The Ultimate Submission (Jacqueline's Story)

By Gato Medio

© 2004 - All Rights reserved

" The Ultimate Submission (Jacqueline's Story) " is my first long story. It's of the size which may justify calling it a book. It is divided into twenty-one chapters and - baring any unforeseen events - will be posted in seven weekly instalments of three chapters each.

In a way, " The Ultimate Submission " is really my first story. I started working on it under the title "Jacqueline's story" roughly a year ago. There came a point when I felt Jacqueline needed some time to decide in which direction she wanted to go and I wrote four considerably shorter stories which were published between February and May 2004.

" The Ultimate Submission " is also my first story which had the benefit of being reviewed by an editor before being published. I consider myself lucky to have had the help of Peter Z who scrutinized my scribbling and pointed out errors and other problems. There is no doubt in my mind that the final product has gained considerably from Peter Z's contribution. So, here's a big 'Thank you' to you, Peter Z!

By the way: The story is written in British English, so don't blame Peter Z if you come across a word which looks 'kind of weird'. The British spelling and any errors which still made it into the published text are entirely my responsibility.

Chapter 1

Villiers-sur-Seine, the place where I was born and grew up, is a medium-sized town, roughly 50 kilometres southwest of Paris. Visitors might describe the place as sleepy; the adult population considers it peaceful, but most of the younger people would call it outright boring.

The town is not close enough to Paris to be considered a suburb, but too close to develop a worthwhile cultural life of its own. In consequence, those who don't have the means to go to Paris – and that covers most adolescents – don't have much choice of what to do in their spare time. There are a few cinemas, an open air swimming pool and a couple of discos. There is also a park, the Municipal Park, near the town centre. It tends to get very crowded, particularly on Sundays, and young people with their irreverent, noisy behaviour usually feel they're not welcome. But it has a few benches which are hidden from the general public's view, and young people are keen to use this chance for a little privacy. The main drawback is that the gates are locked at sunset.

My parents belong to the group of people who would call Villiers peaceful. They would also be quick to point out that it isn't as peaceful as it used to be. High-speed train connections and the fact that most people now can afford a car have brought the town closer to the 'city of sin'.

Particularly my father was one of those who decry the decline in moral standards which the closeness to the capital had brought to our town. His criticism was specifically aimed at women, mainly from the younger generations, whose behaviour did not measure up to his strict standards. The sexual permissiveness of today's women as manifested in clothes which he considered too revealing was his prime target. His favourite word for such women was slut, and he left no doubt that he would not hesitate to apply this word to me, should he ever find me guilty of wantonness.

My father always made it clear that my education was a strain on the family's budget and that he would have to continue making sacrifices if I were to go on to university. He never missed an opportunity to point out that he himself had never been given the chance to study. But, he then always added, he was quite willing to carry that burden to provide for my future.

However, if my behaviour indicated that I wasn't taking my studies seriously, he would stop financing my idleness and I would have to find a job to earn my own keep. He used this 'not taking my studies seriously' ruthlessly to prohibit anything he didn't approve of: listening to the wrong kind of music, wearing make-up, coming home late, being dressed 'improperly' and having a boyfriend.

Although I did not agree with my parents' opinions and the strict control they exercised over me, I had no choice but to endure it – at least until I would be able to pay my own way.

I studied hard and never lost sight of my goal to pass the final exams with flying colours. I did not just want to achieve the necessary marks to gain entrance to university, I wanted to be in the top ten percent of my year in order to qualify for a scholarship and achieve at least some independence from my parents.

-----

My story starts some time in August of the year 2002. We were in the middle of the summer holidays, the time of year when I hated Villiers most. The fact that there were no lessons to attend made it even more obvious that there is absolutely nothing to do for young people. The only relief from boredom was the open-air swimming pool.

The town was almost empty. Most people had gone on holidays to the Atlantic coast or the _ Cote d'azur _. The girls in my class which hadn't gone away used the small gardens behind their houses to work on their suntan. Most of them wouldn't think twice about sunbathing topless; the more daring ones would look for a spot that was hidden from the public's view and take off their bikini bottoms as well to get a seamless tan without any white patches.

I, on the other hand, didn't even dare to sunbathe in my bikini in our garden, for fear of incurring the wrath of my father. Instead, I went to the public swimming pool but never took off my top because I was too worried that my father might get to hear about it. Most of my schoolmates didn't know the reason behind my apparent prudery and my dedication to my studies. They thought of me as a prude cram and weren't very interested in making friends with me.

I don't know if my father's attitude had anything to do with this, but I noticed that my physical development as a woman was happening slower than with my class mates. When the other girls were already proud of their fully developed breasts and exchanged stories about their first adventures with boys, my breasts were only two bumps on my chest and there weren't any boys interested in me.

One day, in the open-air pool, lying belly-down on my beach towel, I decided to undo the catch of my bikini top. That way I would at least get an uninterrupted suntan on my back. I must have dozed off in the warm sunshine because I didn't notice Thierry, one of my classmates, approaching. He had seen me lying there and had gone to fill a plastic bag with water for his idea of a joke.

I was up like a rocket when the cold water hit my back, and told Thierry in no uncertain terms to get lost. And, of course, I forgot all about my bikini top being undone. When I noticed that my breasts were exposed to his eyes, I quickly covered myself.

He just laughed at me. "Look around you Jacqueline! There are plenty of beautiful breasts, waiting for me to look at them. Why would I want to look at your titties?"

I decided to ignore his insult and returned to the position I had been in before he arrived without saying a word. He would probably tell his friends what had happened and his story would reinforce their opinion that I was sexually retarded.

But that wasn't my main worry that day. What really made me uptight were things which I didn't understand that were happening to me on a physical and emotional level.

The hormonal changes had finally started to happen and they arrived with a vengeance. I could notice almost daily that the size of my breasts had expanded a little more and a few more pubic hairs had grown. I wasn't completely ignorant; I picked up information here and there, from books, magazines and the conversations with other girls. It was no mystery to me when my body started to change and develop into that of a young woman; the shaping of my budding breasts, the growth of pubic hair on my mound, all these things happened the way I had learned to expect.

What I was completely unprepared for were the feelings which accompanied these changes. I couldn't concentrate on anything because I was constantly aroused and couldn't stop thinking about sex. It disturbed me greatly and I was convinced that there was something wrong with me. Had I been religious I would have come to the conclusion that the devil had taken possession of my body. But, as I didn't believe in the devil or any other supernatural power, I tried desperately to find a more rational explanation. I was convinced that I was the only person in the world experiencing these sensations and that I needed professional help.

I didn't have any hope that my mother would be able to help me. She hadn't even prepared me for my first menstruation, because the subject was just too embarrassing for her to talk about. I had to find out about 'the curse' from other girls.

There wasn't any teacher or doctor I trusted enough to ask about such a deeply personal matter. The few girls with whom I had some sort of friendship at school had gone away for the summer holidays. I felt I was completely on my own. Then I thought of Charlotte.

[Charlotte]

I had become friends with Charlotte during the relatively short time when she was my classmate. Charlotte was a full year older than the rest of us. She should really be one class ahead but she had been in hospital for a long time after a car crash - the one in which her mother was killed. When she returned to school she joined my class to make up for the lessons she had missed.

I guess what attracted me to Charlotte was that she was also a bit of an outsider and didn't quite fit in with the 'normal' pupils. She was a self-proclaimed lesbian and men-hater. She called herself Charles and wanted everybody else to also call her by that name. It seems that I was the only one who did her that favour. We accepted each other for what we were and this mutual acceptance turned us into friends.

But then Charlotte moved to another part of town and transferred to a different school. I missed her company, but the feeling wasn't strong enough to make me continue our friendship. Also, with her being a lesbian, I was worried that I might give the wrong signals if I continued to see her once she was no longer my classmate.

Charlotte was older than me and in many respects more experienced, more down to earth. Her body had already fully developed and she seemed to know a lot about the female body and sex. I trusted her enough to tell her about my problem. I was sure she wouldn't laugh at me, even if I asked stupid questions.

I decided to ask her for advice. I took my courage in both hands and phoned Charlotte, telling her that I needed to talk to someone I could trust about my developing sex drive. She seemed really pleased that I had contacted her and asked me to come 'round to her place the next day. Just hearing her cheerful voice on the phone made me already feel better.

The fact that a girl of her age was living on her own in her own apartment gave rise to a lot of gossip. Her father had not waited very long to remarry after his wife, Charlotte's mother, had been killed in that accident. What set the tongues wagging was the fact that his second wife was much younger than him. In fact she was only a couple of years older than Charlotte.

Many said that her father had raped and sexually abused Charlotte. Some neighbours believed this had started already while her mother was still alive; others were convinced that it was the death of his wife that made him use his daughter as a substitute. There were even some who were convinced that the remarriage had resulted in a '_ ménage à trois_ '. All were convinced that it was the abuse she had suffered from her father which had turned her into a lesbian and an outspoken critic of everything male. The story was that she had threatened to go to the police unless her father allowed her to move out of his house. He had no choice but to agree and was paying the rent along with a generous allowance.

Charlotte's version of the story was that she didn't get along with her step mother. "She's only a few years older than me. How could I let her act as if she were my mother and order me around?"

Also, she said, the two were constantly 'at it', often starting their games right in front of her, before disappearing into their bedroom. He couldn't keep his hands off his new wife and she provoked him by walking around the house with a minimum of clothes on. "I explained to my father that this environment was not suitable for bringing up a respectable young lady, and he eventually saw my point."

Later, when we were intimate friends, I asked Charlotte if any of these rumours about her and her father were true.

"These stories," she answered, "are spread by people who cannot accept that a woman is a lesbian, simply because she's a lesbian. They need to find some terrible event, preferably a male misdeed, in order to explain why a woman doesn't want to be screwed by men."

-----

When I arrived at Charlotte's apartment, she asked me what exactly the problem was and, with some difficulty, I explained.

"The problem is this: I know that my body is changing into that of a young woman, but there are some things happening to me which I don't understand. I'm almost constantly aroused, my nipples harden for no apparent reason and I can't stop touching myself. When I do touch myself, especially my breasts and my sex, it feels so good that I want more and more. I think there is something wrong with me."

She seemed a little amused by my worries. "You've come to the right place. Dr. Charles will cure you in no time. I'll have to examine you. Take off your clothes, I'll be with you in a minute," she said, disappearing into her bedroom.

"All my clothes?" I shouted after her.

"No, silly. Have you never been to a doctor? Keep your knickers on. You only take off your knickers when the doctor tells you to."

I took off my clothes, folded them neatly and put them in a pile on a chair. Charlotte returned, wearing a white coat, just like a real doctor. I had the impression that she had taken off the clothes she had been wearing before.

She looked at me and smiled. "Has anybody told you before what a pretty girl you are?"

I blushed but didn't know what to say. She took my shoulders and made me turn around, taking a good look at me.

"Those woolly knickers spoil the picture," she said finally. "Did you select them yourself?"

"No," I answered, "my mother buys all my clothes for me. I don't earn any money yet, so I can't be very demanding."

"Well, next time ask her to buy something a little more sexy, something that makes you feel you're a desirable young woman. For now, it's probably best if you take them off as well."

The garment in question wasn't actually made of wool; this was just one of Charlotte's exaggerations that I would get used to over time. But it was true that the panties my mother bought for me were completely shapeless and did nothing to enhance my appearance.

I followed her instructions but felt uneasy about the whole thing. Of course, there was nothing wrong with taking off one's clothes for a medical examination, but Charlotte wasn't really a doctor. Yes, it was usual to get undressed in front of other girls in the changing room before and after physical education, but then the purpose of the exercise was to change as quickly as possible into another set of clothes and I was never completely naked for any length of time, although some girls seemed to enjoy parading their naked beauty in front of the others.

Charlotte proceeded to 'examine' me, passing her hands all over my body, and I mean _ all_ over my body. The gentle touch of her fingers on my skin created a very pleasant sensation and I could feel my nipples harden. It didn't escape her attention that I was getting excited, so she cupped one of my breasts in her hand and passed her fingers over my nipple.

"How does this feel?" she asked.

"Wonderful," I said, "but it also gives me an urge between my legs that I cannot satisfy."

She quickly put her hand between my legs. "Are you always this wet?"

I blushed. I felt deeply embarrassed by her question. "I had a shower just before coming here. But I get wet again very quickly. Particularly now, when I undressed in front of you and when you touched me. Is there something wrong with my body?"

She smiled. "Your body is in perfect working order. It's just that you're horny as hell. You need some expert treatment. But for that it's better if you lie down."

Outside there was a storm brewing. Dark rain clouds had gathered and Charlotte had to switch on the lights even though it was only mid-afternoon. She showed me to the bedroom and made me lie on her bed, then she took off her doctor's coat. Underneath it she only wore a black thong, a tiny triangle of textile held in place by a few strings. The nipples on her full, firm breasts seemed to be just as hard as mine. Looking at her almost naked body made me feel even more excited.

Charlotte joined me on the bed which was just wide enough for two people lying close together. She hugged me and pressed my naked body close to hers. She kissed me while her hands moved down my back, making my skin tingle with excitement.

Something inside me told me that it was a very bad thing to let her touch me like this, that I was in danger of turning into one of those women which my father called 'slut', but it felt good, oh so good, and I allowed Charlotte to do with me what she wanted.

Changing position, her mouth moved down my body towards my breasts and one of her hands found its way between my legs. As her mouth reached my breast, I let out a deep moan. My arousal had become unbearable. There was a desire digging deep in my loins, an ache for which I knew no remedy.

"Relax," Charlotte said, "don't try to control your desire. Let the pleasure take control."

I decided to just lie in her arms and to enjoy whatever she was doing to me – and she seemed to know exactly what to do. With her mouth still on my breast and her tongue running gentle circles around my nipple, her hand stroked my sex, gently prying my lips open and moving her fingers up and down. Then, when her fingers caressed the little hard knob between my pussy lips, I could no longer control myself.

There was thunder and lightning and a ten thousand volt charge hit me right where Charlotte's fingers were. It was as if something inside me had exploded, sending wave after wave of pleasure through my whole body. I heard myself produce sounds I had never made before. I had never felt anything like it in my whole life.

It's quite possible that I fainted at this point, if only for a few seconds. The next thing I remember is that I opened my eyes, looked at Charlotte and asked, "What happened?"

She smiled. "It seems that you just experienced your first ever orgasm. And what a powerful one it was!"

With the rain pouring down outside, Charlotte taught me many new things about my body, guiding my fingers so that I would learn how to stimulate myself. Then she talked about masturbation as a way of releasing the excitement.

She took off her thong and let me watch as she masturbated, her nimble fingers caressing her body, opening the crevice of her pussy and stroking her eager clitoris. Her sensual face, tensing with excitement and then showing complete relaxation as she reached the climax, was as beautiful and exciting as her naked body.

All this touching and watching had made me hot again and she suggested that I put into practice what I had just learned.

"Masturbate for me, come for me," she told me.

Under her expert eyes I brought myself to another climax, feeling that this was the happiest day in my life. Afterwards I covered Charlotte with kisses to show how grateful I was to her.

When the 'consultation' came to an end and I got ready to go, I asked Charlotte, "Do you think I'm cured now?"

She laughed. "What you have, my dear, is incurable. It's called insatiable horniness. But you can alleviate its effects by repeating today's treatment as often as necessary. And you still have a lot to learn. So, come by whenever you feel like."

From this day on I became a frequent visitor to Charlotte's place. There were many more secrets about feminine sexuality which she taught me, and some that we discovered together. She introduced me to the joys of cunnilingus by giving my pussy the full treatment with her mouth and then making me eat hers in return.

But her lessons weren't limited to the feminine side of sex. She showed me a number of magazines and books with explicit pictures and descriptions. There were muscular men with enormous erect penises and naked women who were apparently only too pleased to submit to their every wish. There were pictures of women licking those huge penises like ice cream cones or taking them into their mouths as far as possible, pictures of men sticking their penises deep into their partners' vaginas, even some penetrating their anuses.

There were women having sex with two men at the same time and women whose faces and bodies were splattered with the men's semen. I was sure these publications had come straight from hell, but I couldn't help feeling extremely aroused looking at these pictures and reading the texts which contained words which I – until then – would have never dreamt of pronouncing.

After seeing these pictures I frequently caught myself looking at boys' crotches and wondering what their penises might look like and whether they were was as big and hard as the ones I had seen in Charlotte's magazines. But I didn't only take an interest in the male anatomy. I also looked at women in a different way and when I saw a couple hugging or kissing in public I fantasised about what they might be doing in the privacy of their bedroom.

-----

Charlotte kept teasing me about my 'woolly knickers', saying they made me look like a farmer's girl from two centuries ago. I had asked my mother to buy me something more fashionable, reporting that my class mates in the changing room had been giggling and talking about me behind my back, but I met with complete incomprehension. For her, underpants were something you wear but never look at, let alone allow anybody else to see you in.

My solution to this dilemma was to take off all my clothes as soon as I arrived at Charlotte's place. She was very pleased to see that I surrendered myself so willingly to her and I was happy to escape her jokes. It took me some time to realise that there was more to it than that. With my clothes I left behind Sainte Jacqueline, the boring, well-behaved prude, which did not have much fun in her life and turned into Jacqueline the wanton slut, or Slut-lin' as I sometimes called this part of my personality, out to enjoy herself even if it meant having to roast in hell for the rest of eternity.

One afternoon, when I arrived at Charlotte's apartment – she had given me a key so that I could let myself in – I heard her shout, "I'm in the kitchen."

I undressed as usual and went to meet her. When I got to the kitchen, I saw a plumber who was bending over the washing machine. He lifted his head and looked at me with a broad grin. Charlotte just said, "Ah, that's Jacqueline, my sex slave."

Unable to utter a word, I covered myself as best I could and ran to the bedroom, locking the door behind me. I only agreed to open the door after Charlotte assured me that the man had left. She was deaf to my complaints that she should have warned me about the presence of someone else in the apartment, particularly as this someone else was a man.

She just said, "Don't be such a prude. Let the poor guy have some fun too. Looking at you probably was the best thing that happened to him for a long time. And tonight, when he has a few drinks with his friends, he's going to tell them about it – you made his day without even lifting a finger!" And that closed the subject as far as she was concerned.

Later that day, after she had feasted her hands and mouth on my naked body and had allowed me to do the same with hers, she started thinking aloud.

"You know, when I told that plumber that you were my sex slave, it was meant as a joke. But I've been thinking about it, and, in fact, you really are my sex slave. You get undressed as soon as you arrive to show that you're permanently available for me, you never dare to deny me any wish and you do everything I tell you to do."

From this day on, Charlotte decided that I was to be her sex slave for real. She established a series of rules which I had to follow: I was to call her Master Charles, I was to remove all my clothes as soon as I arrived at her place, I was not allowed to cross my legs in her presence so that she could always feast her eyes on my juicy plum, as she put it, and, in general, I was to follow all her orders without delay. She also ordered me not to wear a bra unless it was absolutely unavoidable.

The new rules, which I accepted reluctantly – I was never quite sure how far she would take them – did not represent any significant change in our relationship. I continued to spend many afternoons at her place, indulging in the pleasure of unrestrained lust.

Chapter 2

[The Lesson]

"This is Professor Charles. I'm organizing a seminar for a small group of pupils on a subject that is of interest to you. It's tomorrow at three at my place. Please be punctual."

I recognized Charlotte's voice. But she put the phone down before I had a chance to ask any questions.

When I arrived at Charlotte's apartment the following day, there were already two boys, about my age, whom I had never met before. With their help, Charlotte had rearranged the furniture. The back wall had been completely cleared and the sofa and armchairs had been arranged in one row, facing the wall. Halfway between the wall and the row of seats was the easy chair which Charlotte and I had used many times in our sex bouts. It was fully reclined to leave whoever would sit in it in an almost horizontal position.

Charlotte just said, "Ah, Laporte, I'm glad you could make it. We're just waiting for one more student, then we'll start."

I assumed that she used my last name to imply some distance; she probably didn't want the others to know about our relationship.

The two boys were quite shy and nothing out of the ordinary. I tried to start a conversation with them and found out that their names were Serge and Philippe. Serge had a nice smile but said hardly a word. Philippe kept staring at my breasts – I wasn't wearing a bra, obeying Charlotte's rule – but as soon as he realized that I had noticed, he blushed and looked away.

When the last student – her name was Beatrice – arrived, Charlotte told us to sit down and went to draw the curtains of the front window, leaving the room in semi-darkness. Apparently she didn't want any passers-by to see what was about to happen. I sat down on the sofa next to Beatrice while the two boys sat in the armchairs either side of us.

Beatrice had a very pretty face, framed by blonde, curly hair. Her tight jeans and pullover made her figure appear quite shapely. To my surprise none of the 'pupils' had met any of the others before.

Charlotte went to the front and addressed her audience. "Welcome, boys and girls, to Professor Charles's lesson on growing up. We not only tell you everything you always wanted to know but were afraid to ask, we demonstrate it on a live specimen and provide the opportunity for hands-on exercises."

She was obviously enjoying herself in her role as the one who would tell us poor sods the facts of life. She even had one of those pointers which teachers use to indicate whatever they are talking about.

"Now, I'll ask our volunteer to join me. Laporte, take off your clothes and come to the front."

I was quite taken aback by this request. I hadn't volunteered for anything and felt quite apprehensive about letting those boys see my naked breasts. But as I had learned to follow her orders I took off my blouse and skirt and joined Charlotte at the wall in front of the others.

"All your clothes, silly! And haven't I told you before to get rid off those woolly knickers? They're an absolute turn-off."

The others, probably relieved that it was me and not them who had been selected as the 'live specimen', found her remarks hilarious and laughed out loud. I quickly took off my panties, becoming even more apprehensive, and rejoined her in front of the group, looking at her.

"Face the class, dummy!" she said.

As I turned towards the group, she switched on a spotlight which shone right at me. The light in my eyes dazzled me and I felt deeply embarrassed about being exhibited to strangers like this. I tried to cover myself as best I could by placing one arm and hand over my breasts and the other between my legs to cover my sex. Charlotte didn't seem to object to this, at least not at the moment. She had turned towards her audience again and continued her discourse.

"What we have here, is a female of the species 'teenager', also known as budding female. It may not look like it, but this is an extremely complex organism which so far nobody fully understands, least of all the budding female herself. However, for the purpose of this class we only need to focus on a few aspects of the species. You are probably already familiar with most of them. So what do we call these?"

With these words she turned towards me, impatiently removed the hand which was covering my breasts and circled them with her pointer.

"Breasts," came a shy reply from somewhere in the group.

"Yes, or tits," Charlotte said. "And these?" This time she flicked her pointer over my nipples.

"Nipples," said another voice, already a little less shy.

"Knockers," said Charlotte, making me turn around and slapping her pointer across my buttocks. "What's that?" she asked.

"Bottom." This time, there were two, maybe three voices pronouncing the word.

