 |
|||
|
|
A personal note from Canz:
This is the true explanation of the huge coincidence that has changed and coloured every aspect of my life by giving me the love and friendship of Marie D’Estaing, who has been an excellent business colleague and my beautiful, loving partner, with whom I have spent the rest of my life.
A friend in need:
College was okay, I learned lots, but I didn’t really fit in, so I was a bit lonely at first.
I know I’m smart and quite good-looking and I had naturally supposed that most of the other students would be similar and therefore pleasant and welcoming, but right from the off it just didn’t work out that way. Part of the reason was that I didn’t dress like the other girls. I’d lived in France or England on for quite a few years, and loved how stylishly most sophisticated French women dressed. I loved to try to copy them, so at that time I only had nice dresses, some of them quite short, or neat skirts, and tops that I suppose were a bit see-through. And, of course, good quality leather shoes with heels.
Other than when I’d been in school uniform, and you should have seen how some of us used to wear our school uniform, I’d been quite used to my bra being quite visible through my clothes and I really thought nothing about it. But surrounded as I was by girls and boys, all of whom were dressed almost identically in sneakers and thick, black T-shirts decorated, if that’s the word, with psychedelic skulls and guitars, and scruffy jeans, I stood out. I was different.
The girls thought I dressed like a tramp and the boys hoped that I was a tramp.
I’m not a tramp, so as I said, I was a bit lonely.
It all changed one Friday afternoon. I was again sitting on my own in the cafeteria, listening to the fun going on around me as my supposed classmates planned their weekends without me, and I found myself closing my eyes, having to hold back the tears. I was remembering the wonderful times I’d had in France with my Daddy in the warm summer garden of his lovely French home, and with all my heart I wished I was I back there, sipping some wine, and chatting with my father in the mixture of English and French that seemed so natural to us.
A self-pitying tear rolled down my cheek.
An accented woman’s voice said,
“Madamoiselle, are you all right? Here, take one of my tissues.”
I opened my eyes, and standing over me was a slim, full breasted woman of about thirty, holding out a Kleenex. She was elegantly dressed in a pale skirt and jacket, with a dazzling white blouse underneath. I couldn’t see a bra through her blouse. She looked at me kindly though her dramatic dark-framed spectacles, and as she looked down at me I was struck by how perfectly her beautiful black hair framed her face.
I went through the “Thank you, but no. I don’t need one. I’m okay, really,” rigmarole I’d picked up at school in England, but she smiled and waved the Kleenex at me.
“Non, non, Cherie. Take the tissue. Please.”
I nodded and took the tissue. The woman’s heels clicked as she stepped away and sat down across the table from me.
She said, “You’re new here,” It was a statement, not a question.
I nodded as I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. She continued,
“You’re lonely. You miss your father and his charming house in the Languedoc.”
Alarmed, I sat up straight.
“Who are you? Do I know you? How do you know me?”
She shook her head. “Non, non, Cherie, we’ve never met, but I came looking for you. Please do not be alarmed. I mean you no harm. I will explain. My name is Marie D’Estaing. I work here. In fact, next semester I will be one of your teachers. I lecture to all you first year students about the more aesthetic aspects of structural design. It is important that things look good as well as working good, sorry, working well.”
She grinned and continued.
“ I’m sorry, I’ve been over here for years but I still get the language wrong sometimes.”
“Oh,” I said, still very guarded. “Okay, I suppose it’s okay for you to be here in the students’ lounge, but that doesn’t explain why are you looking for me, or how come you know me and my father?”
“Relax Cherie. I don’t know you or your father, but every year at this time I help out the registrar with the new admissions, and when I was filing your paperwork I noticed that you give your nationality as American but your home address as Le Vintrou, in Languedoc; in France. That’s my hometown, well it’s just a village really, but of course you know that. I am from Le Vintrou; and my older brother still lives close by, in Mazamet. He owns the hotel in the centre of town. So I emailed him about this interesting coincidence and he replied just yesterday that he has seen you and your father going about, and that he has even delivered to your house.”
I looked at her sharply. “Is he the tall, rather mysterious man with an office in the yard next to the hotel?”
“Oui!” She laughed. “Very unlike most Frenchman he doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t smile much and he tends to be rather silent.”
Now I knew whom she was talking about and I was even more worried than I had been before.
“What did he tell you about us, I mean, what did he say to you about us?”
She smiled. “He said you were a pleasant and attractive couple and that it’s a pity that more of the foreigners who settle in our village aren’t like you and your father.”
I looked at her closely. “What else did he say about us? Did he say anything about how we met?”
