaggle of men and women as they looked over several of the exhibits at the end of the hall. Even though the fundraiser wasn't a dinner, it was still full of food and drink and Marc popped another bacon-wrapped something with a something-something sauce into his mouth. He had no clue what was inside that little bacon tube, but it burst with flavours and he had to admit it was good.

Sinead had, once she got out of her own head a bit, adapted quickly to the social strata Marc had pulled her into. He'd known she would - she contained multitudes, as they said, and after the way she had adapted in the bar and faked her way through their first conversation with Barisha he knew she would be fine here. Dressing her was always a pleasure, too. Felicity, with her curves, was no less fun to buy for but her figure simply couldn't handle certain kinds of clothes, just as Sinead's couldn't handle some of the things that looked most ravishing on the escort.

Something had changed, however, at some point in the evening.

She

hadn't changed, really. She was still acting the same way with everyone else at the fundraiser, and when he approached to join her she was welcoming and held his arm politely to signify that they were companions for the evening. He'd seen more than a couple of the younger men approach her and flirt when Marc wasn't with her, but she'd turned them all down. And that said nothing of the stares of the older generation.

But he'd caught Sinead glancing at him a couple of times, and the look in her eye was different.

As the night wore on, Marc made an effort to circle back into her sphere more just as he'd started the night as she got comfortable. The food trays being carried around slowed, and speeches began in the main 'ballroom' for the evening. Most people filtered in that direction as that was the polite thing to do, but Marc made no move to join them and ended up standing with Sinead just inside the entrance to the First Nations art exhibit.

"Shouldn't we go?" Sinead asked him.

"They won't announce anything meaningful," Marc said with a little smile and a shake of his head. "They will thank the museum staff, and applaud the directors and themselves. And then they will remind everyone how important the museum is, and give statistics like how many children come through every year and so on. They hold this fundraiser twice a year."

"If you don't care, why do you come?" Sinead asked. "Or is it all about business contacts for you?"

"I

do

care,

ma petite rebelle

," Marc said. "And I buy the overpriced tickets to do my part, even if it is not my culture they are preserving. But speeches are like leftovers - the more of them you have, the more unmanageable your refrigerator becomes. Best to only have one or two, not a dozen, and this is the sort of event that aggrandizes people who feel overlooked much of the time, so there will be many speeches."

"Sounds like any other award show," Sinead sighed. "I worked Paid Duty for the TIFF a couple of times. The egos there were out of control."

Marc chuckled. "Creatives are almost as bad as curators and critics," he said. Then he took her hand. "Come."

She hesitated just a moment before following. Marc led her deeper into the First Nations exhibit, and then down a side corridor that looped around the entire exhibit and back towards the main entrance.

"Where are we going?" Sinead asked.

"Shhh," Marc said with a little smile. He stopped at a heavy wooden door that was unlabeled and, after glancing up and down the corridor to make sure they weren't being watched, he opened the door and gestured for her to enter. It was immediately obvious that they had entered one of the coat rooms where the winter jackets of the guests were being stored. Each one was hung with a plastic numbered tag on the hanger, ready to be retrieved at the end of the function by the staff.

"Are we leaving?" Sinead asked.

"

Non, ma petite rebelle,

" Marc said, placing a hand on her hip as he looked into her eyes. "Now we have our little brush with danger."

Sinead licked her lips, her eyes widening slightly as she glanced around the room. It was longer than it was wide, and mostly filled with the racks of coats. "Marc, I'm not going to fuck you in a coatroom," she said.

"I'm not asking you to, Detective," Marc said. Then he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, keeping her looking at him as he placed the pad of his thumb against her ruby-red lips. "You are going to suck my cock."

Her nostrils flared a little as she locked her eyes with his, reading that he was being serious. "Here?" she asked.

"Here," he nodded.

She swallowed, and Marc could see the fight behind her eyes. If she had been worried about being recognized and associated with him, getting caught sucking his cock in a semi-public place would be disastrous.

Marc leaned back and, with his free hand, flicked the lock on the door closed.

Sinead opened her mouth and sucked on the tip of his thumb for a moment, then let it slip as she went to her knees. She quickly unzipped Marc's slacks and fished out his cock, and the look on her face as she held it again for the first time in weeks was one that Marc revelled in. She desired it. She wanted it. Yet she still fought that urge to submit.

Then, looking up into his eyes, she took him in her mouth. Maybe a little buzzed, but certainly not tipsy or drunk. Her mind was clear, her decisions firm. And, apparently, she still remembered that little barb of a comment he'd given her that first time because she didn't warm up into the blowjob. She went at him quickly, slurping and sucking, jamming his cock into her mouth.

It was fast. Faster than Marc even thought it would be. He'd been in this sort of situation before - it was a favourite little game between him and Felicity when they were at a function like this. Find a quiet place and have some fun, with none of the high society guests being the wiser. They'd come across some of those various guests in compromising positions themselves more than once.

Marc grunted, holding back his orgasm, and locked eyes with Sinead again. "I'm going to come,

ma petite rebelle

," he said quietly. "Swallow it. We don't want you looking a mess."

She just sucked him harder, her tongue lashing across the bottom of his cock, and he groaned before releasing into her mouth. Sinead took it all, swallowing as it entered her mouth, and when Marc was done she slid her lips off of his sensitive cock and smacked them lightly before licking the tip again.

"That it?" she asked cockily. Challenging him.

"Put it away," Marc said gruffly, using his Dom voice. She did, carefully zipping him back up before he offered her a hand up to stand. "Good girl," Marc said, keeping that tone of voice. "Now, let's find you something to wash down your meal, hmm?"

She let him take her hand, and he led her back the way they had come.

Marc had a lot to think about. That little challenge couldn't go unanswered.