"Ass," Charlotte said, turning me to face the group again and removing the hand with which I had been covering my sex.

"And now for the most important one," Charlotte announced, waving her pointer vaguely in that direction.

"Pussy," shouted the group in unison, having caught on to the fact that Charlotte wasn't looking for scientific names.

"Correct," said Charlotte, "but there's another name I'm looking for. No, don't tell me, I'll ask our specimen here."

And turning to me she said, "Well, Laporte, you haven't said a single word. Has the pussy got your tongue?"

This remark got more laughter from the group.

"Can you tell us what this is called?" and with this she stabbed her pointer at my pussy, briefly inserting its tip between my pussy lips and forcing them apart.

"Cunt," I replied, almost inaudibly.

"I want a full sentence, and louder, please," she said, stabbing again, forcing my lips to open a little wider.

"This is my cunt," came my reply, a little louder this time.

"That's better, but you forgot to tell us something about it."

I didn't know what she was getting at.

"Well, I'll give you a hint. It's wet, isn't it?"

Feeling more blood rush to my face, I said as loud as I could manage, "This is my soaking wet cunt."

This declaration produced roaring laughter from the group. I had never felt so humiliated in my whole life. I looked down at the floor, wishing I could somehow disappear through a gap in the floorboards. But in spite of this feeling of embarrassment there was something arousing in the situation. The fact that I was so powerless, so vulnerable, made me feel excited. I felt like I really was a sex slave, exposed to potential customers, to be sold off to the highest bidder. And there was no way of knowing what else my master had in store for me.

Charlotte continued her performance. "Now let's look at a male specimen," she said. "Philippe, would you give us the honour of your presence – without clothes, please."

I tried to return to my place on the sofa, but Charlotte stopped me. So I just moved to the side to let Philippe take centre stage. I was feeling a little more at ease now, seeing that I wasn't going to be the only one who would be exhibited to the group. I had even stopped covering myself with my hands

Philippe arrived with a big smile, his stiff penis sticking out from beneath his belly, pointing upward at an angle. He used the chance to have a good look at my breasts and pussy, this time without blushing. It seemed that he fancied his chances of getting into my knickers, so to speak.

I also used the opportunity to have a closer look at his member. After all, this was the first time I saw a 'live specimen'. I had seen pictures of huge cocks in Charlotte's magazines. And once, peeking through a slit into the men's changing room at the local swimming pool, I had caught a glimpse of some limp members of average size. But now was the first time I got within touching distance of the real thing. My impression was that this one wasn't anywhere near as big and terrifying as the ones I had seen in the porno magazines. I found it quite thin, although it was fairly long and seemed to be very hard.

Philippe didn't wait for Charlotte to ask anything but proclaimed proudly, "This is my big cock."

I was sure Charlotte would soon wipe the smile off his face. At first, she seemed to ignore his impertinence when she resumed her discourse.

"As you can see, the male version is far more simple. All there is to it, is the cock. Without his cock, the male is useless."

"Tell me," she asked, using her pointer to exert downward pressure on Philippe's erection, "is this its normal state?"

"Only when I feel randy," Philippe replied.

"Which must be about ninety percent of the time," came Charlotte's riposte. "Any chance of getting it into its normal, unrandy state?"

"Only after I shoot my load," Philippe said with a smirk.

"Well, we'll see about that in a moment."

Charlotte sent me to the kitchen to fetch a jug of cold water and a bucket. Then she told me to hold the bucket underneath Philippe's penis to catch the water as she poured cold water on his erection. It took a second jug, but in the end his manhood which he had displayed so proudly was hanging limp and dripping wet between his legs.

Charlotte said, "Now repeat after me: 'This is my tiny limp prick.'" Philippe had no choice but to do as he was told. This time he was the one being laughed at, but somehow the laughter wasn't as uproarious as before. The two 'pupils' who were still fully dressed probably realized that nobody would escape Charlotte's wicked sense of humour and that soon it would be their turn.

"Let's talk about arousal," she picked up the thread. "How do you arouse the male?"

"Show him pictures of naked females." This was Beatrice, who had been very quiet so far.

"Very good. Or even better: show him a real naked female."

Somehow I assumed that this was the instruction for Beatrice to get undressed, kind of as an ironic reward for her cooperation, but my ordeal wasn't over yet. Charlotte turned Philippe and me around so that we were facing each other and told him to have a good look at this naked female, but he wasn't allowed to touch me – yet. This hint that he might be able to get his hands on me later must have had a very stimulating effect on him, because it took only a few minutes and he was sporting a full erection again. At least I didn't think that just looking at my naked body could have had this effect on him.

Charlotte continued her lecture while this was happening.

"It's very easy to tell when the male is aroused. All you need to do is look at his cock. Sometimes you don't even need to take off his clothes. You can tell from the bulge in his trousers."

With these words she brought her pointer down on Serge's crotch. He was completely unprepared for this sudden attack.

"The female is very sensitive to touch," said Charlotte now.

She had told Philippe to return to his seat and moved me back into the spotlight, facing the group.

"There are a number of erogenous zones distributed all over her body and stimulating these will heighten her arousal. We're not only talking about tits and pussy here, there are many others and they may vary from female to female. The lips, neck, shoulders and ear lobes are just a few of them. When a female is really hot, every inch of her skin becomes excitable."

While she was talking, Charlotte had placed herself behind me and had started to caress my body with her hands. Now she started to kiss my neck and shoulders and stimulate my earlobes with her tongue. Then she bent down and took one of my nipples into her mouth while she squeezed the other one between two fingers. I couldn't help it. I reacted to her caresses and let out a deep moan of desire.

"When the female is stimulated like this," Charlotte continued, "a message is sent straight here," – she placed a hand on my sex, thrusting one finger inside – "and her pussy gets wet."

Now she removed her finger and held it up so that everybody could see how wet it was. Once again, my excitement was mixed with a feeling of embarrassment.

"Some males believe quite wrongly that this means the female has reached a climax as a result of the stimulation. That's nonsense, of course. It simply means that she's getting ready for penetration by the male. It's a bit like our mouth producing saliva when we are about to eat. Pussy juices are nothing else than a lubricant, a self-protection against pain and injury by the male.

"That's why stimulation and arousal of the female before you shove your prick inside her is so important. The message to the males out there is this: Don't even think of taking your girl's knickers off if you haven't managed to make her wet them."

"Now we come to the practical part of this lesson. You'll all have a chance to practice your theoretical knowledge on our live specimen here. You've got five minutes each."

Charlotte had decided to humiliate me even more by allowing complete strangers to touch the most intimate parts of my body as part of a 'hands-on exercise'. She knew that I was already so excited that I would respond to even the most clumsy attempts at stimulation and would appear to everybody as the bitch in heat she always told me I was. But as it was Charlotte, my master, who gave them permission to touch me, there was no way I could refuse or object.

Philippe would be the first one to try out his skills on me. He approached me, his stiff penis waving in front of him like a flagpole without flag. He surprised me by trying to be gentle. Of course, he was eager to give the impression that he was an experienced lover and that all this was nothing new to him. He embraced me, pressing his naked body against mine. I could feel his stiff cock pressing against my belly. He grabbed my buttocks and pulled me even tighter to him.

When he French-kissed me I could feel that his excitement was mounting and became worried that he might spurt his semen against my belly. Without taking his mouth from mine he used one hand to pinch my nipples. Then he inserted his other hand between my legs and declared, "Soaking wet pussy. She's salivating for my cock."

To tell the truth, his efforts, clumsy as they may have been, were not without effect on me. After all, this was the most intimate I had ever been with any boy – and it happened in full view of an eager audience.

Serge was going to be next. He decided that it would be more appropriate if he took off his clothes as well, so he stripped quickly before he joined me in front of the group.

His cock, was – not surprisingly – also fully erect. It was thicker but a little shorter then Philippe's. I noticed that he was circumcised which made the swollen head of his member fully visible. He stepped behind me, grabbed my breasts and squeezed my nipples between his fingers. At the same time he kissed my neck and shoulders and pressed his stiff cock against me. Without needing any help, it found a comfortable place between my bottom cheeks.

I imagined what this scene must have looked like to the onlookers: a male taking his female prey from behind while kissing her and fondling her breasts. Gradually, Serge moved one hand down to my pussy, caressing my body on the way. After stroking my pussy for a while he knelt down in front of me and kissed my pussy, running his tongue up and down my slit. I liked his timid kisses, but I wanted more and pressed his head against my sex.

When his five minutes were over, he stood up and said, "Thank you." I started to like this guy. As he returned to his seat there were cheers from Philippe.

"Your turn, Beatrice," Charlotte shouted because the girl had not made any move.

"But I'm a girl ... I mean ... a female."

"Females also need to learn. Come on, she won't bite you."

Beatrice came towards me and hugged me. "You are very beautiful – and very brave," she whispered into my ear. I liked the touch of her soft, shapely body against mine, but it felt a little awkward that she was fully dressed. As she stroked and kissed me I thought of Charlotte's theory that only a woman knows the female body well enough to give another woman the maximum pleasure. Her hands and mouth on my body made me swoon with delight. And the boys seemed to enjoy the scene as well, clapping and calling us 'horny bitches'.

At one point Beatrice inserted a finger into my pussy but then quickly withdrew it, saying, "But you're a virgin!" I didn't quite know how to interpret her surprise. Did she think that someone as lewd as me couldn't possibly be a virgin, or had she lost her own virginity quite some time ago and assumed everybody else had as well? Anyway, I was pretty sure that the boys were still virgins, just like me. It seemed to me that angel-faced Beatrice had a lot more experience than her innocent appearance would suggest.

"In real life, stimulation doesn't stop after five minutes. You continue stimulating your partner until he or she comes. Of course, you don't always have a partner. In that case you stimulate yourself until you reach your climax – I believe you're all familiar with that bit."

Charlotte took my arm and moved me into the centre of the room. "In spite of your joint efforts, our volunteer hasn't had her deserved orgasm yet. So she'll do it herself and she'll let us watch her as she does it. Then she'll bring her fellow students to a climax, one by one."

It seemed that there was no end in sight to my ordeal. Now she wanted me to perform my most intimate ritual, touching myself and making myself come, here in front of everybody. And I had no idea what she had in mind when she said I would bring them one by one to a climax. Charlotte motioned me to the easy chair and made me sit, or rather lie, on it. The spotlight was moved around to shine on the lower part of my body.

"Before you start, I want to point out another important detail about the female anatomy," said Charlotte and made me spread my legs wide. Then, using two fingers, she pushed my pussy lips apart to bring my clitoris into view.

"This little fellow here, sitting just on top of the front entrance, is the clitoris, or just clit. This is the control centre of female sexuality, the turbo button to orgasm," she declared.

"The members of the penetration conspiration want us to believe that the female has an orgasm because the male shoves his cock into her pussy, or because he keeps moving it in and out. There are even many females who have been brainwashed into believing this. The truth is that when the male enters the female, particularly when he's on top, he exerts pressure on the clitoris, he pushes, squeezes and rubs against it, and it's that stimulation that makes the female come. Therefore, when the female pleasures herself, she has no need to stick any penis-like objects into her pussy, she goes straight to the love button for maximum effect."

After this explanation Charlotte told me to start touching myself.

I felt very strange. Of course, I had done this many times in the privacy of my room. I had also done it often in front of Charlotte when she wanted to watch me. But this was different. Particularly the presence of the boys made me self-conscious. I decided to dedicate my performance to Beatrice. I turned in her direction, looking for eye contact. Our eyes remained locked into each other while I played with myself. First, I wetted one finger with a little saliva and made circular movements around my left nipple which hardened immediately. Then, I inserted the finger into my pussy and made the same circular movements around my right nipple. Soon my hands were all over my body, caressing my breasts, sliding along my belly towards my love triangle.

I slid two fingers inside me, then pulled them out again and put them into my mouth, enjoying a taste of my own pussy. I looked at Beatrice to make sure she was watching. It was meant as an invitation to come and get a taste herself. She didn't move from her place on the sofa – I hadn't really expected her to get up and join me – but she kept watching me intently, as I rubbed my fingers up and down my slit, then prised the lips apart and played with my clitoris. The movement of my fingers became faster and faster until I was frantically rubbing my clitoris. When my orgasm came, it felt so good, I continued stimulating myself until I reached a second and a third, each one more satisfying than the one before. My insatiable appetite had simply taken control of me and I had lost any feeling of shame.

Charlotte used the opportunity for another lecture. "As you can see, an excited female can have multiple orgasms, one after the other. Her desire does not diminish after she comes. In fact, this one here could probably go on all afternoon without stopping. The male, as we shall see shortly, loses his erection and with it his interest for sex, at least for a while. He needs some time to recover before he can perform again and this recovery time becomes longer each time. You see, the so-called stronger sex is really quite weak when it comes to sex."

When I got up from the chair, Beatrice blew me a gentle kiss. This little gesture made me feel so good, I didn't even mind when Charlotte announced that next I had to get the two males to their climax. Charlotte made Philippe sit down in the hot seat after she had covered it with a towel to protect her favourite chair from any spillage. Then she ordered me to masturbate him.

In spite of Charlotte's tirades against men and their stupid cocks and Philippe being a prime candidate for proving her right, I felt a certain attraction towards these hard rods which were protruding from between the boys' legs. I had already felt them pressed against my naked body and started to wonder what it might feel like to have one of them inside my pussy.

Philippe, who had probably never before felt a female hand on his cock got so excited he could hardly contain himself. Although this was new territory for me as well, I knew instinctively what to do. I pulled his foreskin back to reveal the swollen head. When I circled the head with my finger, Philippe started to moan. There was a danger that he would shoot his load before I had started in earnest. So I started moving my hand up and down his rock-hard shaft, very slowly, to make it last. But he was just too excited to hold back and after only a few minutes he shot a load of hot semen into the air. Some of it fell back onto my hand, some on his legs and some on the towel. It did not take long for his manhood to soften and shrink in my hand. I went quickly to the bathroom to wash my hands.

When I returned, Charlotte offered Serge, who would be next, the choice of sitting down or remaining on his feet. He chose to be stimulated standing up. What I didn't know – I probably missed it when I went to the bathroom – was that I was to stimulate him with my mouth, not with my hands. So when I knelt down on Serge's side and put my hand around his erection, Charlotte ordered sharply, "No hands, just your mouth." 'She has decided to make me look a complete slut,' I thought to myself.

My mind flashed back to the kinky magazines where I had seen pictures and read vivid descriptions of women sucking off men and tried to do exactly what I had read. I positioned myself to face Serge, who probably couldn't believe his luck, and started by licking the drop of pre-come from his cock. This subtle touch must have excited him very much as he let out a moan. In order to cool things down, I ran my tongue along his shaft and sucked his hairy balls into my mouth. Then I slipped my lips over his cock, caressing the head with my tongue. This made Serge even more excited. Impatiently he pressed my head against him, pushing the whole length of his cock into my mouth.

I moved my head back and forth, running my lips up and down his shaft, first very slowly then getting faster and faster. Soon he let out a scream and filled my mouth with spurt after spurt of his hot juices. I swallowed every salty drop of it, sucking and squeezing his cock for more. I only released his cock from my mouth after it had gone soft.

-----

At last, it was Beatrice's turn to strip. She undid her jeans and pulled them down, not without difficulties, because they were so tight. Then she pulled the pullover over her head. Underneath she wore a bra and panty combination, dark red, the colour of burgundy, which looked very elegant on her. The bra was strapless and the panties were of the high cut type which accentuated the length of her legs. There was only a slim piece of textile covering her sex. Beatrice reached behind her to unfasten her bra when Charlotte stopped her.

"Hold it for a moment! I hate to stop a girl getting undressed, but there's something here for everybody to learn. What we have here is a female, who looked very attractive with her clothes on and who looks absolutely gorgeous in her underwear."

Beatrice blushed at the compliment.

"But the transition from one to the other was a disaster. When you go out to have fun, you must wear clothes which can be removed gradually and easily. A blouse, that can be unbuttoned, a skirt that can be pulled down, a dress that can be lifted, not a combat suit as you were wearing."

"And," she continued, "too much underwear can also be a hindrance. What is the reason, if I may ask, for wearing this chest armour?"

Charlotte waved her pointer across Beatrice's bra. The boys giggled.

"Well, you see," stammered Beatrice, having difficulties finding the right words, "my nipples are very sensitive and if they get in contact with rough material like that pullover, they get very stiff. And as the pullover is very tight, they would stick out like sore thumbs and everybody would be able to see how aroused I am."

Charlotte wouldn't let her off that lightly. "What's the point of having nipples if you don't want them to get hard? And what's the point of being horny if nobody else knows it. So, take off that bra and don't ever wear it again."

When Beatrice removed the garment, two perfectly shaped mounds of flesh bounced to freedom. They were bigger than the bra had made us believe and they obviously didn't need any support. Each breast was crowned by a completely erect pink nipple to combine with Beatrice's fair skin. There was a wolf whistle from Philippe, who insisted on playing the role of the Neanderthal macho.

After putting her bra on the pile of her other clothes, Beatrice hesitated. Looking at Charlotte, she said, "If you don't mind, I'd rather not take off my panties. We have already seen what a pussy looks like, so there is no need ..."

There was no way Charlotte would let her get away with this, or even let her finish her plea.

"What makes you think you're special? Everybody here 'would rather not' do this or that. So, don't try my patience, young lady, and off with those kickers."

Beatrice found it necessary to give it another try.

"It's just that I feel very embarrassed about my pussy and I wouldn't want anybody to look at it and get a bad impression of me."

"Nonsense," Charlotte said, growing increasingly impatient, "nobody here will get a bad impression of you because of your pussy. Now, get on with it, or I'll do it for you!"

Seeing that there was no way of avoiding it, Beatrice proceeded to remove her panties. She hooked her thumbs under the elastic band and slowly pushed down the garment. As she moved down further and further, a gasp went around the room. Everybody was on their feet, watching.

The pussy which was being revealed to us was completely and absolutely without hair. It was as smooth as a baby's bottom. In fact, I was sure that it was treated regularly with baby oil, so smooth did it look. It was the most exciting thing I had ever seen in my life. This pussy was so innocent, yet so wicked, so defenceless, yet so powerful, so vulnerable, so open to inspection, so accessible – so beautiful and so naked. More naked than any other pussy.

There was no place to hide, no way of denying the fact that Beatrice was very excited and was getting more and more aroused from the attention she received. The moisture which oozed from her vagina glistened in the light. Her pussy lips were puffed up and slightly apart and her clitoris was poking its head through the gap. There was stunned silence in the room.

Charlotte was the first to regain her composure. After all, she was the authority around here. She ordered Beatrice to sit in the easy chair and spread her legs wide. She trained the spotlight on Beatrice's pussy so that everybody could have an even better look at it. Then she declared, "As we can see, this female specimen has removed all the pubic hair from the mons veneris." She had been shaken so much that she even started to use formal language.

"Tell me, did you shave it or did you use a commercial product?" She tried to sound like an expert on the matter.

"I shave regularly, two or three times a week."

"And what made you decide to do this?"

"Well, it's not that easy to explain. Roughly at the same time hair started to appear on my pussy, I also started to feel an itch between my legs and I was always excited. I did not understand what was going on so I decided to shave off the hair, hoping this would fix things. But it didn't, on the contrary, I got more and more excited. Then I found a way of touching myself which gave me great pleasure and relief. But I found it was much better without any hair getting in the way, so I continue to shave my pussy."

"Do you shave it yourself or do you ask someone else to do it?"

"I do it myself, in front of a big mirror, sitting in a chair like this. I'm much too shy to let anybody else see me like this. Well, I was, until today."

"What do you use?"

"Lots of shaving foam and an old-fashioned barber's blade. They are the best. Those newfangled razors, particularly those especially made for women, aren't any good. They don't give me a smooth enough shave. Afterwards I rub it all with baby oil. That's very, very nice."

She closed her eyes and smiled, probably recalling the sensation of her hands rubbing baby oil all over her pussy. I could hardly contain my excitement.

"Aren't you afraid that you might cut yourself?"

"I was in the beginning, but I'm very, very careful. It's the part of my body I like most."

Charlotte's attitude had changed completely from the authoritarian know-it-all teacher to a soul sister exchanging ideas about what to wear under your underwear. But she soon recovered her old stance.

"Well, enough of this idle chatter about ladies' fashion. Let's move on with the show. We'll now have a demonstration of a female bringing another female to a climax. Laporte, show us your skills."

My heart was pounding so hard when I heard these words that I wondered if the others could hear it as well. I just couldn't believe my luck. Oh, how I longed to plunge my tongue into this fascinating pussy. I had been worried that Charlotte might give the girl to one of the boys, which would have been devastating for me, but now I was eager to show myself worthy of the task.

I was going to make this girl with a woman's body and a baby's pussy experience pleasures she had never experienced before. I was going to show her a piece of heaven on earth. I was going to make her squirm and moan and beg for more. Any embarrassment about my nakedness, any concern that others might consider me a slut for performing such lewd acts in front of everybody, had gone out of the window.

I made an effort to appear cool and relaxed and not to let on how excited I was. I had decided that I wasn't going to use my hands to stimulate her. I wanted to make her come just using my lips, my tongue and, who knows, maybe my teeth.

I pulled Beatrice up from the chair where she had been reclining and embraced her tightly. "You are so sexy," I whispered into her ear, "I'm going to make love to you the way you deserve." I ran my fingers through her curly blonde hair and covered her face with quick little kisses. When I kissed her mouth, she willingly opened her lips and allowed my tongue to explore the inside of her mouth. She responded eagerly to my kisses, pulling my hot body towards her.

After a while, I arched back a little, pressing my breasts against hers, aiming for our nipples to meet. It made a lovely picture; her fully rounded breasts against my not yet fully developed couple. Her small pink nipples contrasted nicely with my darker, larger nipples which had become extremely hard, sticking out like little fingers. Then I rubbed my sex against her shaven pussy, wondering how it might feel when the curls of my neatly trimmed triangle made contact with the tender flesh of her shaved mound. Next, I pressed one leg between her legs, forcing them slightly apart and rubbing my thigh against her pussy. I could feel the moisture seeping from her lips, noting to my satisfaction that she was as excited as I was.

I motioned Beatrice back into the easy chair and made sure that her legs were spread wide and that everybody could have a clear view of her luscious pussy. I knew that the sensation of being exposed to everyone's eyes would add to her excitement. I continued to cover her with kisses, starting with her neck and shoulders and working my way slowly towards her breasts.

She lay back and enjoyed the treatment, emitting little moans of pleasure. The moans grew louder when I reached her nipples. These little morsels of flesh were extremely sensitive. The slightest touch made her squirm in the chair. I kissed her left breast and sucked it into my mouth. Then I ran the tip of my tongue around the nipple and finally gave it a few short sharp flicks. She went absolutely crazy. Her head moved frantically from side to side, both hands tightly gripping the armrests of the chair as if she were afraid to fall off. She was obviously about to reach an orgasm. I wanted to take this a little further. I took her nipple between my teeth, very gently, as I had no desire to hurt her.