This time she laughed out loud. “Cherie, Cherie. You are worried about the unfortunate incident with the door to the wa-wa in his office. Relax, in France we don’t worry about these things the way you Americans do. So he saw you pee. So what? Was anybody hurt? No, of course not. In fact, some people like to..... Really, my dear, that little event was… of no importance. I’ve been telling him to fix that door for years; it’s caught me out couple of times!’ She laughed again.
Talking to a Frenchwoman I couldn’t help it. I shrugged my shoulders and said,
“It was important to me at the time. I was embarrassed.”
“I’m sorry. You are right, I shouldn’t laugh. Anyway, when he and his men delivered your father’s barrel they saw that you are a model of decorum; quite the demure little American girl.”
With a giggle she saluted me.
Still uneasy, I said,
“He and his men were very helpful, and it was good of your brother to give me the barrel in return for what happened.”
“He gave you the barrel! I assumed that you’d bought it. What happened?”
She leant forward with a conspiratorial smile. “When he saw you peeing, were you naked or something?”
I found myself warming to this cheery, intelligent, confident woman of the world. I nodded with a wry smile and another shrug of the shoulders.
She laughed again.
“He didn’t tell me that bit! But you were right to take off all your clothes. Those ancient porcelain monstrosities can be lethal. When I was little I once slipped off the treads and fell into the damned thing wearing my school uniform. There was one hell of a row about it! I think he keeps the old thing deliberately to try to catch us girls out.”
I realised that I was having the most fun I’d had since I’d been here, and while Marie was almost twice my age, with her smile, and energy, and effortless French style, “us girls” was about right. I wanted her to stay.
With my fingertips I touched her hand where it lay on the table between us.
“Marie, thank you for cheering me up. I was lonely, but now I feel much better. Would you stay and have some coffee with me?”
“Thank you, my dear. I would love to, but not here. The coffee here is tasteless brown dishwater. But it would be lovely to sit and talk with you about Le Vintrou. We must know many of the same places, and maybe even some people apart from my rather grim big brother.”
“Let’s go somewhere else then.”
She said. “I have a better idea. Would you like to come over for dinner?”
I hardly knew her, but then I didn’t know anyone else, and I’d absolutely nothing else planned, and she was charming company; and she was French. That’s what clinched it.
“I would love to.”
“Come on then. I’m finished for the day. Are you?”
I nodded happily and we swept out of the cafeteria. I was very aware of all the eyes following us, so just as I reached the door; I turned and smiled.
“See you all on Monday,” I said brightly and followed Marie out to her car.
Outside the heat and humidity were frightful. The air in the car park shimmered like a blast furnace and we both immediately started to sweat. Being part of the faculty, her car was quite close the door, an elderly but well preserved dark green Jaguar sedan.
I like cars.
“A Jag,” I said, enthusiastically. “Cool!”
“You know about cars?” Marie asked.
“A little. I like nice ones like this.”
“It is nice. It was a present from my brother. He gave it to me a few years ago and told me to look after it.”
We climbed in. The heat inside was oppressive.
“Whew,” said Marie. “It’ll cool down soon, don’t worry,” and she slipped her jacket off her shoulders and turned towards me as she reached behind to place it carefully on the back seat. Taken by surprise, I stared at her chest. As I’d suspected, the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra had been quite well hidden by her jacket, but now I could quite clearly see her dark nipples and areolas pushed against her thin white blouse. Two of the buttons had come undone and it gaped as she leant behind her to smooth the creases on her jacket as it lay on the seat. Between her pale breasts there was a trickle of sweat.
She looked down at herself and then smiled at me. “It’s too hot for clothes sometimes, isn’t it,” and started the engine.
I tore my eyes away from her exposed cleavage, realising that under her demure pale suit she had what in romantic novels was usually described as a full and voluptuous body.
I blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” I said.
She laughed. “Now, now. That’s not true, is it? Of course you meant to stare. But don’t worry, Cherie. I look good. I have a nice body. I’m proud of my figure.”
She sat up straight. Her nipples were definitely harder where they pressed against the thin material of her blouse.
“Not bad for an old lady, eh?
I blushed, but managed to answer her.
“You’re not old,” I replied. “You look younger and you certainly behave a lot younger, and are certainly more fun than those idiots in my class.”
She shook her head and looked at me sadly.
“Have they been giving you a hard time? Did I hear that a group of them were taunting you about something?”
My eyes watered.
“Yes Marie. They were.”
I took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry to say that they really don’t like me. I used to be at a girls’ boarding school and I don’t want to tell tales, but somehow they learned that I’m still a virgin and the girls were nasty about it to me.”
“Don’t you have a boyfriend? Haven’t you had a boy, with breasts like those? With your looks and your figure I’d have thought you’d have your choice.”
“I do, but they all seem so stupid and so immature. I spent all summer with my Daddy and I miss him. He’s an amazing man.”
I stopped. Careful.
She looked at me with what I can only describe as fondness, this elegant, sexy Frenchwoman I’d only just met.