"Oh no, no, please, please don't," she begged without sounding very convincing. It sounded more like a plea to continue than a request to stop. I had probably discovered one of her secret desires. I firmed my grip of her nipple and pulled it towards me, ever so slightly. Her body arched, then shuddered, and with a resounding "Aaaaahhhhhh" she came.

I allowed Beatrice a little time to recover, then I gave her right breast the same treatment. This time she didn't even ask me to stop when I firmed my teeth around her nipple but came just as noisily as the first time.

When I got up from my kneeling position, Beatrice protested loudly. "Don't stop now! Please! I need more!"

I had no intention of stopping. I just wanted to prepare my next attack in a different position. For this, I lifted her legs over her head and told her to hold them in this position with her hands, spreading her legs wide apart. Her body was now practically doubled up, her pussy even more exposed than before, and the tiny pink rosette of her anus also came into view. This time I started to trail my mouth along her long shapely legs. Starting from where her hands were holding them and moving slowly towards her exposed pussy, I covered every inch with little kisses. When I reached the point where the leg joins the body, I stopped and covered the other leg with kisses. I kissed her belly, the parts of her buttocks that were accessible, I even flicked my tongue around the little pink hole of her rear entry; everything within inches of her pussy without ever touching it.

I realized how much power I had over my victim. I was in complete control. It was my decision how long I would let her excitement build up and it was my decision when she would reach her next orgasm. But as I was making her excitement grow ever so slowly, her pussy aching more and more for attention, I was also torturing myself. I delayed my first taste of her little honey pot until I was no longer able to bear it.

I felt that Beatrice would be more comfortable with her legs stretched out, so I allowed her to release her grip and placed her legs on the floor, positioning myself between them. The first contact of my mouth on her pussy lips was greeted with a resounding "Yes!"

It was a wonderful sensation. Her pussy had a sweet taste with a hint of cinnamon. What a pleasure it was to make love to this willing female who responded so avidly to the slightest touch, who was craving for my kisses and caresses and who made no secret of how much she was enjoying it all. I slid my tongue slowly all the way along her slit and was rewarded with a long deep moan. I kept moving back and forth, applying a little more pressure each time, gradually forcing my tongue inside her.

My tongue went into overdrive. It was licking and flicking, lashing and stabbing. It explored every crevice of the beautiful open slit below me, causing the girl to writhe in her chair, to contort her body so that her seething hot pussy got the maximum benefit from my efforts.

With the help of my fingers, I opened her pussy lips wide, so that her clitoris was completely accessible. It reminded me of some text I had read which stated that the clitoris was the female penis. This one certainly stuck out like a little finger. When I put my lips around it, Beatrice's whole body jerked and she experienced another powerful orgasm. This was obviously hot stuff. I tried to stimulate her as gently as possible but every contact of my lips or tongue on her clitoris sent her closer to screaming ecstasy.

Charlotte had told us that the clitoris was the control centre for the female sexuality, but this sexy female was completely out of control because of the things I was doing to her clitoris. Her orgasms had become a continuous flow. Her head was thrashing from left to right, her knuckles were white, so tightly was she holding on to the armrests. Her breathing had become heavy, she was gasping for air like a long distance runner approaching the home straight. Her back was arched to bring her pussy closer to my mouth.

I realized that this, like all good things, would have to come to an end, but I wanted to end it in style. With her pussy lips spread wide apart I lowered my mouth onto her pussy, grabbed her clitoris with my teeth and gave it a short, sharp jerk. Beatrice let out an enormous shriek and came to an earth-shattering orgasm, flooding my mouth with her juices. Exhausted, she relaxed back onto the chair.

There was complete silence. A series of heat waves had passed through my body, especially my pussy. I felt so hot and wet, it would not have surprised me to see steam rising from between my legs. When I finally lifted my head from Beatrice's dripping pussy, the boys and their pricks gave me a standing ovation. Even Charlotte nodded her approval.

The boys had recovered their erections and were obviously very excited by what they had seen. They probably figured that, next, they would get a chance to fuck the two horny females. At this stage I was feeling so hot, I would not have objected if Charlotte had allowed either of them, or even both, to take me.

I don't know if this had been part of Charlotte's original plan, but I could see that my bold performance had cracked her façade of the detached teacher. She wanted relief for her own excitement and could no longer play the stern authority. So she decided to cut the lesson short.

"That's all we have time for today. Maybe we'll have an opportunity to learn some more another time. You can get dressed now. Class dismissed."

The boys voiced their disappointment loudly. They would have quite a job getting their stiff cocks back into their trousers. I made a move towards my pile of clothes but Charlotte stopped me in my tracks, shouting, "Laporte, you stay behind. And don't bother to get dressed." Beatrice came towards me, embraced me and kissed my face, still wet from her juices. "Thank you very much," she said, "you were fantastic!" She did not put on her bra and even left her sexy panties behind.

One of the boys, probably Philippe, shouted on his way out, "Enjoy yourself, Jacqueline."

I replied, "Thanks, you too." I was sure that the three would continue the 'lesson' somewhere else. After the display of wanton lust Beatrice had given, there was no way that she could now deny the boys their requests.

As soon as the door had closed, Charlotte tore off her clothes, flopped down on the easy chair and said, "Christ, I'm so hot! I need your expert touch. Come here."

My pussy, too, was begging for relief, but I had been able to masturbate while Charlotte had had no choice but to play her role as the teacher. She was as hot and wet as I and it didn't take very long for her to be swooning with delight under my skilful hands and mouth. Very soon we were rolling on the floor in a 69 position, taking turns in being on top. I couldn't imagine anything better than eating a juicy pussy while having an eager mouth on mine.

After we had calmed down, I felt it was time to voice my complaints.

"Why do you humiliate me so much? Why did you let these boys touch my most intimate parts? Why do you make me do all these nasty things?"

She wasn't going to give me any comfort.

"Now listen, you ungrateful bitch. Number one: you're my sex slave, so you do what I tell you and I don't owe you any explanation or justification. Number two: it's all for your own good. I want you to get lots of practice in a safe environment so you don't make a fool of yourself when things happen to you in real life. And finally: don't tell me you didn't enjoy yourself, especially when you were all over that shaven pussy. I've never seen you that voracious."

I had to admit that she was right, particularly on her last point. Charlotte continued, now in a more conciliatory mood.

"This girl really was a peach. It's a shame I don't know how to get in contact with her. Otherwise I would invite her around for some private lessons." She noticed that I was getting apprehensive about being replaced by another sex slave, so she added, "Or maybe we could have a threesome."

I got curious about how she had invited Beatrice if she didn't have her address or telephone number.

"Oh, it was all arranged in secrecy, no addresses, no phone numbers – I don't even know if the names they gave me are real."

After a while she said, "Oh well, tomorrow I'll buy all the necessary stuff and then I'll shave your pussy so I can find out what it's like to eat a shaven pussy. And then I'll let you shave mine so I know what that feels like, too."

On my way home that evening, while trying desperately to find a credible excuse for having missed dinner, I cast my mind back to the events of the afternoon. The closer I got to my parents' house the more I was convinced that I had committed some despicable sins and that I would roast in hell for them. I was as confused as ever.

Chapter 3

[Virgin no more]

My relationship with Charlotte meant that I maintained an active sex life but my virginity was still intact. Masturbating Philippe and sucking off Serge remained my only experiences involving men, or rather boys. But given my natural curiosity about what it would be like to have sex with a man, it was only a question of time when I would try it out.

Ironically, it was my virginity which delayed my first encounter of the penetration kind. I knew that losing my virginity would be an irreversible, once-in-a-lifetime, never to be repeated experience. I didn't want it to happen casually or even accidentally, it had to be a special occasion, a memorable event. So whenever a situation arose where I asked myself 'would I want do let this guy take my virginity?', the answer was inevitably no, and in spite of some really valiant efforts at seducing me, I never let it go beyond kissing and petting – some of it quite heavy, with hardly a piece of clothing left in place.

One Sunday, Charlotte invited me for lunch at her place. "Don't expect me to spend hours in the kitchen, though," she said, "I'll buy some ready dishes from the delicatessen and add my personal touch." She also put some wine into her fridge to chill.

We enjoyed the food and wine and each other tremendously. At one point, Charlotte, lying in the easy chair with her legs up in the air, decided to pour some wine into her slit and made me drink her 'pussy wine' as she called it. Of course, I didn't stop there. Later we changed roles and I served as her chalice.

It was a glorious spring day, too beautiful to stay indoors all the time. So we decided to go for a stroll in the nearby park. We were both slightly tipsy from the wine we had consumed and Charlotte was in an exceptionally good mood, so good that I felt comfortable enough to bring up a subject which she was normally not keen on: my defloration. We were sitting on a park bench, a little off the main path, sheltered from the general view by a hedge. I started off by telling her that I thought the time had come for me to lose my virginity.

"Anyone I know?" she asked casually.

"No, I didn't have anyone particular in mind. You know I don't have any male friends, and I don't really feel I want to get involved at this stage."

"In that case, how did you intend to go about it? Put an ad in a newspaper? Donate it to charity? Sell it to the highest bidder? Would you consider a gang bang? That way the question who was the first becomes almost irrelevant."

"Well, not exactly _ sell _ it to the highest bidder, but I thought I could let the most suitable man do it."

Charlotte was intrigued by the idea and saw a possibility for an experiment in human behaviour. "Define suitable," she said.

"It would have to be someone who can do the job well, you know, be gentle and give me some pleasure in the process."

"Hmm, that's an interesting idea, but you can't ask for references, like the names of other satisfied girls they have already deflowered. And you can't let them do a dry run and select the most suitable one based on the results. I suppose, it would have to be a best guess selection from the small group of boys you know."

As I thought about the boys I knew who might be worth considering, she peeked against the sun along the path where a group of three figures was coming towards us and said, "Well, speak of the devil."

It took me a while to realise that one of the three was Serge. The other two figures were boys roughly his age. They slowed down for a moment while Serge said something to the others, then they approached us.

"Hi Jacqueline, are you still wearing those woolly knickers?" Serge said, provoking laughter from the other two. I could have killed him for this stupid remark and decided to ignore him.

"As it happens, she isn't wearing any knickers at the moment. If you care to sit down over there, you can check it out."

Charlotte had decided once again to humiliate me. The three boys walked to the place which Charlotte had indicated and sat down on the grass. Charlotte leaned over to me and told me to spread my legs. Then she lifted the hem of my skirt so that the three boys could have a view of my pussy.

"This is your chance," she said while she slipped one hand into my blouse and started playing with my nipples. "I bet, all three are able and willing, you just have to chose one. Which one do you like best?"

I told her that I wanted to select my first male partner based on objective criteria, rather than good looks, a nice smile or pleasant manners. After all, these things did not guarantee that a boy was up to the task in question. She asked me what these objective criteria were and I said, "Well, he's got to turn me on, he's got to make it a memorable experience."

"That's not very objective, my dear, and whether it's been a memorable experience is something you'll only know after the fact, not before."

Charlotte did not seem to take my idea of selecting the most suitable candidate very seriously – in fact she thought the whole idea of selecting the man who would make a woman out of me based on objective criteria was hilarious and at one point she suggested to make them draw lots – but in the end we agreed on four criteria. Each boy would have to French-kiss me, caress my breasts and stroke my pussy and I would award points for the stimulating effect they achieved. This score would indicate whether the candidate would be able to make this important step in my life a pleasurable one. The fourth criterion was the size of his member, which we also considered relevant.

Charlotte pointed out that if I was serious about not being influenced by good looks, a nice smile, etc., then it would have to be a blind test, in other words I shouldn't be able to see the candidate who was stimulating me. I found that suggestion very weird, but I had to admit that it was the logical consequence of my own idea.

While we were talking, Charlotte had unbuttoned the top of my blouse and continued to play with my nipples. I started to get excited and slid down on the bench so that I was now in an almost horizontal position with my legs spread wide to offer the boys the best possible view of my pussy.

The three hadn't moved from their spot. They kept looking in my direction and enjoyed the improving view of my pussy from the distance. I could hear them talk and laugh, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Charlotte announced that she was going to inform them of our plan.

As she got up from the bench and walked over to the group, I assumed a slightly more respectable position. She addressed the three as 'young gentlemen' and explained that she was proposing a 'somewhat unusual competition' and that the winner would be able to a collect a 'unique and precious reward'.

I had mixed feelings hearing her talk like that about me, but had to admit that she was only presenting my own idea. After all, it had been me who started the conversation about me losing my virginity. As the boys wanted to know more about this competition, I heard her talk about the beautiful spring day, the sap rising and the birds and bees.

As she spoke, the wind picked up a little and it became increasingly difficult for me to hear what she was saying. I watched them talk and occasionally laugh, but could only understand the occasional word. I heard one of them say 'completely naked' and saw Charlotte nod in agreement. Then Charlotte said something which included the word 'condom' and all three of them pulled a brand new packet from their pockets. In the end Charlotte shook hands with each of them as to seal an agreement; then she returned to our bench.

Charlotte pulled me up from the park bench. "It's all agreed. Let's go. We need to prepare a few things before they come."

On the way she told me that they had agreed to my selection criteria, that they had insisted I be completely naked throughout the competition – and she didn't think that would be any problem for me – and that the lucky winner would use a condom. They had also demanded that the winner be able to enjoy his prize in privacy. This meant that she and the two losers would have to leave as soon as I announced the winner.

Charlotte considered her bedroom a special place and she wasn't going to let a bunch of boys defile its sanctity by deflowering a virgin friend of hers in it. Therefore we carried her bed into the living room and drew the curtains to keep prying eyes out. Charlotte also suggested I had a little more wine to calm my nerves. I followed her suggestion although I felt that it was really her nerves which needed calming. When the doorbell rang, she told me to strip and lie on the bed.

As the three boys entered the room and inspected my nakedness, I felt like a whore who was receiving prospective customers. On the other hand, I wanted them to be turned on so I displayed myself in a very sensual pose. Charlotte ordered the three candidates to remove all their clothes and soon they stood there, naked, their erections swaying in the air. There wasn't any significant difference in the size and shape of their cocks, so this probably wouldn't be the deciding criterion.

Charlotte told me to have a good look at my pretenders because this would be the last time I'd see them. Then she blindfolded me and proceeded to have the boys draw lots to decide who would be first, second and third. She reminded them to remain quiet because otherwise I might be able to recognize from their voices who was Number One, Two and Three.

Soon Number One approached the bed and kissed and caressed me. I couldn't help finding the situation very weird. There were three naked boys queuing up to convince me that they were the best choice for my first ever fuck. And in order to convince me they performed a sequence of pre-defined activities for which I awarded marks. Wouldn't it be more natural to let them all get a piece of the action?

My mind was still on these thoughts when Charlotte told me I still had to evaluate Number One's penis. I didn't just want to take it into my hand, I wanted to see it and took off my blindfold.

Charlotte jumped on me like a tiger to put the blindfold back, but she came too late. I had already seen the penis – and the boy it belonged to. She scolded me for having spoilt the experiment. She would now have to assign the candidates new numbers and start again from the beginning. And, to avoid a repetition of what had just happened, I would have my hands tied to the bed. After Charlotte had found some suitable pieces of string and tied me up the competition started anew.

The way I was lying there – naked, blindfolded and my hands tied to the bedposts – must have really turned the boys on. Or maybe I felt aroused by my own vulnerability. Whatever the cause, their kisses and caresses did have a stimulating effect on me and my excitement rose with each candidate. On reflection, I would say today that, scientifically speaking, my experiment was seriously flawed, because each candidate benefited from the level of excitement the previous candidates had achieved. So Number Two achieved a higher score than Number One and Number Three scored even higher and was declared the winner.

Charlotte told the other two candidates to get dressed and leave. I heard some grumbling; they were obviously not pleased about losing. Then Charlotte gave me a kiss, wished me luck and told me to enjoy myself. She would be back as soon as it was over.

My heart was beating fast in a mixture of fear and anticipation of things to come. Soon after the door closed I could sense the weight of another body on the bed and a few moments later that weight was on top of me. A hand pried between my legs, searching for the entrance and then guiding an erect penis into my vagina. My suitor apparently thought there had been enough foreplay already and decided to come straight to the point. He also didn't find it necessary to untie my hands or remove my blindfold. He pushed a little further inside me without any difficulties but then hit some resistance. As his cock forced its way through, I felt a short, sharp pain and had the sensation that there was some bleeding.

Once this obstacle was overcome, he started pushing in and out of me, at first slowly, but soon getting faster and faster. His breathing became louder and faster and soon his body trembled and he came. Very soon after that, he withdrew his softening cock from me and got up from the bed. I could hear some sounds, probably of him getting dressed, then the door opened and just before closing it again, he said, "Thank you."

There was complete silence. I was lying on the bed, blindfolded and with my hands tied, wondering if this was all intercourse amounted to. It had been over so quickly, I didn't really have a chance to decide whether I liked the sensation of having a penis in my vagina. It hadn't caused me any great discomfort, but there hadn't been much pleasure either. I concluded that this particular male probably wasn't very experienced – it was quite possible that I had been his first ever woman – and that it would be much better with an experienced man.

When Charlotte returned and helped me get up from the bed and wash myself, she was full of scorn for the fool who didn't even have enough sense to untie me and remove my blindfold. "You weren't supposed to see them _ before _ the decision, but there would have been no harm in you seeing the winner."

The episode confirmed her long-held conviction that males were completely useless, particularly when it came to satisfying a woman's needs.

-----

In case there are any virgins out there reading my story, let me give you this advice: Very few men still consider an intact hymen a certificate of quality and expect their brides-to-be or girlfriends to be virgins. Nobody is going to return you to your parents as 'damaged goods' if it turns out on the wedding night that you're no longer a virgin. The hypocrisy of demanding that girls remain 'pure' while boys are expected to 'get some experience' has become too obvious.

Getting your hymen out of the way is not a pleasurable act. But it clears the path for fun and fulfilment. The problem is that most people consider defloration and first intercourse one and the same thing, or as two things which are intrinsically intertwined. They are not!

It's like the opening ceremony for a new bridge or a new stretch of railway track. During the ceremony the official only cuts the ribbon. The real traffic crosses the bridge some time later. Nobody uses an actual train to burst through the ribbon, they use scissors. The first train comes when the ceremony is over. Likewise you should plan the clearing of your entrance as a separate step so that you can later surrender to your chosen partner without any fear or anxiety.

My advice to all virgins is: do it yourself, in a quiet moment. Or ask your best friend to do it for you, using a candle, a carrot, or whatever other implement you prefer. If you really feel it's something that merits a big celebration, invite a few friends 'round for an inauguration party. You can even have the one who does it announce, "I herewith declare the pussy of (insert your name here) open to public traffic."

However, if you're one of those girls who already have a long standing relationship and want that man to be the first and only one – and I say this without a sneer – maybe you want to give your chosen one the honour of making a woman out of you. In that case, yes, let him do it, as long as both of you understand that this isn't sex, but merely part of feminine hygiene – and it's not likely to be a memorable event.

Chapter 4

[Sylvie and Mirabelle]

Although losing my virginity had been kind of a non-event and subsequent encounters with boys in my age bracket were no patch on the pleasures I experienced with Charlotte, I remained curious about the opposite sex. Charlotte was not much help in this respect. She would just repeat her statements about the 'penetration conspiration' and how useless men were in satisfying a woman's sexual needs.

While I accepted that she was a lesbian, I wanted her to accept that I was interested in finding out more about heterosexual sex. We had many discussions about this and it put a certain strain on our relationship. It pained me that we were drifting apart, because the afternoons I spent in her bed – or in her 'love chair' or on the living room floor – had been the best moments in my life so far. And I wanted them to continue.

I started looking for other girls who had experience with the opposite sex and who were willing to talk about those experiences. This was how I made friends with Sylvie and Mirabelle. These two girls were constantly together. Their names were always mentioned in one breath, as if they were one unit: Sylvie and Mirabelle, Mirabelle and Sylvie. But this wasn't because they were sisters; they were just very close friends and happened to live next door to each other. Whenever they arrived somewhere, they arrived together, and, more often than not, they would also leave together, frequently with a couple of boys in tow.

In spite of their closeness nobody ever suggested that they were lesbians or that they had a relationship going between them. They were too obviously interested in boys. As far as their appearance was concerned, they were on opposite ends of the scale. Sylvie was blond and best described as 'petit'. She was like the miniature version of a fully developed woman. But she didn't lack any pretenders. Boys were attracted to her easy smile, her straw-coloured hair, constantly bobbing on her pretty head, her small, firm breasts and the fact she never wore a bra, her narrow hips and her warm and welcoming personality.

Mirabelle, on the other hand, had dark hair and could best be described as voluptuous. Her shapely body seemed to be always straining to be released from the flower-patterned dresses she wore. She would joke, "I was produced from an old-fashioned mould, a mixture of Gina Lollobrigida and Sophia Loren." Although she was constantly talking about having to control her diet to keep her body from growing out of control, there were many boys who were quite fond of her curves, queuing up to dance with her and hoping to be the lucky one who got to walk her home.

The two girls' parents had similar views on their daughters' sexual exploits. They thought it was quite natural that girls – or young ladies, as they preferred to call them – wanted to find out what it was all about, experiment with different partners and eventually settle down into a steady relationship. They also knew that young people in Villiers did not have many places to go to for their intimacy, so they did not mind their daughters bringing some of their boyfriends home and spending hours behind closed doors with them. The lucky ones even got to spend the night. However, the parents never stopped reminding their daughters to take precautions.

"An unwanted pregnancy can upset all your plans for the future," Mirabelle's father used to say, "And a few minutes of uncontrolled passion aren't worth paying that price."

Once, when I was visiting Mirabelle, he told me, "You see, I'm not old enough yet to have forgotten what it's like to be young. In fact, looking at you, I wish I were young again."

I blushed and his wife said quickly, "You'd better watch what you say to Jacqueline, or her father will challenge you to a duel for making an indecent proposal to his daughter." She had obviously heard about my father's antiquated views.

Of course, when I approached Sylvie and Mirabelle I didn't say, "I want to find out about your experiences with boys." I asked them how they were preparing for the final exams and suggested that we might study together sometimes. They were a little surprised that I seemed to be looking for help with my studies - I was one of the best pupils of my year – but they thought they could only benefit and agreed to my suggestion. We would meet occasionally, taking turns in being the host, and review the subjects that were likely to come up in the exams. As I had expected, our conversations strayed frequently from the school topics and the two girls told me about their latest conquests and adventures. But, to my frustration, they didn't go into any details. They might say, 'we spent the night together,' or, 'I slept with X,' or maybe, 'we made love in the back of his father's car,' but they never talked about how they had felt during the act.

Did they reach a climax? Were they satisfied with their partners' performance? I felt I didn't know them well enough yet to ask these question and hoped that one day they might feel comfortable enough with me to talk about these aspects.

One of the subjects which they got very excited about was the opening of '_ Le Club _'. Given the limited entertainment options in Villiers, it was to be expected that the opening of a new venue – in this case a disco with live music on weekends - would be the talk of the town. '_ Le Club _' had been created inside the shell of a disused warehouse, near the western edge of town, some way away from the nearest residential building. This had the advantage that the owners didn't need to worry about complaints from neighbours about the noise, but it made the place a little difficult to get to.

Sylvie and Mirabelle were regular visitors right from the opening day on and often talked about their adventures at '_ Le Club _' and afterwards, with boys they had met there.

The unique feature of the new disco was the black light. The owner had first installed it at the entrance as part of the access control. Instead of handing out tickets, which could be passed to other people, patrons had one of their hands stamped with an invisible ink. The mark was only visible under the arch of black light fitted in the hallway which lead to the main venue. Anyone who couldn't show a stamped hand was refused entry. (Later, the regular guests, particularly some girls, found that stamping a hand was boring and asked to have the mark placed on other parts of their body: arms, shoulders, their cleavage, or high up on their thighs.)

While they were testing the installation, the staff at '_ Le Club _' noticed that the black light had another interesting effect: It made any white garment shine like a fluorescent light, and it could even achieve this effect with white underwear if the clothes a person wore on top were made of light synthetic fibres. They thought it would make the place even more interesting if they installed the black light over the dance floor as well.

Originally this was programmed to switch itself on and off at random, but later it remained on as long as someone was on the dance floor. The black light made any white shirt or blouse shine like a beacon in the semi-darkness of the disco, but the effect was most dramatic with girls' underwear. The size and shape of any white undergarment was clearly revealed. In the beginning some girls objected to being exposed like this, but all they needed to do was to choose a darker colour. Exactly the opposite happened. Many girls who had been wearing other colours switched to white; they made a point of dressing specifically for the black light effect. They didn't see anything indecent or immoral in this, after all nobody would think twice when they wore a skimpy bikini – sometimes without the top – around the swimming pool. Compared to this the disco-girls were fully dressed.

Of course, this comparison misses the point. There was an obvious sexual undercurrent in the air and the 'glowing underwear show' drew in the boys like flies. Sylvie felt she was at a disadvantage because she never wore a bra, so the only thing that shone were her panties. One evening she persuaded one of the guys at the entrance to give her some of the ink which was used to stamp those who had paid the entrance fee. With this she went to the bathroom and wrote a big L on her right breast, a big O on her left breast and the letters V and E on her lower abdomen, just above her panties. Those last two letters were written so that they looked like an arrow pointing down – to her pussy. That night she was the big star at '_ Le Club _'. She was swamped by boys who wanted to dance with her and – what else? – make love to her.

But even without such special effects, '_ Le Club _' was the place where a girl could be sure to find a partner for the night – if she wanted one, of course – and Sylvie and Mirabelle returned frequently to this source.

-----

One Saturday morning. I arrived at the agreed time at Sylvie's place for another session of exam preparations, when I saw her, dressed in a nighty, hugging and kissing a young man, who then left with a big smile on his face. When Sylvie let me into her room there was no sign of Mirabelle yet, so I thought I might use the opportunity to ask Sylvie on her own about her sex life.

I started by asking her who the boy was I had seen her kiss just then.

She said, "Oh, that was Daniel. My parents have gone away for the weekend so I felt more comfortable letting him stay overnight."

I asked her if she had enjoyed his company and she replied, "It was great. We fucked three times last night and once again this morning."

"Is that all you do – fuck?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you by using such direct language."

I assured her that I wasn't offended by her choice of words. I wasn't a prude, as many people thought. I was just very careful to hide my sex life from my father, which meant that most other people also believed I didn't have one. However, my encounters with men usually happened under quite uncomfortable circumstances, behind the bushes, in the back row of the cinema, on the backseat of a car, etc. and I was just curious to know what people did, apart from having intercourse, when they had the luxury of making love in their own home.

"Of course, we kiss a lot, we hug, we cuddle, he fondles my breasts, we talk – and we fuck. But what exactly did you have in mind with your question?"

"I was just wondering if you had any oral sex," I said as casually as possible.

"Oral sex?" Sylvie looked at me. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Yes, oral sex. You know, fellatio, cunnilingus, sixty-nine."

Sylvie's eyes widened even more. Then she smiled and said, a little condescendingly, "Ah, you've probably read about those in a book somewhere. I don't think it actually happens in real life. I've never done any of these things and I don't know anyone who has."

"You know me."

"Yes I know you, but what's that got to do with oral sex?"

"Well, you just said you don't know anyone who's ever done these things and I answered 'you know me'. I've practiced oral sex."

Sylvie's mouth stood wide open, unable to pronounce a word.

"You? Sainte Jacqueline?" she finally gasped.

I was surprised to hear her use the nickname I had given myself. But I also felt annoyed that she still thought I didn't know anything about sex.

"I have sucked cock, admittedly only once so far; I enjoy eating pussy and I absolutely love it when someone else licks mine."

I never expected that Sylvie would be this shocked by my revelation. I had always considered her an open-minded person in questions of sex.

"You mean you've actually put a penis into your mouth?" she stammered in disbelief.

Well, if this game was about asking astonished questions, I could join in.

"You mean, you let this guy fuck you four times and never ever touched his cock with your lips?" I countered. "You mean, you've never experienced a screaming orgasm from someone exploring your pussy with his or her tongue?"

Sylvie changed the subject slightly. "Screaming orgasm – that's another thing that only happens in erotic fiction."

Now I was getting somewhere. I had been looking for someone who could confirm that it was possible to have a satisfying sex life with a man and so far I was under the impression that Sylvie was such a person. But her comment about screaming orgasms being an invention of fiction writers made me think otherwise. But this wasn't a game of one-upmanship, we weren't playing 'my sex life is better than yours', so I decided to drop the subject.

After a few minutes of silence, Sylvie asked, "You honestly think something like a 'screaming orgasm' is possible?"

"I've had so many, I've lost count," I said. I castigated myself immediately for boasting with my sexual prowess – hadn't I just decided not to play that game? I added, "But so far never with a man."

That remark intrigued her.

"But you think it's possible between two women?"

"I know it is."

I had a look around me. I was sitting on a chair near the desk in her bedroom. Sylvie sat on her bed, still unmade from her nightly exploits, wearing a nighty and probably nothing else.

"Would you like to try it?" I asked.

She didn't seem to be shocked by my suggestion, just a little confused. She had realized that her picture of the world needed a significant adjustment, but she probably wasn't ready to say yes. I decided to take the initiative. I unzipped my dress and stepped out of it as it slipped to the floor. This left me naked except for my panties. I remembered Charlotte's comments about my knickers being a turn-off and took them off straight away. When I walked towards Sylvie she just stared at me, as if she had been hypnotised.

I said, "Listen, I don't want you to do anything against your will. If you feel unsure about it, say it now and I'll leave."

"No, no," she said, coming out of her trance-like state, "I was just thinking how beautiful you are. I had never thought of you as a sexual being. But yes, I do want to carry on. I do want to experience a screaming orgasm."

I lifted Sylvie up from the bed and hugged her. She was quite a bit shorter than me, I could feel her chin against my breast. I could sense that she was still a little tense about this, her heartbeat sounded like a sledgehammer. I held the embrace for some time. I wanted her to relax, to start to enjoy the contact with another woman's body. Then I took her face between my hands and kissed her, first very gently, her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks; getting more assertive when I reached her mouth. When I kissed her lips she opened them for me to allow my tongue to explore the inside of her mouth. I could feel her tightening her embrace, a sign that she was starting to warm to the idea.

I lifted Sylvie's nighty and pulled it over her head. She helped me by raising her arms. She was wearing a pair of panties which matched the pattern of the nighty. 'No problem,' I thought to myself, 'we'll take care of that later.'

We embraced again, pressing our naked breasts against each other. This time my lips visited her neck and shoulders and my tongue darted behind her earlobes. My hands ran down her back and caressed her bottom. I could feel her excitement mount and made her lie down on the bed. Lying next to her, I explored Sylvie's body with my eyes and hands. I decided to leave her panties on a little longer, hoping that she would remove them herself, kind of offering me her pussy as a sign that she really wanted this.

Her small, firm breasts were really beautiful, the hardened nipples sensitive to the lightest touch. They would be a feast for my mouth in a little while, but I was in no hurry. I passed my hands over her abdomen, her hips, her bottom and her slender legs. She didn't stay completely passive but her attempts to return my caresses remained quite timid.

I made Sylvie lie on her back and kissed her, starting with a long kiss on her mouth and moving down gradually. When I approached her breasts she was already moaning in anticipation. Her breasts were really tantalizing. Opening my mouth wide, I could take almost the entire breast into my mouth and then slowly slide my lips along this mound of flesh to eventually close them firmly around her nipple. She arched her back to meet my mouth and when my tongue started to tease her sensitive nipple, there was no holding back. She pressed my head against her chest and begged for more – which I gladly delivered.

After making her experience two wonderful orgasms (I don't know if they were intense enough to qualify as 'screaming') just from stimulating her nipples with my mouth, I continued my journey downward. Sylvie was only too keen to get the impeding textile out of the way. She lifted her bottom from the bed and pushed her panties down. Then, with a few quick leg movements, she kicked them off and sent them flying across the room.

Her pubic hair was the colour of a sun-drenched cornfield. Looking at her pussy made me think of a painting by van Gogh. But there were different pleasures at hand – or should I say at mouth? I continued where I had left off and soon reached her pussy – and it didn't take a soothsayer to predict that it would be quite wet and hot by now. And how wonderful it tasted!

I kissed and licked; Sylvie bucked like a bronco. Her clitoris was as sensitive as her nipples, the slightest touch made her moan. I tried to keep things cool but she was in a hurry; she wanted another orgasm and she wanted it now!

I firmed my lips on her pussy and flicked my tongue along her clitoris a few times. That did it. Her entire body convulsed, it seemed to want to lift off the bed and her scream filled the air – it made me wonder if the neighbours could hear it – then she relaxed back on the bed.

I wasn't satisfied yet. I wanted Sylvie to have another climax, one where she could enjoy the gradual build-up of her excitement, where I could keep her on the brink of ecstasy for as long as I wanted, until I finally decided to push her over the edge.

That's exactly what I did. I let my tongue play; sliding along her pussy lips, licking the juices from her pussy and caressing her clitoris. I let her arousal rise slowly, taking great care that she didn't get too hot too soon. It didn't take long and she was squirming on the bed, begging me to make her come.

I managed to ignore her pleas for a while but she was just too hot to resist. I plunged my tongue inside her as deep as I could; her body shuddered and she came. Again, the level of noise she produced in the process was quite astonishing. I took her in my arms and covered her face with tiny little kisses until she had recovered her composure.

"God, that was wonderful. I never thought something like this was possible," Sylie finally said.

I stroked her straw-blonde hair and resisted the temptation to say, 'I told you so'.

"You're a wicked girl, Jacqueline. A few hundred years ago people like you were burnt on the stake for being witches."

I didn't feel like delving into that scenario. My pussy was on fire and didn't need the extra heat from a witch-burning pyre. It always got hot and steamy when I treated another woman to a meltdown orgasm. I almost think I might be able to come out of sympathy with my victim. I wanted relief, any relief. I lay back on the bed and asked, spreading my legs invitingly, "Would you like to practice some witchcraft too?"

Sylvie looked at me, seemingly surprised that I could suggest such a thing. She bent forward tentatively, looking at my sex. Then she turned around and said, "I'm sorry. I don't think I can do it."

My parents taught me that it's undignified to beg and this is one of the few maxims where I fully agree with them. I got up from the bed and put on my clothes. Then I made my excuses. "Seeing that we won't study today, I might as well get a few things done."

As I was about to leave, Sylvie said, "Jacqueline, please don't tell anybody about this – not even Mirabelle. I don't want anybody to get the wrong idea."

I took a deep breath and told myself that I had to accept people the way they are, that there was no point in calling Sylvie an ungrateful bitch or a hypocrite. If she didn't want to own up to her own feelings, that was her problem. I just said, "Don't worry Sylvie, I'm not in the habit of going around telling stories about my sex life," and left.

-----

My pussy wasn't giving me any respite. I knew I had to masturbate, but I found the thought of returning to my room in my parents' house depressing. I decided to ring Charlotte. When she answered the phone I asked if it was okay for me to drop by. She answered, "You know you're always welcome here. There's no need to ask."

Charlotte's answer reminded me that my place was in her apartment, in her bed, not in somebody else's. I had mentioned my friendship with Sylvie and Mirabelle to Charlotte, but only in the context of exam preparations.

Now I had made love to Sylvie. Had I been unfaithful to Charlotte? Did my conduct break any of the rules Charlotte had established for me as her sex slave? She had never said anything about sex with other women. I was sure that, if Charlotte had been present, she would have ordered me to do exactly what I did to Sylvie. Hadn't I acted in Charlotte's interest by spreading the message about how satisfying sex between women can be?

Although I convinced myself that Charlotte had no reason to be upset about my adventure with Sylvie, I decided to keep quiet about it.

When I arrived at Charlotte's place, I got undressed in the entrance hall as usual and went to the living room where Charlotte was sitting on the sofa, reading. I knelt on the floor in front of her, sitting back on my heels with my legs spread wide, and said, "Master Charles, please let me masturbate for you."

-----

Later that afternoon, after we had sated our lust on each other's body, I told Charlotte what I had heard about '_ Le Club _'. She condemned the venue without hesitation.

"It's like a slave market where the women display their charms and the men chose the one who suits them best. How about the men showing the shape of their underwear, or better still, their cocks and letting the women choose?"

It was clear that she wouldn't want to be seen dead in a place like that. And that was the end of the subject for her.

But I always tried to explore things from different angles and said, "Look at it this way: When the girls parade around the swimming pool in tiny bikinis, they also do it for the benefit of the boys. In fact, many go topless, displaying their naked breasts. And you don't seem to object to topless bathing."

"That's right," Charlotte said, "I enjoy looking at those sun-burnt tits."

"The difference is," I continued, "that at the swimming pool and on the beach all this undressing happens under the pretence of getting a sun tan or being able to swim better with fewer clothes on. If that was the real reason, they should go without clothes altogether. At '_ Le Club _' it's more honest. There isn't any pretence. It's part of the game called 'female attracts male for mating to ensure the survival of the species'."

"Hmm, I never thought of it that way," Charlotte pondered. "But do you really believe the people who go to '_ Le Club _' see it like that?"

"There's only one way of finding out. Ask them."

-----

Sylvie didn't keep her secret for very long. A few days later, Mirabelle approached me, a little nervous, unsure how to start and then told me she had found out from Sylvie what the two of us had gotten up to the day we had planned to study together.

Apparently Mirabelle had also hitched up with a boy the evening before and taken him home (her parents were travelling with Sylvie's parents). As the two of them were lying in bed the next morning, recovering from some exciting action, they heard Sylvie scream once and then, a little later, a second time.

Mirabelle had been a little worried at first but then assumed that there was some really hot action going on between Sylvie and her partner and left it at that. Later that day, when the two met, Mirabelle asked Sylvie what her boyfriend had done to get her to scream like that and Sylvie had hesitantly explained that her screams had not been the result of any boyfriend's action but of my oral skills.

Mirabelle was visibly ill at ease, it wasn't easy for her to talk about this subject. But the most difficult part was still to come. She said she had been intrigued by Sylvie's story and would I mind very much, or better, could she be so bold to ask, or, in other words, was there a chance...

I didn't want to prolong her agony and said casually, "No problem, Mirabelle, I'd be delighted to eat your pussy."

My directness shocked her only briefly, after all, now it was out in the open and she didn't even have to say it herself. She wanted me to go with her straight away, but when I heard that her mother was at home, I declined the invitation. The last thing I needed was a worried mother checking what that noise was about and finding me with my face immersed in her daughter's pussy. I convinced Mirabelle to wait until her parents would spend some time away. She didn't like the delay very much but bowed to reason in the end.

Not long after that, one Saturday afternoon, Mirabelle phoned me with the good news that her parents had gone to Paris to see an exhibition. They had told her they wouldn't be home for dinner. Mirabelle seemed to be in a great hurry; she wanted me to drop everything and come round to her place immediately. I told her to relax and promised I would be there as soon as possible.

When I arrived Mirabelle didn't have a stitch on, so eager was she to experience that thing she didn't even dare pronounce. I wondered where this eager anticipation came from. I hadn't said a single word to Mirabelle to persuade her. Had Sylvie been singing the praises of oral sex?

But Sylvie had been unwilling to own up to her feelings! She had asked me to keep it a secret for fear of being branded a lesbian or bi! Had she enjoyed it as much as her screams suggested, but didn't want to admit it to me? And now she was telling Mirabelle – maybe others – what a wonderful experience it had been? Sylvie had never talked to me about the events of that morning. She behaved towards me as if they had never happened.

I didn't have much time to ponder about this mystery; there was a naked woman smiling at me sensually, waiting for my embrace. Mirabelle took me to her bedroom where I promptly undressed. As soon as I had taken off my last garment she dragged me onto her bed where she hugged me closely. I had never seen her this geared up. Was she like this when she slept with boys?

I gave her everything she asked for, probably more. I caressed every part of her womanly body with my hands and lips, feasted my mouth on her ample breasts and buried my head between her voluptuous thighs. She squirmed and writhed on her bed, gasped in surprise and moaned with pleasure.

If anything, Mirabelle was even more vociferous in her appreciation of my skills than Sylvie had been. Like an artist returning to the stage for an encore and then another one and another one, I took her shouts of appreciation as requests for more and more and didn't stop until my tongue had completely lost its strength.

Mirabelle had been very responsive during our sex bout. Now her hands caressed my breasts, exclaiming how beautiful they were, full but firm; how my whole body seemed to be that of a Greek goddess and how my mouth had given her one delight after another.

I hadn't expected her to try to return the pleasure I had made her feel, but Mirabelle's hand found my pussy and she started to stimulate me – a little timidly at first but getting more and more assertive. Not being the passive type, I put my hand on her sex and returned the favour as good as I got. This brought both of us to a wonderful relaxing climax.

The experience had helped Mirabelle lose some of her inhibitions, but only some.

"This was the first time I touched another woman's ... you know ..."

"Pussy," I said, "And, did you like it?"

"Well, yes," she said hesitantly, and then adding quickly, "but that doesn't mean I'm a lesbian."

"Of course it doesn't. Just enjoying sex with another woman doesn't make you a lesbian. But I'm a little surprised about you saying that my pussy was the first one ever. Seeing how close friends you are with Sylvie, I would have thought ..."

This time it was me who didn't finish the sentence.

"Oh no, there's nothing between us, absolutely nothing. Only once were we naked in front of each other, but we didn't touch."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I tried to help her come out of her shell.

"It happened one weekend this summer when we went with my parents to the hut in the mountains – you know, my father has a hut in Tracy-le-Mont, about two hours by car from here. My parents go there occasionally and on that particular weekend they suggested I'd come along. I asked if I could invite Sylvie as well and they agreed. The hut is quite basic, but there is hot water and electricity. There are two bedrooms. My parents slept in one and Sylvie and I got the other one."

"I see. You got undressed and looked at each other without touching."

"No, no. Nothing happened in the hut. We slept in our nightshirts and there were two separate beds," she clarified.

"The next day, it was quite hot, even though we were in the mountains, and my father told us about a waterfall a short distance up the path. 'The water there forms a natural pool which is very refreshing,' he told us, and added with a wink, 'Nobody ever goes there, you don't even need a swimsuit.' The question of the swimsuit was purely academic - neither of us had brought one, after all, this was a trip to the mountains – but we set off unperturbed. The waterfall wasn't far away but it was a steady climb and by the time we got there we were dripping with sweat, looking forward to a dip in the refreshing water.

"The waterfall was in an exceptionally beautiful setting. The creek cascading down from a great height formed a pool of completely transparent water. The pool was surrounded by lush vegetation in multiple shades of green, lit by rays of sunshine which were bursting through the gaps between the trees. This could have been a picture from a travel-agent's brochure.

"To our great disappointment we found that two boys had put up a tent right at the edge of the pool. They were sitting in front of their tent, contemplating the scenery. We said hello and they nodded back, then we sat down, not too close to them, cursing them under our breath.

"We were still wondering what to do when one of them turned around and asked, 'Don't you want to take a dip?'

'We'd love to, but we didn't bring any swimsuits.' Sylvie came straight out with the truth.

'Neither did we,' the guy responded.

'Why don't you go first? We'll follow you later,' said Sylvie.

"The two boys looked at each other, then they got up and took off their clothes. When they were down to their underpants, they turned their backs to us, stripped quickly and ran into the water. What they were trying to hide but we still managed to see, was that both of them had sizable erections. However the cold water soon took care of that. The water was so clear we could watch their penises shrink. Then we decided to peel off our sweaty clothes and jumped in quickly before they could see too much.

"The first sensation was the temperature shock between our hot bodies and the cool water. I could feel my nipples harden, and my areolas became even darker than they usually are. Later, one of the boys told me that looking at my breasts had been the biggest turn-on he'd ever had.

"The pool wasn't very deep and it was almost impossible to swim. So we both just stood there, shivering slightly and displaying our breasts to the eager eyes of two strangers. To our relief, the two boys soon felt they'd had enough refreshment and went to their tent where they proceeded to dry themselves with their towels. This was when we realised we had a problem: we hadn't brought anything to dry ourselves.

"Sylvie shouted to the boys, 'Can we borrow your towels? We forgot to bring ours,' and received the answer, 'We can do better than that, we'll dry you.'

"We left the pool, shivering in the cool air, covering ourselves as best we could and walked straight into the towels on the outstretched arms of the two strangers. My partner – I found out later that his name was Jean-Paul and the other one was called Guy – wrapped the towel around me and proceeded to dry me. He did a very thorough job, he rubbed every part of me, until I was completely dry, warm and invigorated. It felt almost like a massage.

"When I looked for Sylvie I couldn't see her, nor the boy who had been drying her. I asked Jean-Paul and he said 'They're in the tent.' Then he added, 'There's only room for two people. We have to wait until they're finished.'

"Questions started to race through my mind. Wait with what? Finished with what? And what was Sylvie doing in that tent with that boy, neither of them wearing any clothes? That last question was the easiest to answer and after that, everything else fell into place.

"I looked at the boy in front of me who was still holding the towel around my shoulders and noticed that his penis was rigid, standing up like a totem pole. He followed my eyes and smiled. 'So this guy thinks I'm going to crawl into that tent with him and let him have his way with me,' I thought. And you know something? He was dead right. That was exactly what I felt like after the beautiful rub and massage he'd given me.

"When Sylvie and Guy came out of the tent, stark naked, they went straight back into the pool. Jean-Paul put his arm around my shoulders and said, 'It's our turn'.