“Cheer up, Cherie. I’ll tell you something even more amazing. I’m thirty-one years old and I’m still a virgin too. C’mon. Lets go.”
She settled herself in her seat but made no effort to adjust her blouse, which had gaped open even more; the cool air was playing over her body and her nipples were quite stiff and erect under the flimsy material. I had to force myself to not stare at her breasts. She kicked off her shoes and engaged drive, pressing down on the gas with her bare foot.
We drive out of the car park, slotted into the traffic, and drove in silence for some minutes.
“Do you have a car, Cherie?” she asked.
“My father has promised me one if my results are good. I learned to drive in his E class.”
“Mercedes?”
“Yes. He’s going to give me an SLK if I do really well.”
“Mercs are nice,” she laughed. “Listen, Cherie, we are both beautiful women and I think it’s good for beautiful women to get nice cars as presents. Your father’s a generous man, like my brother.”
I looked at her again.
We both laughed, the first time I’d laughed properly in weeks.
I turned to face her, staring at her almost exposed breasts. My knees were just visible. I felt an unexpected tingle deep in the pit of my stomach and between my legs. What was happening to me? Was I feeling a strange attraction to this woman? “Marie, I love your Jag, with the leather, the wood. I don’t know if I could drive it though.” I looked at her coyly. “Do you think my legs would be long enough to reach the pedals?”
She looked down at my lap, and then at my face. I tried not to blush
“It’s hard to tell. I can’t really see how long your legs are. Pull your skirt up and let me look at how long they are.”
There was a tension deep in my stomach and I slid the hem of my skirt up to show most of my thighs and sat looking there at Marie’s breasts as she stared down at my legs, then looked back at the road. She looked down again and swallowed once, took a deep breath, and said,
“Cherie, I can’t really see what I want to see. Pull your skirt up higher.”
It was suddenly very quiet in the car.
I eased my hips off the leather seat and silently slipped my skirt up so it bunched at my waist. My tanned, bare legs were completely on display. Marie looked at them in silence for some minutes, and then she said,
“You have beautiful legs, Cherie, beautiful. If you were to take your skirt off altogether I would be able to see absolutely all of them, your lovely hips and thighs.
I reached behind me and unfastened the waistband. Lifting my hips I slipped the whole thing down over my knees, used my feet to slip it off altogether, bent forward to pick it up and threw it behind me on to the back seat.
“Non, non, Cherie. Spread it out carefully or it will crease. Everyone will know.”
So with my legs as straight as possible I stretched behind me and smoothed my skirt out over the back seat, being careful to not disturb Marie’s jacket. I turned slightly to face her as I sat back down and spread my legs.
She looked at me in surprise.
“Mon Deux. Why are you wearing a heavy belt under you clothes?”
I looked down. I’d forgotten that I was wearing Daddy’s belt, the new one he’d given me just at the end of the summer to replace the one he’d used to whip every part of me during the hot summer months. As I’m sure you’ll remember, he’d given it to me as a keepsake after that last memorable night when he’d used it to whip my cunt, as I lay naked across the dining room table. I’d been feeling lonely and for weeks and I’d been wearing it next to my skin to remind me of him and to help me feel closer to him. I wore it on my hips under my skirt because I liked the sexy feeling of it on my skin, and I wasn’t going to even attempt to answer the questions my supposed classmates would have fired at me if I’d worn it where they could see it.
“Cherie. Is it something personal? Should I mind my own business? I didn’t see it, okay. It isn’t there.” She smiled at me.
“Marie. I hardly know you. Can I trust you?”
“Cherie. You are a beautiful and intelligent girl. You already know some of what I’m hoping might happen between us when we get to my home. We both know what it is to be different and to be special; we both know what it is to have to be careful. Believe me, I have secrets too.”
She looked at me closely. “We could share our secrets, one by one. We already know that we’re virgins who like presents.”
So I just looked at her and said, “I liked it when my Daddy whipped me with it. I had orgasms.”
She stared at me. “Cherie, we are going to be good friends, special friends.”
She looked back down at my bare legs and smiled.
“Now I will tell you a secret of mine, non, I will tell you two secrets. The first one is that my rather grim big brother used to whip me too. He used to use a riding crop, all over my body; I liked it, but my second secret is that now I prefer to do the whipping, Cherie,” and she looked into my eyes, and then down at my bare legs.
“Of course,” she said with a throaty laugh, “sometimes the important thing about legs is not simply their length, slim and elegant as they might be, but rather how wide they can spread apart.”
Rising to the bait I tipped the seat back a little and bent my knees to spread my legs as far as I could in the confined space. I looked down at myself. My white panties were sticking to me in the heat and my pubic hair was a dark triangle clearly visible through the thin cotton. For the first time since I left France I could smell my own sex. It felt good.