"We went into the tent and made love. It was wonderful. We spent the rest of the day like that. There was always one couple frolicking in the pool or rubbing each other dry and the other pair rocking the tent. When we returned to my father's hut, late in the afternoon he was a little surprised that we had stayed away so long. 'It was just such a wonderful experience' I said, and Sylvie added, 'It's a piece of paradise.'"

I was deeply moved by her story.

"What a terrific experience," I said, "Making love in such a marvellous setting and having the freedom to spend as much time as you want. I wish I had been there."

Mirabelle was a little surprised about this remark. She had come to conclusion that I was a lot more experienced than her, but I told her that my encounters with boys so far could best be described as 'Wham, bam, thank you Ma'am'.

Mirabelle said, "We've kept in touch with the boys via e-mail and we're planning to meet again, probably as soon as the exams are over. If you want, you can come along. But you have to bring your own boy, preferably one with a tent."

-----

My friendship with Sylvie and Mirabelle continued as before. We met to study and always took some time to talk about whatever subject came to mind, which often included their adventures in their pursuit of the ideal boyfriend. Neither of them ever mentioned oral sex or screaming orgasms, nor was there any suggestion that they wanted to repeat the experience.

It puzzled me that they would go into denial about what must have been one of their most exciting sexual experiences, but after some thinking I found a plausible explanation. They were trapped in their parents' value system. Sylvie's and Mirabelle's upbringing had been 'liberal' as far as sex was concerned. Their parents understood that youngsters at a certain age develop a desire and a curiosity for sex. They knew it was useless to forbid it. Instead, they acknowledged the need to experiment, to gain some experience. They even turned a blind eye to the fact that their daughters had not yet reached the age of consent.

The girls were grateful to their parents for their apparent tolerance and enjoyed their freedom, going out chasing boys – or allowing boys to chase them. But this freedom had its limits which were fixed, either explicitly or implicitly, so that they excluded everything that might be considered 'kinky'. And the girls accepted and obeyed those rules without question. They were like chickens on a farm yard who had been given enough food and space to run around and had completely lost the desire to explore the world which lay beyond the farm gate.

I, on the other hand, did not come from a liberal environment. My parents – more specifically my father, as my mother never dared to disagree with him – had made it clear that everything to do with sex was bad and therefore forbidden. But once my desire had grown strong enough to make me transgress that rule, all forms of sex were the same to me, there wasn't one purer or more wicked then the others. People like Sylvie and Mirabelle who had been given the covert permission to do what 'young ladies' their age normally do, could not bring themselves to practice other forms of sex which didn't fit into the 'normal' or 'accepted' category. It seemed ironic, but I felt that somehow my conservative upbringing had resulted in a more natural, open-minded approach to sex than theirs. And with Charlotte as my master, I had learned to pursue sexual pleasure - my own and that of others - without letting convention get in the way.

-----

In the meantime, my knowledge – at least theoretical – of anything to do with sexual gratification was expanding. Charlotte and I had built up her collection of 'dirty' magazines and books into a small library. We now also had some volumes showing men having sex with other men. What impressed me most about these pictures was the size of the cocks which were being sucked or inserted in the partner's behind. I hadn't come across anything near that size in my timid forays into the male anatomy. We found it interesting to know that these practices existed, but couldn't really get turned on by looking at men having sex with men.

There was another section, in large part my contribution to the library, which was dedicated to practices involving bondage and spanking. We had pictures of people being tied up with ropes, chains or other implements, being gagged and blindfolded and subjected to all kinds of torture and humiliation. We saw bottoms – but not only bottoms – being spanked, paddled, caned and whipped.

I remember one particular picture which fascinated me. It showed a girl about my age. She was completely naked and tied spread-eagled to some contraption the shape of an X. Clamps had been attached to her nipples and pussy lips. The clips on her pussy were fixed to thin chains which were pulled taut to pull her pussy wide open and expose her clitoris. A hooded figure stood between her legs and whipped her sex with a cat o' nine tails. I instinctively pressed my thighs together when I imagined the excruciating pain that girl must have felt when the whip came down on her most tender parts. And I couldn't stop looking at her beautiful face which didn't show any trace of pain, only bliss and ecstasy.

Charlotte noticed how engrossed I was with this photograph. "Would you like me to tie you up like this," she asked.

The answer 'You're the Master, you know best' passed through my mind, but that would have given her carte blanche to do anything she wanted with me and I didn't feel comfortable doing that.

Instead I said, "Well, you already tied me up and blindfolded me once."

Charlotte didn't let that count because it had happened on my own request, to carry out some harebrained plan of mine. As with so many other topics, this conversation never came to any conclusion.

Chapter 5

[Ramon]

"I've decided to pay a visit to '_ Le Club _' and would like you to come along."

I couldn't believe that Charlotte would change her mind so radically.

"I thought you would never set foot in a place like that," I tried to provoke her.

Charlotte remained unfazed. "I'm not going there for my own amusement, but in the service of science."

She said she was going to conduct a survey on the attitudes of men towards women and wanted to get the young men at '_ Le Club _' to fill in a questionnaire.

"But what shall I wear?" I asked, remembering what Sylvie and Mirabelle had told me about the effect of the black light.

"Don't worry, I have already selected an outfit for you. Just come to my place in your normal clothes and I'll get you fixed up. You'll be dressed to kill."

I felt a little apprehensive about this. It seemed that she had decided to give me another 'opportunity to learn', as she would put it. But often, I found her way of arranging these opportunities quite humiliating.

Nevertheless, the following Saturday I went to her place as requested, with plenty of time before the disco would open. I undressed as usual and she showed me the clothes she had selected for me. They were a black miniskirt and an equally black top. The skirt was just long enough not to be indecent. The top was made of a semi-transparent _ crepe lisse _. It had a few buttons at the front and was held up by thin spaghetti-straps, leaving the neck and shoulders exposed. For underneath Charlotte had selected tiny bikini-briefs and a strapless bra, both brilliant white.

From what I had heard, the white underwear would shine like a beacon under the influence of the black light. I could imagine that this outfit would attract men like flies and grew even more apprehensive, but when Charlotte made love to me in a beautiful, tender way, all my worries were forgotten.

Afterwards she explained her plan to me. Because I was new and very good looking, lots of men would want to dance with me or just try to chat me up. I was allowed to talk to and dance with whoever I wanted, but before I would have to send them to her so she could give them her questionnaire. It sounded a little weird to me but I couldn't see any harm in helping her with her research.

When we arrived at '_ Le Club _' the place was just starting to fill up. It was a large, mainly bare room with a stage for the band, a large dance floor in front of the stage and a few tables around the dance floor. One entire wall was taken up by a huge bar. Charlotte established herself at a table near the dance floor and I occupied a place at the bar.

I was amazed by the large number of men – to be precise, mostly boys about my age – who came to talk to me. There were some stupid come-ons like, "Hi cutie, do you come here often?" which I ignored. On the whole they treated me with respect, although it was quite clear that they were after one thing only.

When I sent them to see Charlotte first, some thought this was a stupid idea and lost interest, but most of my pretenders went to talk to her and came back showing me her confirmation that they had completed the questionnaire. I danced with quite a lot of boys whenever the band was playing and stood around chatting when the musicians took a break. The fact that the black light over the dance floor showed everyone the shape of my underwear didn't bother me. After all this wasn't very different from walking around the swimming pool wearing a bikini.

This was a place where young people went to pick up someone or to be picked up, so it didn't surprise me that some of my dance partners tried to feel me up, kiss my neck and shoulders or slide their hands under the back of my skirt to feel my bottom and suggested we go somewhere more private, but I hadn't met anyone interesting enough to contemplate such an invitation.

After some time, Charlotte came to where I was standing at the bar and said, "This is going very well. Now comes phase two of the experiment. Go to the toilet and take off your bra."

I didn't know what to say. Mirabelle had clearly told me that people notice when a girl who had been displaying her bra in the black light was suddenly no longer wearing one. It was a statement of availability for groping and was only done by girls who were desperate to find someone for the night. I didn't see myself in that category, so I told Charlotte that this was not part of our agreement.

Charlotte just said, "It doesn't matter what we agreed, just do as you're told."

Reluctantly, I went to the toilet and took off my bra as Charlotte had requested and handed it to her. As I crossed the dance floor there were a few wolf whistles. Some men had obviously noticed that I was no longer wearing the bright, white garment. I went to my usual place at the bar and asked for a drink when I heard a voice near me say, "_ Vous êtes très jolie _ . " [You are very pretty.]

My mind was still occupied with the effect the missing bra might have on future dance partners. I didn't pay any attention to what the voice had said and just answered, "If you want to dance with me, you have to see Charlotte over there," pointing in the direction where Charlotte was sitting.

Only after that did I think about what he had said. He was the first one in this place to use the polite form of address, '_ vous _', rather than the informal '_ tu _' like everybody else.

He replied, "I wasn't really thinking of dancing. I want to make passionate love to you all night long."

"Well, you have to see Ch..." Again, I had started my response without paying much attention to what he had said. When it sank in, I stopped in mid-sentence and looked at him.

"What?"

He was good looking, I guessed in his late twenties, and everything about him said 'man', but in a very gentle way.

"You heard what I said," he replied. He spoke with a foreign accent which I couldn't quite place. I could tell from his face that he meant what he had said. Not like some boys who occasionally approached me saying, "You wanna fuck?" and probably wouldn't know what to do if I actually were to answer yes. There was something electric, something extremely sensual in the air.

"This is how we'll do it," he said, "You go back to the toilet and take off your panties. You write '_ je veux _' [I want to] on them with your lipstick and bring them to me. Then we leave, go to my apartment and make passionate love all night long."

This was unbelievable. How could a complete stranger dare to make such an outrageous proposal. I looked at him again. He looked straight back at me. He was serious about this. He just nodded and said, "Go," as if giving me permission to leave.

I was under his spell. Like a sleep-walker, I got off my chair and went to the toilet. Inside the cubicle I slipped off my panties and wrote '_ je veux _' on the lacy textile. Then, carrying the garment in my hand, I returned to the bar. As I crossed the dance floor there were quite a few more wolf whistles. Those boys had obviously noticed that the other part of my underwear was also gone and that I carried it in my hand for everyone to see. I handed my panties to the stranger without saying a word.

"Very nice," he said as he put them in his pocket. "Let's go." He put his arm around my waist and lead me to the door.

In his car he finally asked me for my name and told me that he was called Ramon. He was 32 years old, from Argentina, but now living in Paris. I told him I was 18 years old, a lie which I considered credible. I didn't want to risk him turning around and taking me back to where he had picked me up.

It would take some time to get to his apartment, so we had a chance to get to know each other a little better. I asked him if he was a frequent visitor to '_ Le Club _', trying to find out if he usually picked up girls this way.

Ramon explained that this was his first visit, a stroke of luck, so to speak. He had been on his way back from Lyon when he heard on his car radio that all the major roads into Paris were blocked, Especially '_ la périphérique _', the ring road around Paris, was reported to be one solid traffic jam. Rather than sitting in a traffic jam for hours, he had decided to stop somewhere on the way for an early dinner. When he had finished his meal, the radio was still reporting heavy traffic so he decided to wait a little longer and went for a walk. This is when he saw '_ Le Club _' and went inside.

"As soon as I saw you, I knew I wanted to make love to you," he said.

"Do you usually tell your victims to take off their panties before you ask for their name?" I asked, trying to get him to tell me a little more about his intentions.

"Well, no, this was a special case. I had been standing next to you for a while without you noticing me, so I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with your friend – I apologize for being so nosey. From what I heard I came to the conclusion that you need someone to tell you what to do, to take responsibility for your actions. So I ventured to help you with your decision – and luckily you followed my advice. I'm sure you won't regret it."

I found this explanation puzzling. Was he hinting that he had discovered Charlotte was my master and did he intend to take over that role?

When I asked him why he had moved from his native country to Paris he just answered, "Professional reasons," and left it at that. After a while he said, "I've been away for a week, so I don't know what state my apartment will be in. You may see some ladies' underwear lying around."

'Oh dear,' I thought, 'this one's seducing women by the dozen and keeps their underwear as a trophy. I wonder if there are any bodies hidden under the floorboards.'

He continued, "I don't want you to get a wrong impression. It's part of my job."

I kind of expected that the stranger would rest his hand on my knee, let it slide up my thighs, underneath my skirt or make some other advances towards me. After all I had agreed to let him have his way with me – I had even given it to him in writing. And he knew that I wasn't wearing any underwear. My skimpy skirt and flimsy top wouldn't offer much protection. But, to my surprise, he behaved like a perfect gentleman throughout the journey.

Ramon parked the car in an underground garage and we took the lift to the top floor where his apartment was. We entered a small hallway with several doors leading off to either side. At the end of the corridor was a large rectangular space, with floor-to-ceiling windows on either end overlooking Paris.

The large room was divided into three distinct spaces each with its own characteristics. The part to the left looked like an artist's studio with a large table on which several sketches were scattered. There were also a number of cameras on tripods and an assortment of lighting equipment. On the walls, I noticed poster-size photographs of very classy looking women wearing elegant underwear, but I didn't see any panties lying around.

The middle part looked like a conventional living room with a sofa, several comfortable armchairs and a large TV screen. There was also a small bar with a few stools which gave access to the kitchen. The other third of the room had a raised floor. In the semi-darkness I saw an enormous bed but couldn't make out much else.

Ramon asked me if I would like a drink. I accepted but left the choice up to him.

"I think the occasion calls for Champagne," he declared. As he went to the kitchen to get a bottle from the fridge, he said, "By the way, there is a phone over there in case you want to make a call."

A call? – Christ! His remark brought me down to earth. I was in Paris, it was nearly ten and my father had told me to be home by eleven at the latest. 'Making passionate love all night long' would take much longer than I had time for. My mind was searching feverishly for a solution. Then I found it: I remembered that Sylvie was nursing a cold and had decided to stay at home that evening, and I knew that I could count on her.

I phoned Sylvie and explained that I would spend the night somewhere else, without going into details. I asked her to call my parents and tell them I was staying at her place. For what reason was I staying at her place? I couldn't come up with a good reason and asked her to think of one. I would call her in the morning to find out what she had told my parents. After this excitement I really needed a drink.

Shortly after I had taken my fist sip of Champagne, Ramon started to kiss me. First he kissed my hair, my forehead and my cheeks, then, rotating the bar stool on which I had planted myself, he proceeded to kiss my neck, shoulders and ear. I was astonished what devastating effect these gentle caresses had on me. A simple flick of his tongue behind my ear lobes sent shivers down my spine and had me moan with desire. He continued to turn the bar stool around, kissing and stroking my neck and shoulders and giving my other ear lobe the same treatment. When we were face to face again our mouths locked in a passionate kiss.

Ramon pushed my head towards him and plunged his tongue into my mouth while I threw my arms around him and tried to match his efforts as best I could. We stopped only briefly to catch our breath and then locked our mouths again in a tight kiss.

After a while, Ramon started to unbutton the halter top I was wearing. As I watched him, I noticed how thin the material really was and how much of the shape of my breasts it revealed. I also realized how hard my nipples had become, an indication of how aroused I was.

When Ramon had undone all buttons, he pushed the spaghetti straps holding the garment in place off my shoulders so that the top would fall. It slipped down a little but its fall was stopped by my erect nipples. Ramon lifted me off the bar stool and stood me on the floor. Then, with a little help from both of us, my halter finally fell to the floor. Ramon stepped back a little to take it all in. His face was like that of a boy who had just received a huge Christmas present.

"You are so beautiful," he finally said.

He gently cupped my breasts as if to feel their weight and then bent down to kiss them, slowly working his way from the left to the right and then back again, not missing the valley in between. When he reached my nipples, the excitement became almost unbearable. My god, how this man could use his tongue. Not even my friend Charlotte who was an expert in these things had ever made my excitement reach this level. First he sucked one of my nipples into his mouth, then he circled his tongue around the rock-hard flesh. When he gave it a few sharp flicks, I felt like I had been whipped in one of my most delicate places. But I didn't just feel it where his mouth was. The sensation went straight to my pussy. I let out a moan and came, feeling at the same time that my legs were no longer able to support me. I stumbled forward, only to be caught in his arms.

He steadied me and said, "Yes, you're right, let's move to a more comfortable place. But first let's finish the unwrapping."

He really thought I was an early Christmas present! Kneeling on the floor in front of me, he unfastened my skirt and let it drop to the floor. There was no further 'wrapping' to be removed as I had already taken off my panties before embarking on this adventure. I could sense that he was tempted to plunge his tongue into my already moist sex there and then. But he restrained himself and, once again, stepped back a little to contemplate his present.

"My god, you're much more beautiful than I expected," he said.

This short interlude gave me a chance to reflect on the strangeness of the situation: Here I was, standing stark naked in front of a man whom I had only met a short while ago. And why was I here? Because he had promised (or should I say offered, or maybe threatened?) to make passionate love to me all night long. If the events so far were anything to go by, I was in for an exciting experience.

Ramon picked me up and carried me, like a newly-wed husband might have carried his bride, up the few steps to the raised platform where the bed was located.

As we approached the bed, soft background lighting came on automatically. 'Hmm, that's handy', I thought to myself, 'this way you don't need to switch on the lights when you've got your hands full.' And I wondered how many times before my lover had come up these steps 'with his hands full'.

Ramon placed me gently on the huge bed and proceeded to strip down to his shorts. I wondered briefly why he didn't go all the way. It certainly wasn't because he was embarrassed about the size of his member, judging from the huge bulge his erection produced. The rest of his body was also quite impressive: strong muscular arms and legs, a broad chest and a belly without any trace of flab. He was obviously looking after himself. I had seen boys my age with more flab than this.

But I didn't have much time to think such idle thoughts as his hands and mouth were soon back on my body. Ramon lay down next to me and took my face into both hands. As before, he started kissing me gently, my hair, my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks and finally my mouth. We embraced tightly as our mouths locked in a wild, passionate kiss.

There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted him to make love to me. That I wanted to be his. Tonight, any night, any day. But would I live up to his expectations? Would he be disappointed when he found out that I had hardly any experience in pleasing a man? In spite of all the excitement his tender caresses were producing, I couldn't help feeling a little tense about the next step. Ramon noticed that there was something worrying me, keeping me from enjoying his treatment to the full.

"Relax," he said, "nothing bad is going to happen to you. You know something? - I'm going to give you a massage."

He turned me around so that I was lying face down on the bed and produced a bottle of fragrant oil from somewhere. He put some of it on his hands and started to give me a massage.

His touch was so light, his hands were so gentle, so subtle; at times I wondered whether he was actually touching me or whether his hands were just hovering above my skin, afraid that I might burst like a soap bubble if he touched me too firmly. It felt like heaven. The massage relaxed me to the point that I imagined myself levitating, my body floating a few centimetres above the bed. That would explain the ease with which he turned me around and gave my front the same treatment he had given my back.

Massaging my front, of course, meant touching my breasts, brushing ever so lightly over my nipples, easing my legs apart and applying the oil to the area around my sex, his hands coming tantalizingly close but never actually touching my pussy. It added desire to the general feeling of well-being. Oh, how I wanted this man, how I wanted to feel him inside me!

The massaging hands soon got assistance from his mouth. The combined team of lips, tongue and skilful hands soon raised my excitement to a level I hadn't thought possible. He caressed my body without any hurry, lingering at every spot for as long as was necessary to achieve the maximum effect, often returning to the same point for a new version of the same thrill. Not like the men I had been with before, who all seemed to be only interested in getting inside my pussy as soon as possible. This time, it was me who was driven wild with desire, wanting him to plunge his cock into me and fuck me senseless. As much as I tried, I couldn't hide the state I was in as his hands and mouth explored every inch of my body.

There came a point when I couldn't contain myself any longer. To hell with the image of the respectable young lady who couldn't possibly beg to be fucked.

"Didn't you say you were going to make love to me?" I asked.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he replied.

"Well, yes ... no, ... you know," I stammered, looking at the bulge in his shorts.

"Oh, I see. You want a visit from my friend here?"

I nodded.

"Well, then, come and get him."

I didn't need a second invitation. I pulled down his shorts as fast as I could. His cock, freed from its prison, almost jumped into my face. Had I been in a normal state of mind, I would have been frightened by its size, but my mind had left its normal state a long time ago. What I had in front of me, just a few inches from my eyes, was living proof that the 'dirty' magazines I had seen weren't lying. Cocks this size did exist! I didn't care that it was much bigger than anything I ever had seen. I wanted this cock inside me, even if it split me in two, even if it was the last thing I ever did.

Eventually, I stopped staring and lay back, spreading my legs invitingly. Ramon still had to free himself completely from his shorts and then joined me. Supporting his weight on one arm he guided the head of his cock into my wet entrance. It slid inside me, aided by the plentiful supply of pussy juices - up to a point. Then I could feel that my tightness did not let it get any further. Ramon just covered my face with little kisses and gradually pushed deeper inside me with little grinding movements. My pussy felt so unbelievably full, stretched to its very limits, but he kept stretching me further, and a little further, until he was completely inside me. Overjoyed, that I had been able to take his full length, I started rocking my pelvis, inviting him to fuck me in earnest.

Ramon didn't move. He just whispered, "Shhhh, relax, let's do it nice and slow."

I realized how totally Ramon controlled me. It wasn't just the physical contact, the fact that my body seemed to have been transformed into a tight sheath for his big cock, it was the sensation of abandoning myself, of submitting completely to him, which gave me a thrill I had never before experienced. I wanted him to dominate me, to take control of me. I wanted to give myself and receive him in return.

For a while we lay there, locked into each other, without a move. Then, almost imperceptibly, he started to move, and I felt my body move in unison with his rhythm. Very gradually, his movements picked up speed and the distance his cock travelled inside me increased with every stroke. Feeling this huge rock-hard cock moving back and forth inside me was a sensation I can't describe in words. It was something I wasn't prepared for. I knew it would result in an overwhelming orgasm but Ramon was not in any hurry to get there.

My excitement reached a level where an increase seemed impossible but it kept increasing. When I came, I felt my juices gushing out of me, the muscles of my pussy contracting around this wonderful cock which was now pounding into me, seeming to penetrate me deeper with each stroke. Ramon just kept fucking me, driving me from one orgasm to the next.

I don't know how long he had been making love to me and how many times I had climaxed when I felt Ramon's movements slow down. I was worried this might be the end of our love-making but he simply rolled around on the bed, taking me with him. He was now lying on his back with me on top of him. Ramon suggested that I ride his cock. This would give me complete control of my pleasure, I would be able to suit the penetration to my needs.

It was wonderful, just as he had said. I had never been in this position before. I could simply rock back and forth and feel his hardness adjust to the different angle, or I could lift myself up until his cock almost left its tight enclosure and than plunge back down, impaling myself on this delicious rod.

I experimented all the possibilities and enjoyed the different sensations they produced. When Ramon reached for my breasts to fondle them, I got there first. I wanted to put on a show to let him know how much I was enjoying myself. I suited my caresses to my movements. I simply cupped my breasts in my hands when I rocked gently back and forth, squeezed them as I rose, and rubbed my nipples as I plunged down his shaft.

I had started out just playing with the sensations this new position offered me, but it soon turned into a serious desire for another orgasm. I rode myself to a glorious climax, helped by my busy hands on my nipples. I collapsed on top of my lover, breathing heavily from the effort.

Somehow, Ramon managed to slip out from underneath me, as I lay slumped on top of him. I could feel a hand reach from behind between my legs and touch my soaking wet pussy. He moistened two fingers with my juices and started to lubricate my anus, applying some pressure to push one finger inside. I couldn't help it, I just froze. My whole body went rigid at the thought of him wanting to push his huge cock inside my rear. "Please, not there, not today," I begged, hoping he would understand.

Ramon didn't seem to be perturbed. He lifted me up by my hips, until I was on all fours and entered my pussy from behind. "If we were dogs, we could do this on the streets," he said.

Relieved that he wasn't upset by my refusal, I barked and said, "If I was your bitch, I'd be always in heat."

This new position gave him all the advantages: he could plunge his cock deep inside my well-lubricated pussy, my breasts were swinging free, conveniently available to his eager hands. He started with long, slow strokes, building up my excitement with each move. One of his hands moved down my belly and found my clitoris, only centimetres away from where his cock was sliding in and out of me, driving me insane. I couldn't hold back, his fingers on my sensitive knob were more than I could take. I gasped as another orgasm ripped through my body.

Charlotte had frequently said that I was insatiable, and probably not without reason. But so was he. He now decided to make me go 'walkies' on all fours through his apartment. He followed me, also on hands and knees. Whenever we met face to face, he kissed me, then he proceeded to sniff my pussy, just like real dogs do. He would mount me and drive his hard cock inside me without mercy. There probably wasn't a corner in the whole apartment where he didn't track me down and enter me.

I was overwhelmed. I had never imagined that sex with a man could be like this. I had gone way beyond what I thought was physically possible but my wanton lust, my desire for more and more kept me going. There was, of course, another factor. Throughout the innumerous orgasms I had experienced, Ramon hadn't come yet. It was a mystery to me how he could pound his cock into me, slowly or fiercely, in every imaginable position, without climaxing. There came a point when I was so exhausted that I just crawled back onto the bed and said, "Make love to me just one more time, Ramon. Come inside me."

It seemed that he had just been waiting for my permission to climax. He entered me very gently and kissed my face which was by now covered with perspiration. His movements picked up speed and pushed his cock deep inside me. This time, it didn't take long for him to come. When he did, it was like the eruption of a volcano. I could feel his cock pulsate and shoot load after load of hot semen deep inside me. The sensation was so intense that it took me to another climax. Ramon lay on top of me, barely able to support his weight on his arms, breathing heavily. Eventually he slipped off me and out of me and lay next to me, embracing me from behind. "I think you deserve a rest," he said.

As I turned around and looked out of the window I could see the first rays of sunlight rise over the roofs of Paris.

-----

"Good morning, darling, I'm sorry to wake you so rudely. But I believe you've got some phone calls to make before they report you as a missing person."

Ramon was standing in front of me, dressed in a kimono-style gown. He kissed me gently as I opened my eyes. He handed me a cordless phone and disappeared into the kitchen. It was ten in the morning. I had slept soundly for four, maybe five hours, but I still felt exhausted. It seemed like every bone in my body had been broken. The inside of my pussy felt raw, as if the walls of my vagina had been sandpapered. My labia were swollen and hurt with every move I made.

On the phone, I found out that Sylvie had told my mother that she was having one of her asthma attacks and, as her parents had gone away for the weekend, she asked if I could spend the night at her place, just in case her condition got worse. There was no way my parents could refuse her request. My mother had already phoned in the morning to find out when I would come home. Sylvie told her that I was having a rest after staying up all night. She suggested that I call home as if I was still at her place and let them know when I'd get home. Of course, Sylvie was dying to hear where I was, with whom, and what I had got up to. I just told her that it had been the best night of my life and I would let her know all the details in the afternoon.

The call to my parents was more complicated. Could I assume that Ramon would drive me back to Villiers? When would we leave here? Didn't I need some more time to recover? When would we get there? I decided to keep things as vague as possible. I told my mother who answered the phone that I was going to fix lunch for Sylvie and myself, and if I felt she was well enough to be left alone I would be home some time in the afternoon.

-----

It was the 'morning after', the critical point when people think about and find out whether what happened the night before was the start of a lasting relationship or just a one-night stand. Or whether they'd rather forget altogether that it happened. I knew very little about the person Ramon, but as a lover he had been fantastic. I was sure I wanted to repeat last night's experience over and over again, although my pain dampened my enthusiasm a little.

But what about him? Ramon was obviously very concerned that I didn't get into trouble with my parents. Had he just picked me up for a night of fun and games and was now keen on returning me to my parents? Or was he interested in keeping my domestic situation smooth so we could arrange to meet again soon? Had I - obviously much younger and less experienced than him - lived up to his expectations? How long would it take for him to lose interest in me? I was sure there were plenty of women keen on my place in his bed. But those thoughts didn't lead anywhere. I had to get out of bed and talk to him.

My body felt sticky, I needed to have a bath. I felt a little uneasy about having slept in the state I was in, but I guess there had been mitigating circumstances. I could hear Ramon in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, I assumed. As I tried to get up from the bed to find the bathroom, my legs just caved in under me and I landed on the floor with a bump. Ramon heard me fall and came running from the kitchen. He lifted me up from the floor, put me back on the bed and asked what happened.

"I can't walk. Everything hurts," I said, trying not to panic.

He kissed me and stroked my hair gently. "I'm fixing breakfast for us. That'll help you get your strength back."

"But I need a bath. Look at the state I'm in!" I exclaimed. He looked at me. I was still as naked as I had been all night. I felt maybe I should have covered myself.

"_ Vous êtes très jolie _ . You look beautiful," he said. "I'll run you a bath. I'll take care of you, inside and outside," he said before disappearing again.

Ramon's tenderness comforted me. There seemed to be some hope that he wouldn't dump me, at least not straight away. He returned after a few minutes to pick me up and carry me to the bathroom where the bathtub was brimming with foam.

The warm water and whatever he had put in it had a soothing effect on my aching body. As Ramon got a large sponge, worked up a lather and started to clean me, I told him that I didn't understand what had happened to me. I wasn't usually that frail. He told me it wasn't all that surprising.

"Imagine someone who never walks more than a couple of blocks and suddenly decides to run a marathon. They may actually get to the finish line, still feeling in good shape. Their enthusiasm and will-power, the support of the crowd and the company of other runners will get them there. But the next day they will feel terrible. What we did last night was a bit like running a marathon and if your body isn't used to this kind of exercise, it will tell you in no uncertain terms."

I cringed as the sponge passed between my legs and made contact with my pussy.

"And how come you don't feel terrible after our marathon - at least you don't seem to have any pain?"

"Well, I try to stay in good shape, I work out regularly," he said, confirming what I had thought the previous night when I had first seen his lean, muscular body.

This was when I decided that I would take up regular exercise as soon as I had recovered. I had never done it before because there wasn't enough motivation. Now I had a good reason.

"There is, of course, another way of looking at it," he said hesitantly. "You could say that I was so overwhelmed by your beauty that I got carried away, that I was simply trying to show off, create a lasting impression, show you what a fantastic lover I am, so that you would want to see me again. And maybe I overdid it and it had exactly the opposite effect. Maybe you're thinking now, 'This guy almost put me into hospital, I never want to see him again.'"

"My dear Ramon," I hugged him, getting him thoroughly wet in the process, "and I was worried that _ you _ might not want to see _ me _ again because I'm not in your league."

Relieved, he helped me out of the bathtub and dried me. Then he handed me a towelling robe, saying, "This may be a bit large for you. I'm not very well prepared for female visitors."

I had regained some strength but he insisted on carrying me to the kitchen where he sat me down in front of the feast he had prepared. It was a brunch fit for athletes - marathon lovers and others.

Ramon assured me that my muscular aches and pains would disappear within a few days but he was concerned about my aching pussy. He told me he knew a gynaecologist who attended patients on Sunday mornings and suggested that I should let her have a look at me. At first I tried to play down my discomfort, saying this was nothing that time wouldn't cure, but eventually I gave in. Ramon phoned to make an appointment.

When it came to getting dressed, there was only the skirt and blouse I had worn the day before. Ramon offered to let me have my panties back, but the state my pussy was in, I was better off without panties. Besides, the panties were his, he thoroughly deserved his trophy. I just wished the skirt had been a little longer and the blouse a little less transparent.

On the way, I thought how typical of Paris this was: On Saturday night they make love until they drop and on Sunday morning the gynaecologists are open to repair the damage.

The doctor was unexpectedly young and good looking. My experience in Villiers had been that doctors usually were at least sixty and about to retire. She made me lie on a bed which was fitted with some contraptions to hold my legs apart and slightly lifted so she had a clear view of my sex. She opened my pussy lips very gently and shone a light inside my vagina to inspect me. Then she turned to Ramon and asked, "Did you do this?"

Ramon didn't say anything but made a face like a puppy that had been caught chewing his master's favourite slippers. I could have embraced him and asked him to fuck me some more, just because of this face.

The doctor said, "You should be ashamed of yourself," but it didn't seem like a stern-faced reprimand. With the same voice she might have said, "Why did you do this to such an inexperienced girl, you should have come to me, I can take it much better." But maybe that was just my impression. I imagined that many women would envy me for the experience of the past night.

The doctor told me that there was some mild chafing inside my vagina 'due to excessive friction' and that my labia were swollen and extremely sensitive for the same reason. But, on the whole, there was no cause for alarm. She gave me an ointment that I was to apply inside my vagina before going to sleep and some bath salts to reduce the swelling.

"And," she said, pointing to Ramon, "don't let him get near you for a few days".

I could have kissed her for saying 'days' instead of 'weeks' or 'months'. In the end, it seemed that there was no serious damage, I just would feel very uncomfortable for a few days – a price I considered worth paying.

Afterwards I asked Ramon to drive me to Villiers. He really wanted to spend some more time with me, show me a little of Paris, but he had to agree that I wasn't in a condition for sightseeing. He dropped me near, but not too near my parents' house. He kissed me and promised to get in touch to arrange our next get-together. I had recovered some of my strength and was able to walk, but my pussy lips were still extremely sensitive. Each step made me wince as my legs squeezed them together. I managed to slip into my room quietly without my parents noticing and changed quickly into some more 'respectable' clothes. Then I went to greet them.

I reported that I had been awake all night looking after Sylvie and had only got a few hours of sleep in the morning. My mother told me that they were proud of me because I had been looking so unselfishly after my sick friend. She also told me that I looked tired and suggested I'd have a rest.

-----

I had been in bed for about two hours, sometimes sleeping, sometimes daydreaming about Ramon, when Sylvie and Mirabelle arrived. Sylvie had already told Mirabelle all she knew - which wasn't very much - and both of them were keen on hearing all the details from me.

Mirabelle seemed concerned. "You look terrible, what happened?" she asked.

I smiled. "Oh, I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because I was watching over my sick friend here."

They both laughed. "We know that version of the story already. We want to know what really happened."

I told them that I had met this wonderful man who had made passionate love to me all night long, knowing very well that they would want to know all the details.

"Is he the lucky one who won you in the raffle?" Mirabelle asked.

I didn't know what on earth she was talking about. Sylvie also looked puzzled.

"What do you mean, 'won me in the raffle'?"

"Well, I talked to a friend of mine this morning. He was at '_ Le Club _' last night and he told me you had been the prize in a raffle."

I still didn't understand and asked again what she meant.

"Well, I wasn't there myself, I can only repeat what he told me. He said there was this friend of yours, Charlotte, handing out questionnaires to everybody who wanted to dance with you. And when they returned the completed questionnaire they were given a raffle ticket. The winner would get a 'date' with you."

I was furious. That bitch! She hadn't said a word about the raffle to me. I probably wouldn't have agreed because a 'date' in the context of '_ Le Club _' wasn't as innocent as the word implied. People didn't go to '_ Le Club _' to find a 'date', they went there to find a partner for the night. If this story about me agreeing to be the prize in a raffle got around, it would be terrible for my reputation. Worse still, if my father got to hear about this, it could have serious consequences for my further education.

This time Charlotte had definitely overstepped the mark. This wasn't any longer about expanding my sexual horizon, this wasn't about getting me to do something which deep down inside I wanted to do anyway but didn't have the courage to admit it. This was putting my future in jeopardy; this could prevent me from achieving independence from my parents. I would have to put Charlotte in her place, maybe even break up our relationship.

I confirmed to Mirabelle and Sylvie that I had in fact been to '_ Le Club _' with Charlotte and that she had handed out questionnaires to everyone who wanted to dance with me. But, I assured them, I didn't know anything about a raffle. If it was true, I would have to have a serious conversation with Charlotte. It seems that I had been twice lucky when I left with Ramon. Not only did I manage to avoid the embarrassment of the raffle, I also got to spend the night with the most passionate lover one could imagine.

I told them what I knew about Ramon - which wasn't very much - and about the delights he had made me experience all night long. I even lifted my night gown to show them my suffering pussy, inviting them to touch my puffed up labia and wincing in pain when Mirabelle actually did touch me. It almost seemed that I was taking pride in my suffering.

Both of them seemed to be very happy for me (maybe partly because this experience would definitely save me from the clutches of lesbianism), but they were worried about the age difference. To say that Ramon could be my father would be a little exaggerated, but he was significantly older than me.

Mirabelle soon started to make plans for my next encounter with Ramon. She suggested we meet on Saturday in my room for an all-day session of our exam preparations. Then we would tell my mother that on Sunday we'd do the same in her place. This would give me a chance to spend all day Sunday with Ramon without having to invent another sick friend. For the following weekend, the last one before the exams, she suggested a trip to her parents' hut in the mountains. She and Sylvie were planning to go there in any case to meet up with Jean-Paul and Guy, so I could bring Ramon along. We would have to sleep in the living room because the two bedrooms were already taken.

I stopped her there and reminded her that Ramon did have a place where I could stay. All I needed was an excuse for spending the weekend away from home and for this purpose the hut in the mountains was a brilliant idea. But they were keen on meeting Ramon and I promised that I would try to bring him to the hut sometime during that weekend - if he was still my lover by that time.

Chapter 6

[Conversations]

I still remember quite vividly how I met Ramon's friend Pablo for the first time. It was on the Sunday of my second visit to Ramon's apartment. Following Mirabelle's suggestion, I had told my parents I was going for all-day exam preparation at my friend's place. I had arranged for Ramon to pick me up in Villiers early in the morning so that we could spend most of the day together.

As soon as we arrived at his place we ripped each other's clothes off and engaged in passionate sex. During our love bout I asked Ramon to come all over my face. I wanted him to know that I was all his, unreservedly, and thought this would be a nice way of showing it. Also, I remembered those pictures of women with spunk-covered faces and wanted to find out what it feels like to be showered by your lover's cum.

When he was about to come, Ramon pulled out of my pussy and shot copious loads of hot sperm all over my face. I also opened my mouth wide to catch some of it. I had eagerly squeezed and sucked the last drop out of his cock and we were recovering from our efforts, lying close to each other on the bed to gather energy for the next round, when the door bell rang. Ramon got up, put on a robe and went to answer the door, saying that it was probably the Sunday paper.

I decided to use the opportunity to go to the bathroom and wash my face. When I looked into the mirror I realised that I needed to wash my hair as well, as a lot of Ramon's cum was sticking to it. I looked for shampoo but could not find any. So I went to ask Ramon.

Walking towards the open-plan kitchen where I assumed he would be, I shouted, "Ramon, where do you keep ..."

I didn't finish my question, because I saw a complete stranger, sitting at the kitchen table, looking at me with great interest, probably enjoying what he saw. I let out a shriek and retreated hastily into the bathroom. I didn't know what to do; my clothes were lying somewhere on the floor of the main room where we had dropped them in our eagerness to get them off.

After a short moment Ramon came into the bathroom and asked me what the matter was. I told him that I had been looking for him and had run into a stranger in the kitchen.

"Oh, that's alright, it's Pablo, a friend of mine. He's just dropped in for a cup of coffee. He won't stay long. Come and say hello to him."

"But I'm completely naked," I stammered. "I just wanted to ask you where you keep the shampoo."

"Well, yes, you are naked, because we've just made love. And we'll carry on making love in a moment, won't we? He knows that. He won't think badly of you because of it."

I couldn't understand his attitude. "So you think it's alright for me to walk out of here, completely naked, walk up to a man I've never met before and say 'Hi, I'm Jacqueline, nice to meet you'?"

"Yes, more or less like that. I didn't think you were such a prude. From what you told me about your past, I thought you got a kick out of exposing yourself to strangers."

He was hinting at my adventures during Charlotte's sex lesson which I had told him about.

"Yes, but then I didn't have a choice, I had to do as I was told," I said.

"Alright," he replied, "then I'll tell you: Come and meet my friend Pablo."

He took me by the hand. I followed him, still a little reluctant, as he said to his friend, "Pablo, this is Jacqueline. I've told you about her. She got a little frightened when she saw a stranger, but she's alright now."

Pablo looked at me from top to toe and then said, "My god, you're even more beautiful than Ramon has told me."

Blushing, I shook Pablo's hand and sat down in a chair opposite him. He was younger than Ramon, probably in his early twenties and quite good-looking.

I couldn't help feeling self-conscious about sitting there without a stitch on, next to a man whom I had never met before and who didn't make any attempt at hiding how much he enjoyed looking at me. Even so, I tried to behave as if there was nothing unusual about the situation and I had done this hundreds of times.

I found out that Pablo was also from Argentina and lived nearby in a small apartment which he shared with his friend Rui. Pablo and Rui studied music at the Sorbonne and, in order to improve their cash flow, they played regularly in bars and nightclubs as members of a four-piece jazz group. The two had made friends with Ramon some time ago, and, because they lived nearby, were in the habit of dropping in occasionally for a chat and a cup of coffee. Rui had been detained by a female admirer he met the previous night and was today 'otherwise engaged' - Pablo said this with a wink and a smile - so Pablo had decided to drop in on his own.

After a while I made my excuses, saying that I had been in the process of taking a shower when he arrived and had only come out because I couldn't find the shampoo. Ramon told me where it was and I left the two on their own.

While I washed and dried my hair, I had some time to reflect about what had happened. If I was serious about belonging to Ramon, to be his, unconditionally, then I couldn't possibly object to letting his friends look at my naked body.

It was quite possible that Ramon was trying to impress his friend by showing off what an attractive girlfriend he had - and how sexually liberated she was. If there was some 'pride of ownership' behind Ramon's attitude, then I had reason to be happy that he accepted me as his. If it pleased Ramon to display me, then it had to please me. It was quite possible that my childish behaviour had caused him embarrassment and I owed him an apology.

When I returned, Pablo had gone. Had I made him feel unwelcome? I was worried that Ramon would be upset about my behaviour. I knelt down in front of him and undid the belt of his gown. It opened slightly, allowing me to see his beautiful cock at rest.

"Forgive me for behaving like a silly girl," I said before taking his member into my mouth. It was a wonderful sensation to feel the veins in his cock fill with blood, his cock head swell, his cock thicken and get hard. If he reacted like this to the touch of my lips, he couldn't be angry. Ramon pulled me up from my knees and kissed my lips which had caressed his cock only seconds ago.

"Let's go to the bed. It's much more comfortable there," he said and carried me up the stairs, just as on our first night together. He deposited me on the bed and took off his gown. He joined me on the bed, lying on his back, and made me straddle him so I could reach his by now semi-erect cock with my mouth while my pussy was conveniently placed above his face.

It was my first ever sixty-nine with a man and it was fantastic! The touch of his lips and tongue on my sex was just as exhilarating as it had been during our first night together. Ramon's efforts brought me to the gates of seventh heaven - and kept me there, tantalizingly close to reaching a climax but never quite crossing that line. It was delicious torture. But this time I was able to retaliate. I quickly brought his joystick to its full size and licked and sucked on it as if my life depended on it. But whenever I felt that he might be ready to come, I slowed down, keeping him moaning in sweet agony.

Although we kept our mouths firmly locked on each other's sex, we changed position frequently. Sometimes I would be on top, pushing my pussy into his face, sometimes I would lie on my back, gorging on his wonderful cock. Or we would be lying on our sides, Ramon eagerly lapping up the juices which oozed from my pussy. Our love-making was more gentle, more playful then on the previous weekend. There wasn't any need for Ramon to win me over by showing what a fantastic stud he was: I was already his. He was free to enjoy himself without having to perform. And I felt relaxed enough to try out things I had never done before.

I don't know for how long we had been feasting on each other, never quite satisfying our appetites, when Ramon said, "Let's come together."

He grabbed my bottom with both hands and plunged his tongue deep inside me, moving frantically in and out. I knew that I wouldn't be able to resist this kind of stimulation for very long. I took as much of his cock as I could manage into my mouth and licked and sucked, while I gently squeezed his balls. My orgasm started just as he shot the first load of his salty cum deep into my throat. Waves of pleasure passed through me as he deposited more and more of his delicious juice into my mouth. I didn't manage to swallow it all, some of it escaped and trickled down my chin, while he licked my pussy clean of all the juices it had produced. Then we just lay there for a while, spent, catching our breaths.

-----

When we didn't make love, we talked, but never stopped caressing each other. I found out a little more about his work and solved the mystery of the ladies' underwear which he had said I might find lying around his apartment.

He was a fashion designer, more precisely a designer of sexy lingerie. He had already had some success with this, back in Argentina, where he had worked as part of a team for a major clothes manufacturer.

But now he wanted to launch his own brand name and felt that Paris was the ideal place for doing this. Launching a new name in this competitive market involved huge costs and he was looking for a financial backer for his plans. This search had been the reason for his trip to Lyon and had created the circumstances for his stopping in Villiers and meeting me. Finding a sponsor wouldn't be easy but he was confident that he would eventually find one. In the meantime, he was earning some money designing costumes for a group of dancers in a revolutionary new nightclub that would open soon.

"Dancers?" I asked, "You mean strippers?"

"Not really, they are really professional dancers. But the performance is quite sensual and the costumes are very sexy. And, yes, there are a few numbers where some of the dancers take off their clothes."

"All their clothes?"

"Yes, all of them. After all, it's a show for adults. They probably wouldn't let you in."

I looked at him to see if he was serious. Had he somehow found out that I wasn't yet eighteen as I had told him? He smiled. I could see that he was just teasing me.

"I'm only kidding. Of course, I'll take you there once it's officially opened."

My view of nightclubs was based on what passed by that name in Villiers, maybe also by my father's opinions about these places. I considered them a meeting point for dirty old men and hookers.

"What for? To look at naked women? Isn't this one here good enough?"