“You are very beautiful, Cherie. It’s hot today. You’ve taken off your skirt; now your top? You’ll be more comfortable and I’ll have a better view. Of your slim, young body”
Passing cars could see me, but I just didn’t care. I realised that there were possibly real dangers in what I was doing, but Marie just seemed too transparently honest to be anything other than what she appeared to be, the attractive, slightly older virgin sister of the brother had already seen me piss naked in his office. In Marie’s Jag we were in a safe, special world. I pulled my thin, cotton sweater over my head and threw it on the back seat. Reaching behind me I unhooked my bra and slipped it down my arms. It joined my other clothes on the back seat and I massaged my breasts for a moment, my hands a little slippery with my sweat. It was wonderful to feel another pair of eyes on them as they swayed free on my body again.
I’d always hated having them confined in even the lightest of sexy little bras, and acting on impulse I leant behind me, picked my bra up, and threw it out of the car window.
“I hate those damned things; who designs them? They’re bloody awful. They’re so sweaty and uncomfortable. Look at the red lines it’s left in my skin. I look like I’ve been whipped!”
Marie looked at my breasts as I sat there, naked except for my panties.
“Cherie,” she said, “You really are just gorgeous. Every part of you is perfect. Please, keep massaging yourself. Smooth away those marks for me.”
On an impulse, I held my hand up to her lips. She licked it and dipped her head for a moment to kiss it.
“Even your sweat is delicious, Cherie.”
She stretched out a hand and gently fondled my nipple for a moment before lifting her hand to her mouth and kissing it.
“Tres belle, Cherie, tres belle.”
We sat for a moment, Marie stealing glances at me as she drove, while I sat almost naked beside her with my legs apart, squeezing my breasts and playing with my nipples.
My turn.
“Marie. Please may I see more of you now?”
She smiled.
“Of course you may, Cherie,” and with her right hand she undid all the other buttons on her blouse. I leant towards her and helped her as she leant a little forward and shrugged each shoulder in turn so that I could lift her blouse away from where it was sticking to her back and put it on the back seat. We looked at each other and grinned, two good-looking girls in a Jag, both naked from the waist up.
She leant further forward in her seat.
“Now my skirt, Cherie.”
I reached behind her, unfastened the tiny hooks and tugged at the zip. Still driving, she lifted herself off her seat, just a little, and I leant behind her with both hands to unzip her completely. She kept herself raised from her seat and I slipped her skirt down over her hips. She sat back down and lifted her legs one at a time so it was quite easy to slide it down her thighs, over her knees, and down to her feet.
She sighed. “Ahh. I love feeling my bare skin on the leather. There’s nothing like it.”
I had to lean right down over her to take it off her completely. I said’ “Now!” and she momentarily lifted her right foot from the gas pedal, just time enough for me to slip her skirt over her toes and get her foot back down on the gas with scarcely a hesitation from the big, purring cat. Then I had to lean over even more to free her other foot, and I found my face pressing into her thighs.
She spread them apart for me, and I kissed her at the top of her legs, breathing the heady mixture of the aromas of her body, her skin, her perfume, and her cunt. I stayed bent over for a long time, kissing and licking her legs, and rubbing my face on her panties. They were tiny, delicate confections of white lace through which curls of her luxuriant jet-black pubic hair escaped for me to tease with my teeth. I kissed her pubic mound through the lace and started to slip her panties down her legs.
“Non, non, Cherie. Take your time. You will stay for the weekend, please. So we must keep something hidden for a little longer, to tantalise each other and to excite ourselves with thoughts of what we might do together and to each other. Besides,” she pouted, “you have inspected my poor old body for long enough. It’s my turn now. Sit up and let me look admire you now.”
I was suddenly in love with this sophisticated, sexy woman, so I kissed her panties once more and sat up again.
“What would you like to see?”
“Roll your panties down so that they still cover you, but I can see your pubic hair.”
I hadn’t really expected such specific instructions, but Marie wanted me to do it, so I did. It simply never occurred to me to argue.
“What now, please, Marie?” I asked.
“Just sit, Cherie, and let me look at you. We’ll be there soon.”
“What are you going to do to me when we get to your home?”
She laughed.
Something quite new for you, I think, Cherie. And in fact you’re going to start by doing it to yourself. I’ll just watch, and enjoy.”
And with this confusing comment she fell completely silent and I was content to sit quietly beside her and enjoy the rest of the drive, two almost naked women side by side in her lovely old jag.
A final personal note:
So, my dear Reader, that was how I met the love of my life, Marie D’Estaing, my elegant lesbian lover who introduced me to all sorts of new games and who regularly and effortlessly tortures me as we daily confirm and exchange our deep and unshakeable love for each other.
|
|
|