He covered me with kisses. "You are, my darling. You're the hottest woman I've ever met. Maybe you'd prefer a show with naked men? I'll see if I can get Pablo and Rui to do a striptease for you."

I couldn't quite work out if this was a serious suggestion. The idea of being in one room with two, maybe three, naked men made me think of a fantasy I once had after looking at some pictures in one of Charlotte's magazines.

"I don't need to see any other men. You're all I need. I'm all yours. You can do with me what you want."

He looked at me, surprised, maybe a little shocked. "What do you mean, 'do with you what I want'?"

"I mean exactly what I said. I want to belong to you. You can do what you want with me. Make love to me until it hurts, let other men look at me, make me dance naked in a nightclub, share me with your friends."

I didn't know where some of these things came from. Or rather, I did. It was part of my fantasy. I just didn't know what made me say it at that moment.

Ramon looked alarmed. "What makes you think I'd want to share you with anyone? Is it because I didn't want you to hide in the bathroom while Pablo was here? I never implied that you should sleep with him."

"I'm sorry, darling. It seems that the experience had some strange effect on me. It was the first time I exposed myself to a stranger like this. And it made me think of a dream I once had, which later turned into a fantasy."

Ramon wanted to know what this fantasy was all about.

"It's a situation where I'm in a cage inside an apartment somewhere. There is enough room for me to move, but I can't get out. And I'm completely naked, completely exposed to the eyes of everybody who enters the room. There are many men. I'm only allowed out of the cage when one of them wants to use me. They let me out of the cage, fuck me, and then lock me up again. Sometimes I have to serve two men at the same time. You may think that this is a nightmare, but the sensation of being so powerless, being completely at their mercy, actually turns me on. Oh, Ramon, I want to be in your cage."

My fantasy must have turned him on as well. He rolled on top of me and fucked me long and hard. As the orgasms ripped through my body, as I screamed out in joy and fulfilment, I thought of Ramon locking me up in a cage and using me whenever he felt like it.

-----

More important than talking about my own fantasies was trying to find out about the women in Ramon's life. It was clear that I wasn't the first woman he had slept with - that wasn't even worth thinking about. Given our age difference, I had to expect that he was a lot more experienced than I was - he had already given me a demonstration of his skills and stamina during our first night together. And, remembering how I had followed his order to remove my panties, I could be sure that many other women had been unable to resist his manly charm.

The whole scenario was aggravated by Ramon's profession. There were the posters of classy looking ladies in elegant underwear hanging on the walls of his apartment. Had he slept with these women? It wasn't likely that designing sexy lingerie would happen without someone actually wearing it, trying it on, modelling it for Ramon to check that it had the desired effect.

How many scantily-dressed women were passing daily through this apartment? And how many ended up in this bed? And what was Ramon's relationship with those nightclub dancers he had mentioned? Women who take off their clothes on stage probably wouldn't hesitate to take them off in front of him. Wouldn't one thing lead to another?

How many women were there? He had never promised to be mine and only mine, nor had there been any suggestion of a long lasting relationship. He hadn't offered me exclusive rights to his cock, just a night of passionate sex and I had no complaints in this department. Was I just a temporary plaything? Someone for the weekend while he had other partners for the rest of the week? How long would it take for him to get tired of me and drop me?

The strange thing was that I hadn't noticed any signs of a female presence in his apartment: no women's clothes in the wardrobe, no lipsticks, make-up or other women's toiletries in the bathroom, not even the ladies' underwear he had warned me I might find lying around. And then there was the huge bed on a raised platform. It didn't make sense to have a bed like that with nobody to put in it.

I was willing to accept whatever role he would assign to me, but I wanted to know what exactly this role was. To my surprise, it didn't make me jealous to think of Ramon making love to other women. On the contrary, it excited me to imagine how sexy creatures submitted to 'my' Ramon. I wanted him to tell me about his sex life but I didn't want it to sound like I was jealous or possessive. I thought it best to ask him about his work rather than his women.

"Those nightclub dancers, are they good looking?"

Ramon gave me a surprised look. "They certainly are. They have been selected because of their good looks. I thought you weren't interested in naked women?"

I decided to ignore his question. "I suppose you see them all in the nude when they try on your costumes?"

"Not really. The one who helps them to put on the kit and makes any necessary adjustments is Rose."

Rose. At last there was a name. Was she his regular sex partner who also helped him with his work? "Who's Rose?" I asked.

"I don't know where I'd be without Rose. She does everything: she puts together the costumes based on my design, she has the dancers try them on, checks that they fit comfortably and makes any necessary adjustments."

"So you never get to see them in their costumes?"

"I certainly do. After all, it's my name which goes on the finished product and I want to make sure everything looks exactly the way I envisaged it. But Rose makes sure that the clothes fit well and the dancers feel comfortable going through their strenuous routine without their gear getting out of place."

"Ah, so they're worried they might expose themselves?"

"No, that's not the problem. They want to expose themselves at the right moment, when it fits into the choreography, not by accident. We use special hooks, zippers and other devices so that the clothes come off smoothly without much fumbling. There are even some items which come apart as if they had been torn. There is a scene where it looks like some villain is ripping the girl's clothes off, but it's all planned, and the clothes disintegrate exactly the way they were designed."

The thought of watching a woman having her clothes ripped off by some violent attacker turned me on, even though I knew it was only make-believe. Maybe the show was worth watching, after all. I could feel my excitement rise. Ramon's hand between my legs only added to my arousal. I took his cock into my hand and stroked it gently.

I wanted to hear more to fire up my imagination. "What happens after he's ripped off her clothes?"

"It's a very dramatic number. Before he gets hold of the girl, the villain chases her all over the stage but she always manages to escape. Eventually he traps her in a corner, but she fights him off. There's a scene where he drags her across the stage by one leg. I don't know how the dancer can put up with that, but she doesn't seem to mind. It really looks very realistic when he rips off her clothes. He literally tears them apart. What happens afterwards? Well, that's left to your imagination. As soon as the girl is completely naked, the lights fade and the curtain comes down."

I was a little disappointed. Somehow, I had hoped for a vivid description of hardcore sex on stage. In compensation Ramon took one of my nipples into his mouth and gave it his undivided attention.

"Rose is also the one who oversees the mass-production." Ramon released my nipple from his mouth and picked up the conversation while he moved to the other one.

"Mass-production? I thought these were special costumes for one specific show?"

"Well, maybe mass-production is going a bit over the top. But each dancer gets twelve complete sets of their costumes so they have some spares. Rose employs a bunch of seamstresses who produce the costumes according to her instructions. And she makes sure that everything is perfect."

The way he talked about this Rose gave the impression that he really admired her as a professional. But she didn't sound like someone he was sleeping with. She certainly was an invaluable help, but not a sex partner. Then who was he sleeping with?

This question would have to wait because by now Ramon's mouth had taken complete control of my other nipple and the effect took my breath away. He rolled me onto my back and positioned himself between my legs. As he entered me I thought that what the villain was doing to the girl after the lights went out was probably not much different from what Ramon was doing to me - and I loved it. I had felt for a moment that I wanted to be that girl on the stage, but I happily settled for being the woman in Ramon's bed.

-----

"And who models your 'normal' creations?"

Ramon had brought me to another memorable series of orgasms and deposited his seed deep inside my pussy. Now he was stroking my hair and blowing cool air onto my sweat-covered face.

"That's a little more complicated," he answered. "As I haven't found a sponsor yet, I can't afford the huge fees of the well-known models. I have to rely on a few friends and acquaintances who are willing to work for nothing or for a reduced fee. Right now there aren't any live presentations to do, just some photo sessions. I bring them here, they put on my designs and I take pictures of them using the equipment you may have seen standing around here."

This explained another one of the peculiarities of this apartment. Now I knew what those cameras and lights were doing here. Ramon didn't say it, but I assumed that the bed on which we were lying right now also played a role in these photo sessions.

"Of course, if my creations really take off, as I expect they will, these models have a good chance of being the face and the body that appears in the ads and on the packages of my brand. So it's kind of an investment in the future of Ramon's sexy lingerie."

"And an investment in Ramon?"

He smiled at me. "I guess you're asking if I mix business with pleasure. You see, most models are highly professional. They wear my lingerie or other revealing clothes the same way they'd wear a fur coat or a turtle-neck sweater. For them it's all about lending their shapely body to bring out the best in the product, nothing else."

"Most of them are highly professional. But some ...?"

"Some of them," Ramon picked up my half finished question, "some of them consider the photo session merely as a prelude to something much more exciting."

He looked at me tenderly. "I don't want to lie to you. I only do it when it is absolutely necessary. Would you be terribly upset if I told you that I have slept with some of them?"

"Of course not. I didn't expect you to be a celibate. He wouldn't like it." I gave his cock a quick squeeze. "I'm not asking all these questions because I'm jealous. I just want to find out more about you, your likes, your dislikes, your fantasies, your unrealised dreams - and that includes your past and present partners."

"You are my unrealised dream, Jacqueline. You're all I desire." Ramon took me into his arms and held me tight. "When I saw you in that disco, roughly a week ago, I knew immediately that I wanted to make love to you, that I wanted you to be mine."

"But I am yours, Ramon. I told you already. And I'm not demanding that you have to forsake all the others because of me."

He gave me an astonished look. I felt an urge to show him how liberated I was in sexual matters. "Did you ever have a desire to sleep with two women at the same time?"

Without batting an eyelid, Ramon answered, "I've done it a few times but I have never been very satisfied with the experience. I never felt that I was making love to two women. It was more like making love to one and then to the other one. I think the problem was that the women in question didn't like each other enough to want to share me. Each of them was only interested in getting the most for herself. Ideally, the two women should have the hots for each other as well as for the man. Then it could be great."

This time it was me who looked astonished.

"Did you have anybody in mind?" he asked.

That question took me even more by surprise. It seemed that the idea had caught his imagination and he was more interested than he had initially let on.

I quickly ran through the list of women I knew. It only took a minute because my list wasn't very long. Sylvie and Mirabelle were afraid they might be branded bi-sexual, so they didn't qualify. Neither did Charlotte, who hated 'men and their stupid cocks'. Besides, I hadn't been talking to Charlotte since I found out about her attempt to raffle me off. There wasn't anybody else worth considering.

"No," I said. "I hadn't thought of anybody in particular. And thinking of the women I know, there isn't anybody suitable."

"Oh never mind," he answered, trying not to show his disappointment. "This lazy fellow here wouldn't be able to cope with two women in any case." He pointed at his flaccid cock. "He's got problems keeping up with one."

"That's terribly unfair to him. I have nothing to complain about. Maybe he just needs a little motivation."

I slid down between Ramon's legs and took his soft member into my mouth. Once more I experienced the wonderful sensation of his cock reacting to the touch of my lips. It was hard in no time, and Ramon knew how to put his recharged power tool to good use.

Chapter 7

[ A weekend with friends ]

The week when I would sit the all-important exams was rapidly approaching. There was just one weekend left to get ready. But Mirabelle and Sylvie didn't intend to spend the weekend studying. They agreed with their parents that it was better to clear the mind from all exam worries than to cram until the last minute, and planned to spend the weekend in the mountain hut. They would leave Friday afternoon and return on Sunday. Mirabelle told me with a wink that I was welcome to join them.

None of us had a driver's license and getting there by public transport would be more complicated than the car journey of about two hours. First we would have to take a train to Paris, then cross the town to get to _ Gare du Nord _ from where we would take another train to Tracy-le-Mont. From there it would be a hike of roughly half an hour to the hut. I told Mirabelle that I would travel to Paris with them but planned to spend the weekend in the capital.

After getting permission from my parents, I phoned Ramon with the good news. He told me to go to _ Gare du Nord _ with my friends, he would meet me there. "I know a very nice restaurant nearby, called '_ La Marmite _'. We'll have an early dinner there and then we can spend the rest of the evening together without any interruptions."

When I told my friends that Ramon had invited me for dinner at a place called '_ La Marmite _', Sylvie's eyes widened. "_ La Marmite! _ That's one of the best restaurants in Paris. That's where the rich and famous go! What are you going to wear? You can't walk in there with your hiking boots!"

I did a mental search of my wardrobe but couldn't think of anything suitable for such a place. I discarded the idea of wearing the outfit Charlotte had given me for the evening at '_ Le Club _' a second time. When I told them, I didn't have anything suitable to wear and would ask Ramon to take me to a simpler place, Sylvie decided this wasn't an option. She volunteered to lend me one of her dresses, but warned me it might look a little short on me and it might feel quite tight around my chest. I accepted her offer without having seen the dress she had in mind. Sylvie would bring it with her when we met for the journey to Paris.

-----

When I left my travel companions at _ Gare du Nord _, I wished them an enjoyable weekend and they wished me the same. They said they wanted to meet Ramon and insisted that I bring him to the waterfall the following day. I promised to try but said I couldn't guarantee we'd actually come. Both of them had listened with a certain amount of scepticism to my stories about the size of Ramon's penis and probably thought a visit to the waterfall would give them a chance to check how much I had exaggerated. Mirabelle gave me detailed instructions on how to find the hut, just in case.

In the tiny booth inside the ladies' toilets, I took off my hiking clothes and took out the dress which Sylvie had brought along for me to wear. I could imagine how attractive she would look wearing this dress: thin shoulder straps, a deep cleavage and a narrow skirt. I decided to wear the dress right on my naked skin, with nothing underneath. As I pulled it over my head, I could feel that it would be a tight squeeze for my breasts. There wasn't any mirror inside the booth so I had to go to the sink area to see myself. I was pleased; the dress made me look really sexy, showing off my full breasts, my womanly hips, and covering my thighs only halfway down. I put on a little make-up and went to meet Ramon.

-----

'_ La Marmite _', in spite of its humble name, is one of the most luxurious Gourmet restaurants in Paris. At the time we arrived the customers consisted mostly of business executives on travel expenses. Later in the evening there would be a completely different clientele. This is when elegantly dressed amorous couples come here for a meal between love bouts. I remembered having once read an article which stated that in Paris the most popular time for making love was before dinner. This, the author concluded, explained why Parisians ate so late - and so much.

When we were lead to our table, heads turned our way. I could feel the other guest's eyes on my flimsy dress and on everything that lay underneath it. When I sat down I realized how short Sylvie's dress was. It was almost impossible to find a comfortable position without risking that someone could get a glimpse at my pussy.

When our starters arrived I asked Ramon, "How is the Coquilles St. Jacques?" because that's what he was having.

"Oh, very good," he replied, "and how is the coquille of Sainte Jacqueline?"

His question stunned me for a moment, then I said, "Hot and juicy, waiting for the visit from a big fish. Would you like to taste it?"

I couldn't believe I was saying this, but as he answered, "Yes, I would like that very much," I felt I had no choice. I moved the hem of my dress up a little further, then plunged two fingers into my pussy and pulled them out again, checking if anybody had seen what was going on. I offered Ramon my fingers across the table and he licked them eagerly and sucked them into his mouth.

"Hmm," he said, "that tastes lovely. I think I'll have some of that for desert."

"Only some of it?" I enquired.

"Well, actually, I think I'll have all of it. And everything that comes with it."

I closed my eyes, casting my mind back to the first night we spent together and how he had devoured my pussy and everything that came with it.

Ramon brought me back to the present, saying, "Your nipples are about to burn two holes into your dress."

I looked at myself and found that the tight dress was clinging to my breasts like a second skin, moulding their shape perfectly. My dark areolas were clearly visible through the thin fabric and my swollen nipples were putting a severe strain on it. I felt uncomfortable. Maybe my exhibitionist streak had got the better of me.

"Do you think I look like a slut?" I asked.

"I don't like that word. It belongs in the vocabulary of hypocrites," he answered. "When a woman uses her physical assets to gain an advantage, they call her a whore, when she has sex for her own enjoyment, they call her a slut. What do they want? A woman accepting sex as a necessary evil, as part of the duties of a devout wife? No, I think you look very seductive."

While we were eating our main course, he elaborated on his answer. "The whole question of clothes, particularly women's attire, is part of a game of hide and seek, or better, hide and reveal. A woman decides what to wear by a number of criteria. It must make her feel good; the parts which are in direct contact with her body must touch her in a way to remind her that she is a sensual being; the clothes must hug her figure, make her feel attractive, desirable.

"This feeling of being attractive changes her appearance, her attitude to her surroundings. She gives the impression of someone who wants to be noticed, who wants to be complimented on her good looks, either in words or by glances, and in order to make sure she is noticed she selects clothes which reveal some of her beauty but hide the rest.

"The man who is lucky enough to meet such a woman, feasts his eyes on the parts which are revealed and pictures the hidden parts in his imagination. In our fantasy everything is perfect, so the woman, even though she may have some flaws – not everybody can be as perfect as you – turns into a goddess, which the man sets out to conquer.

"When the woman realizes that she is being desired by the man, her body reacts. The heart starts to beat faster, pumping more blood into her veins. She blushes, her whole body tingles with desire, her breasts swell, her breathing becomes deeper, the nipples harden and her pussy starts to get moist."

"My god," I said, "you almost made me come just by talking about my body."

In fact, I was experiencing all the sensations he had listed, only much, much stronger than any words could describe.

"The man," he continued, "notices this change in the woman and reacts to it. His heart also beats harder, pumping more blood into his penis and it gets hard."

"Is your cock hard?" I interrupted his flow.

Heads on the table near us were turning. In my excitement I had spoken much louder than necessary.

"It's almost lifting the table," he said with a smile.

Oh, how I wanted to push this table out of the way, release his cock from its prison and let him make love to me there and then on the floor of this posh restaurant!

Ramon must have sensed how excited I was, how desperate I wanted him to fuck me. He tried to cool things down a little, continuing his observations.

"It's quite possible that the reason why women sometimes take so long to get ready, why they stand in front of their wardrobe, agonizing about what to wear, is because they want to get this chemistry going. They want to be dressed to attract the male. Men don't have this problem. On the whole, one could say the human species survives because the female attracts, not because the male conquers. Some people may not like me saying this, but women are really the stronger sex. Men have all the fun and hardly any work. The only thing they contribute to the survival of the species is their seed."

I was amazed. His views weren't all that different from those of Charlotte. But she didn't think men were able to give women any pleasure in the process. And that's where she was wrong. I was definitely looking forward to another memorable night with the 'useless male' sitting across the table from me.

-----

Ramon kissed me and traced the shape of my body with his hands but didn't seem to have any intention of removing my dress. He carried me up the stairs, put me down on the bed, undressed and lay down next to me.

He said, "I want you to make love to me while you're still wearing this seductive dress."

He lay on his back, his eager member poking holes into the air. He pulled me on top of him and lifted the hem of my dress just enough to allow me to straddle him and position the head of his cock at the entrance of my pussy. His size wasn't as much of a problem as it had been on our first encounter, but he still filled me to the maximum and it took some patient wriggling and grinding until I was able to take his full length. It was a wonderful sensation, being fully impaled on his cock yet completely in control.

"You look unbelievably sexy." He smiled at me, "Fully dressed, but completely available. I think you deserve to see yourself."

He pushed a button somewhere in the top part of the bed. Some of the panels which I had taken for a textile wall-covering slid to the side, revealing the mirror-covered wall. I barely recognized the woman I saw in that mirror: she was an irresistible seductress, wearing a dress which emphasised every curve in her body. Her breasts were putting a severe strain on the fabric and her nipples were almost piercing the dress. She was exactly the kind of woman my father would have called a wanton slut.

But I was completely insensitive to my father's twisted value system. All my senses were concentrated on the enormous pleasure I felt having Ramon's cock deeply rooted between my legs. I ran my hands over my breasts, lingering a little on my nipples and then moved down, wanting to play with my clitoris. But as I lifted the hem of the dress, Ramon stopped me. "No, no, my dear. We don't want any gratuitous nudity here. This is a respectable bed."

As I rocked gently back and forth, I could feel his cock move inside me ever so slightly. Gradually, my movements picked up speed, but I never let things go too far. I wanted to make this last forever. I felt like I could spend the rest of my life with his cock buried deep inside me. Seeing how much I enjoyed being in control, Ramon taught me how I could 'milk his cock', as he called it, by contracting my pussy muscles around his member.

"There isn't a man in the world who can resist this for very long," he told me. I tried it, but was careful to stop whenever I felt he was about to come. I gave him a few minutes rest and then started again to knead his cock in my tight love tunnel. When I thought I had played my cruel game long enough I rode him with vigour and determination. I lifted myself up and then plunged down on his cock. He arched his back up and shot his load deep into my soaking wet pussy. I thought the flow of hot semen and my waves of orgasm would never end. Exhausted, I collapsed on top of him. After a while Ramon helped me take off Sylvie's dress. I spent the rest of the night in my 'normal' naked state.

When we woke up the next morning we prepared a cock-and-pussy sandwich - Ramon feeding me his cock while he devoured my pussy. After a hearty breakfast we set off for Tracy-le-Mont to meet Sylvie and Mirabelle and their boyfriends - I had managed to persuade Ramon to accept their invitation.

-----

There was no sign of anybody at the hut when we got there. We assumed they had gone to the waterfall and followed the path which started near the hut, winding its way upward through lush vegetation until we could hear the sound of water cascading down into a pond. On the clearing next to the pond we could see two naked couples lying in the grass, making love, oblivious to anything going on around them. Apparently, the two boys were staying in the hut with their girlfriends and hadn't bothered to put up the tent. That meant they no longer had the shelter of the tent and had to make love in the open air, in full view of each other and anybody else who might happen to pass by.

I was tempted to just walk into the clearing and announce our arrival, probably giving them a little fright in the process, but Ramon stopped me.

"I'm sure you wouldn't want to be interrupted so rudely when you're enjoying yourself."

So we settled down under some trees near the edge of the clearing, where we could watch what was going on without being noticed. Seeing those four naked bodies, seeing my best friends being fucked in the open air, and knowing that there was a risk, no matter how small, that they might be discovered by some hiker, aroused me tremendously. I tried to undress Ramon and start our own love-making session right there, but he shushed me and told me to be patient. Eventually I settled on sitting in front of him, so I could rub my bottom against his awakening cock and give him a chance to slide his hands underneath my blouse and play with my breasts while we watched the two couples in action.

I was already getting quite horny and could distinctly feel Ramon's erection when Mirabelle's partner got up and ran into the water. She followed him soon after. Then Sylvie and her partner joined them in the pool. Since they were no longer making love, Ramon thought it okay to come out of our hiding place but suggested I go first on my own.

As I stepped into the clearing, waving to Sylvie and Mirabelle, the two boys looked slightly alarmed, not knowing what to make of my sudden appearance in their secret spot. They relaxed when the girls told them I was the friend they had been expecting.

Mirabelle asked, "Didn't you bring your boyfriend?"

"I did. He's waiting behind the trees. We didn't know if it's okay for him to see you like this."

Mirabelle and Sylvie looked at each other, then they shrugged and said, "Why not?"

Ramon had heard our exchange and came out from behind the trees, shouting hello to everybody and introducing himself. Mirabelle told him everybody's names and invited us into the water. I didn't need a second invitation to get undressed. As I did, I noticed that both Jean-Paul and Guy watched me with great interest.

It turned out that Ramon had - without me noticing it - put on a pair of swimming trunks back at his apartment. He walked towards the water and didn't seem to have any intention of taking off his trunks, which caused a huge storm of protest from everybody, including myself. Bowing to the 'popular request', as he called it, he took off his trunks, smiling. He had been teasing us to see how my friends would react. His cock was no longer hard but I could see Mirabelle and Sylvie staring at him, open-mouthed.

But as we joined the rest of the group in the cold water, his member shrank rapidly. In fact, I don't think I had ever seen it that small. I still remember how I got worried, wondering whether it would ever recover its normal size. But when we left the pool and dried each other with the towels we had brought along, it grew rapidly and I could soon feel its tip poking against my abdomen. We were the first couple to find a comfortable spot in the grass.

It was the first time I made love in the open air (I didn't count the couple of stunts beneath the bushes in the park in Villiers as love making) and I got a tremendous turn-on from this close contact with nature. It was also the first time that other people could actually watch while Ramon fucked me, although everybody behaved very civilized and kept their distance from the other couples. Sylvie and Mirabelle confessed later that they did occasionally check what we were doing and I admitted that I had been glancing at them too.

During one of the breaks Guy produced a camera and asked me to take a picture of the four standing side by side with the waterfall and pond in the background. I also took pictures of each couple in a more intimate position. Then Guy took some pictures of the 'three graces' and eventually they wanted to snap me and Ramon. We stood there facing the camera, Ramon's arm around my shoulders and my arm around his waist. Guy thought this was too tame and wanted a more sexy position. I just knelt down and took Ramon's cock into my mouth which drew some gasps from Sylvie, and Mirabelle joked, "Are you going to show this one to your dad, Jacqueline?"

The mention of my father made me suggest to take a picture of the three women fully clothed so I could show something to my parents. Everybody else grumbled at the idea but in the end Sylvie and Mirabelle agreed to get dressed for a respectable photograph with me. As soon as that was accomplished we shed our clothes again and returned to our sex games with our respective partners. We enjoyed ourselves until the sunlight started to fade. Then we got dressed and returned to the hut. Ramon and I got back into his car and returned to Paris.

-----

_ Puchero Argentino _, or simply _ Puchero _, is considered the national dish of Argentina. It is a combination of various types of meat, several kinds of vegetables and chick peas, all stewed together. It's hardly ever prepared by just one person and never eaten alone. Friends and family members get together to cook it, and later share it. It's more than just a meal, it's a celebration of life.

That's what Ramon taught me on our way back to Paris.

This short lesson on Argentine cuisine was followed by the announcement that his friends Pablo and Rui would be coming to the apartment the next day and the three would prepare their national dish. I wouldn't need to do anything, just enjoy the finished product. I wasn't very pleased about the prospect of not having Ramon to myself, but we had just spent most of the day in the company of my friends. How could I possibly object to spending a day with his friends?

It may have been my fear of being deprived of his undivided attention which made me start our carnal celebrations early the following morning. I didn't stay in bed, as I usually did, when I heard him rise. I got up as well and soon pinned him down on a chair, wiggling my breasts in front of his face, inviting him to kiss them and mounting his cock. Oh, how I loved the feeling of having his hardness planted deep inside me. It was one of the things in life I thought - and still think - I could never get enough of. How wrong Charlotte had been with her tirades against the 'penetration conspiration'! Wasn't that what the female body was made for? To give shelter to these wonderful male aggressors?

I had been sliding up and down on Ramon's shaft for some time when the doorbell rang. I didn't feel like stopping so soon and Ramon didn't make a move.

"Don't worry," he said, "they've got a key." That solved one problem, but could I just carry on as if nothing had happened? Ramon had frowned upon me hiding from his friend Pablo just because I was naked, but could we just let the two watch us making love? Well, wasn't that what we had done yesterday - make love in full view of everybody else? Yes, but then we weren't the only ones. The others were doing the same thing. How would Pablo and Rui react when they saw me fucking their friend?

Ramon must have read my thoughts because he said, "I'll send them to the kitchen." That solved my dilemma - at least for the moment.

I had my back to the door and didn't see them enter, but they could clearly see us and knew immediately what we were up to.

"Sorry, don't let us interrupt you," someone said. And Ramon answered, "Make yourself useful and prepare breakfast for all of us. I've been too busy to do it."

I hated the idea of interrupting our love-making, of stopping without having reached a climax, but I realized that I wouldn't be able to carry on as if they didn't exist. It wasn't that I felt apprehensive about them seeing me naked. I was a little worried about what they might think of me if they saw me ride Ramon's cock in shameless pursuit of my orgasm, but the main reason was that I didn't want to appear selfish, occupying Ramon exclusively for my own enjoyment. I decided to let both of us experience a satisfying orgasm before we joined his friends for breakfast. Using the technique Ramon had taught me only a couple of days ago, I squeezed and kneaded his cock with my pussy muscles. I could tell from his face that I was achieving the desired effect. Just as he had said, there isn't a man in the world who can resist.

Ramon was swept away by the pleasure I was inflicting on him as I rode his rod, moving rapidly up and down, causing his cock to thrust deeper and deeper inside me. I reached my climax as he shot his hot sperm into my pussy. He kissed me tenderly, as if to thank me for the good deed I had done to him.

I knew I wouldn't feel comfortable meeting his friends with the mixture of our love fluids oozing from my pussy, so I decided to have a quick shower before joining them. While I was in the shower, Ramon came into the bathroom and told me that one important ingredient for the _ Puchero _ was still missing. He was going to look for it, but it might take some time, this being a Sunday. In any case, he would be back as soon as possible. But, not to worry, Pablo and Rui would look after me.

I found the last part a little strange. Why would they need to look after me? At this stage, I knew my way around the apartment. It had become my home away from home for the last three weekends. It was probably just his way of reassuring me that I wouldn't be left on my own.

The knowledge that I would be in the company of his two friends - one of whom I hadn't even met yet - without Ramon being present, gave me a new dilemma. Could I just walk out of here without a stitch on and join them for breakfast? What would they think of me? Should I get dressed like 'normal' people do when they meet someone they hardly know? I decided to opt for a middle path. I wrapped myself in a towel which I fastened in front. This way, I was covered but I kept casual about it.

Pablo and Rui had already finished their breakfast and were preparing a few things for the big meal they were going to cook. They had laid one place on the table for me and put a single red rose on my plate. Pablo introduced me to Rui as '_ la chica mas guapa del mundo _' - the most beautiful girl in the world. As I was digging into my breakfast - it's amazing how good sex stimulates your appetite - they told me a little about themselves and I took the opportunity to have a good look at Rui and a second look at Pablo. On our first encounter I had only looked at him superficially; my mind had been occupied with other things.

-----

Argentina is a far away country and, like most of my compatriots, I knew very little about it before I met Ramon. My knowledge had been limited to the usual stereotypes: Huge cattle herds roaming on the wide open pampas, the untamed beauty of Patagonia, the legendary figure of Evita Peron, Buenos Aires, the capital, with her many references to European architecture - and, of course, tango.

Looking at Rui made me think of tango, that strangely sensual dance, performed by people whose mask-like faces do not betray any emotion as they move about with dramatic abruptness. Rui's face had the steely quality of those tango dancers' faces. His eyes pierced right through my towel; I could feel them on my skin, they made me blush. I had thought I was long past the stage when someone simply looking at me could have that effect, but I was wrong. Rui's insistent stare made my skin tingle all over.

Rui was of a smaller stature than Ramon and Pablo, but that didn't make him less impressive. He wore a tight-fitting T-shirt which emphasised his muscular torso, the short sleeves were just large enough to accommodate his considerable biceps. 'Piercing' is also the attribute I would give to the erection he sported. I had made it a habit to check out that department as well when I met a man. His penis pushed quite unashamedly against his thin cotton trousers, making me wonder what it might feel like to be pierced by this spike. (I chastised myself immediately for this thought, calling myself a horny bitch.)

I remembered that Rui had been 'otherwise engaged' the previous Sunday, when Pablo stopped by on his own, and I could understand that women might be queuing up to spend the rest of the night with him. Rui was the drummer of the group and his muscles were in part the result of hours and hours of studying, rehearsing, experimenting and trying to produce new, different sounds from his drum kit.

Pablo was the bass player. Not the electric bass, he preferred the traditional, wooden instrument. He was taller than Rui, rounder, just like his instrument. Physically he could be described as an 'ordinary guy' who wouldn't stand out in a crowd. He impressed more by his outgoing manner, his warmth, his charm, his friendly smile - and he also had a considerable erection in his trousers. I asked myself whether Argentinos were just exceptionally horny by nature, or whether I had this effect on them.

Somehow, almost inevitably, the conversation turned to sex. I asked them what they thought of French women compared to the women in their home country, only to be asked in return what I thought of Argentinian men. When I replied that so far I knew only one but I had no complaints, Pablo asked if I wanted to know a couple more. This seemed to have been the cue, because the two now started taking off their clothes, slowly, sensually, never taking their eyes off me. When they were down to their bare skin, I could confirm that both of them had indeed huge erections waving in front of them.

Their members didn't quite reach the size of Ramon's cock but they were big by any standard, large enough to satisfy even the most demanding woman. Rui's cock impressed me particularly by its hardness, it was rigid like a bar of steel. There didn't seem to be an ounce of excess fat on his entire body.

I nearly panicked when the two came towards me. They wouldn't, would they? They were close friends of Ramon, they even had the key to his apartment. They wouldn't use his temporary absence to seduce his girlfriend? Oblivious to my thoughts about what they would or wouldn't, could or couldn't do, Rui pulled the towel off me. Then the two carried me up the steps and put me down on the bed.

Four hands and two mouths touched, kissed, caressed, stroked, licked, squeezed and sucked every part of my body: my face, my lips, my feet, my neck, my shoulders, my legs, my breasts and nipples, my thighs, my belly, my bottom and finally my pussy.

Was this rape? I would have a hard time convincing anybody or myself that I didn't want this to happen, that I didn't want them to do what they did, that I wanted them to stop. But one part of me was horrified and disgusted. How could they do this? How could they betray Ramon's trust, take advantage of his absence and take liberties with his girl?

How could I let them do this? Sure, there were two of them and they were stronger than me, but why didn't I at least protest? Why didn't I struggle, scream, kick, scratch? I belonged to Ramon, to Ramon alone. I had decided that by myself. How could I be so assenting? This inner voice became weaker as the caresses intensified, became more intimate, as my breathing accelerated, as my arousal mounted.

The two went about their business efficiently but without haste. Pablo concentrated his efforts on my breasts and nipples while Rui buried his head between my legs and gave my pussy his full attention. Together they brought me to a state of utter bliss. I was writhing on the bed, bucking and arching my back to intensify the contact with their mouths.

I experienced several orgasms but this did nothing to reduce my desire. I saw their stiff cocks wave in front of them but they didn't seem to have any intention of putting them to good use.

When I could no longer bear the excitement, I gasped, "Fuck me, please!"

They looked at me in mock surprise, each one going, "Who? Me?"

I wasn't in a condition to make a decision, to chose who would be first. I knew that I wanted to feel both of them inside me, it didn't matter who was first.

"Yes, you! And you! Both of you! Anybody! Please!" I urged them on.

Rui decided to put me out of my agony. He slid his cock inside my wet pussy. It was hard as steel as I had expected. He fucked me without mercy, with long, deep strokes. My excitement had build up to a level where my climax was only seconds away. Pablo's hands and mouth on my nipples did the rest. I came to a screaming orgasm.

Rui wanted his friend Pablo to share in the fun and rearranged our positions. He turned me around and lifted me up until I was on all fours. Then he slid beneath me and fed me his cock, still glistening with my own pussy juices. Pablo knelt down behind me and entered my hungry pussy doggy-style. The new sensation of having two men inside me was overwhelming. As Pablo drove his cock deep inside me, I sucked the one in my mouth with enthusiasm and determination. Each thrust by Pablo drove Rui's cock deeper into my mouth. It soon erupted, filling my mouth with his hot seed. Pablo climaxed soon afterwards, his juice gushing into my already soaking wet pussy. It made me come in sympathy. We collapsed on the bed, gasping for air.

"My turn."

That was Ramon's voice. I froze. I hadn't heard him return. I didn't know how long he had already been there, watching. But even if it had only been a couple of minutes he would have seen clearly what a disgusting slut I was. And how his best friends had betrayed his trust. I was ready to kneel in front of him and beg his forgiveness. But he just rolled me onto my back and climbed on top of me.

"Please forgive me. I didn't mean to be unfaithful to you," I pleaded. I realized that this might be putting the blame on his friends and I added, "It wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened."

"Don't talk about it, just enjoy yourself."

I was dumbstruck. Was that all he was going to say? Wasn't he going to chastise me, call me a whore, a damn cheat? Wasn't he going to get angry with Pablo and Rui? The only thing he'd told them was to get busy in the kitchen, otherwise there wouldn't be any lunch. He kissed my mouth which had only moments ago swallowed Rui's semen. His cock entered my pussy still overflowing with Pablo's juices. I felt so small, faced with so much generosity. I felt terribly ashamed of myself.

But soon my mind was fully occupied with what he did to me. Ramon fucked me like only he could. Starting with almost imperceptible gyrations of his hips, increasing speed and force by miniscule step after miniscule step until he had me thrashing on the bed in one long continuous orgasm, gasping, moaning, begging him to thrust deeper and even deeper. He had a way of giving me pleasure which brought me close to insanity - and to keep me there for as long as he wanted. When he was about to come he took his cock out of my pussy and sprayed my belly, my breasts, my neck, my face with his delicious cum. Then he accompanied me to the bathroom and watched as I cleaned myself. When I had finished, he took me by my arm and guided me back towards the bed.

He stopped just a little before we got to the bed and shouted towards the kitchen, "Who's next?"

At this moment, I started to realize what was going on. I had been set up! They had planned it all! They were enacting the fantasy I had told Ramon about, a scenario where a naked woman was locked up in a cage and used by a group of men whenever and however they felt like. Pablo and Rui weren't betraying his friendship, they were helping me realize my fantasy.

Quite possibly, the story about Ramon having to go looking for a missing ingredient wasn't true. He had never left the apartment and had been watching me all the time! The only thing that was missing was the cage, but they replaced that by keeping constant watch over me. There was always someone with me, even when I needed to use the toilet. Having to perform my bodily functions under the watchful eye of one of my 'wardens' was a humiliating experience.

Maybe it was just that I perceived things in a different way after I knew what was going on, but it seemed to me that their behaviour towards me changed. They had started out seducing me, now they were using me. In the beginning I gave myself to them, now they took me: when they wanted, how they wanted, as often as they wanted. I felt completely at their mercy, an object of their lust. It was exactly this sensation of powerlessness, of having to endure whatever they decided, which had fascinated me about this scenario when I first saw it in Charlotte's magazine. Now I was experiencing it in my own skin. Rui was next. After him Pablo fucked me and then it was Ramon's turn again. I thanked him for letting me experience this feeling of submission and enslavement.

"You don't know yet if this is something you'll want to thank me for," he replied, pounding his cock deep inside me. I still felt some pangs of remorse about how I had behaved in the beginning, before I understood what they were doing. Sex slaves are supposed to struggle, protest, plea for mercy or suffer quietly. But I had shown openly how much I enjoyed their treatment, I had even begged them to fuck me. Did Ramon now think of me as a wanton slut?

When lunch was ready - there were always two men working in the kitchen while one of them was working inside me - they allowed me to take a shower, with all three of them watching. I ate my meal sitting on Rui's lap, impaled on his rod of steel, his hands squeezing and twisting my nipples. The other two men fed me like a child. They put the tastiest pieces, the juiciest morsels into my mouth, gave me wine to sip and wiped my lips and chin whenever I spilt something. When they told me I needed to eat well to endure what was still to come I became a little apprehensive. There was no longer any kitchen work to be done and the three of them were able to concentrate their efforts on me. I found that after lunch, I always had one cock in my mouth while another one ravaged my pussy. When one cock shot its load, another one would immediately take its place.

At one point, I was sucking Rui and riding Pablo who lay on his back below me - or maybe it was the other way around - I felt a hand pushing my buttocks apart and finding my anus. Another hand applied a cool jelly and a finger pushed into my rear hole. It was Ramon, trying to get me ready so he could thrust his cock where his finger was. I froze.

I let Rui's cock slip from my mouth. "Please, not there, not now!" I begged with terror in my voice. Ramon retreated. I realized that 'real' captors wouldn't think twice about penetrating their captive against her will. Should Ramon have done the same? I was glad that he had decided to bend the rules and listen to my plea. But I also felt bad about chickening out for the second time.

Later, when it was Ramon's turn to fuck me, I whispered into his ear how grateful I was for his leniency. He just said, "It's no big deal. You just have to realize that you're depriving yourself of the chance to have three men inside you at the same time."

Three men? Three cocks! The thought fascinated me. I decided I wanted to experience this. Not today, but some time soon.

Their physical strength seemed to be unlimited, but their sexual prowess had its limits, which meant it took increasingly longer for them to come. As a result they fucked me longer and harder each time, pounding their cocks inside me relentlessly, without mercy. I was exhausted and felt my pussy getting sore, but I wasn't going to beg them to stop. I was their slave, wasn't I?

My ordeal ended when the doorbell rang and Sylvie and Mirabelle announced that they had arrived. Ramon had given them his address and suggested they stop by on their way back. He would give the three of us a lift to Villiers. The men got dressed and sent me to the bathroom to freshen up. My legs felt wobbly, I had difficulty walking straight. I needed a good soak in the bathtub to reduce the swelling of my pussy lips. But I didn't feel quite as sore as I had felt after my first night with Ramon. I was grateful that there had been 'only' three captors and not six or eight men as in my fantasy.

When I felt a little restored I set about gathering my clothes together which had been left at various points in the apartment, including the kitchen where Sylvie and Mirabelle had settled down and agreed to try the authentic _ Puchero Argentino _, prepared by three handsome Argentinos, along with a glass of Argentinian red wine. They were engaged in a lively conversation. I noticed the surprise on Sylvie's face when I walked into the kitchen without a stitch on, picked up my skirt and slipped it on without putting on any panties. My pussy wasn't in a condition to have direct contact with any textile.

I wondered how she would have reacted if she knew what I had been doing while the Puchero was prepared. Sylvie and Rui seemed to get along well with each other and Mirabelle even exchanged phone numbers with Pablo. When I had gathered all my things together, we said goodbye to Rui and Pablo and set off for Villiers.

-----

Mirabelle who is the more extrovert of the three of us was keen to find out a little more about Ramon - and his friends - and used the journey to ask Ramon lots of questions.

"What does it feel like to be in a car with three attractive young ladies?" she asked to get the conversation started.

"Oh, I'm feeling very comfortable. I think I'm past the stage where I would blush or get all flustered."

"I suppose in your line of work it's not so unusual to be surrounded by beautiful young females with hardly a stitch on. I don't mean now, but yesterday you had a chance to see all of us in our natural state."

I couldn't believe this. Was she fishing for compliments on her looks? Did she expect some statement that he really felt like making love to all three of us?

"It's funny, how people react when I tell them that I design sexy lingerie for a living. They either think I must be gay, or they imagine I spend day and night surrounded by half a dozen of scantily dressed nymphs. The truth is much more down to earth. My sex life is really quite unremarkable - boring actually."

Mirabelle laughed, "I didn't get the impression that your sex life was boring - on the contrary. And I don't think my friend Jacqueline would describe what you do to her as unremarkable - and she wouldn't like it if you called her down-to-earth."

Mirabelle surprised me. Only a few weeks ago she had felt uncomfortable about pronouncing the word 'pussy' to me and now she was openly provoking a conversation about sex - with a man she hardly knew. The open-air romp and the opportunity to watch others 'doing it' had certainly loosened her up a lot.

I felt a little uncomfortable about the way the conversation was going. I still felt a little guilty about what had happened between me and Ramon's friends and I hadn't had a chance to find out how he felt about it. The unfinished business made me feel on edge.

"What would you say was your most exciting experience so far?"

I gasped. This was something I wanted to know as well, but I hadn't had the guts to ask him. And I was supposed to be the one who was intimate with Ramon!

He didn't seem to mind. "It's impossible to say which experience was the best, the most exciting, or something like that. Each experience is unique, incomparable. But as we started off by talking about how I feel being the only man among attractive young ladies, I'll tell you a story about how I once was raped by four women."

"Raped? I can't believe that." Mirabelle exclaimed. I started to wonder if she had had too much to drink.

"This happened quite a few years ago, back in Buenos Aires," Ramon started. "I was much younger then, and a lot less experienced as far as women are concerned. I had a relatively boring day job at a major clothes manufacturer and in my spare time I designed erotic underwear for women. It was probably more than just erotic; lewd or obscene might have been more appropriate words. I hadn't yet learned the difference between enticing and vulgar. Anyway, there was this 'girlie' magazine ..."

"You mean porno?," Mirabelle interrupted him.

"Not really. Well, I suppose it depends on what your definition of pornography is. This particular magazine didn't show any sexual acts - I think that would have been illegal under the military rule - it only showed sexy women flaunting their beauty in a very direct way.

"To come back to the story: This photographer had seen some of the 'erotic' garments I had produced and wanted to do a photo story around them. There would be models wearing the pieces and then gradually removing them until they were completely naked. He asked me to come along to the photo session, in case there was a need for any last minute adjustments, and I agreed.

"There were four models, the photographer, another man looking after the lighting effects and me. I hope you don't mind my saying so, but those four models were really gorgeous. I hadn't met any women so openly sexy before, and now, suddenly there were four of them, right in front of me.

"Like most people, I had some preconceived ideas about 'this kind of woman'. That they only did 'this kind of thing' because they had fallen on hardship and couldn't find any other way out, or that they looked at it as a profession like any other and went about it very business-like. But those four told me that it was the best thing that ever happened to them. They earned good money and were able to enjoy themselves at the same time.

"The beginning of the photo session was quite tame. Each of the models started off wearing some of the garments I had designed. They were mainly bras and panties, but also a corset and a garter belt, if I remember correctly. The clothes were all very sexy, but some were more revealing than others. There weren't any changing facilities, but they didn't mind in the least taking off their clothes right in front of me and displaying their charms. It almost seemed that they were getting a kick out of seeing me stare at them.

"The second part of the session, when they partially removed their clothes, was the most torturous for me. There were pictures which showed a bra that had slid down just enough to reveal a nipple. Another shot showed the panties being pulled inside the woman's pussy with her pussy lips showing on either side of the textile. It was my job to adjust the clothes so that the desired visual effect was achieved.

"I remember that my hands trembled when I touched the most intimate parts of these sex goddesses. And, of course, I had a huge erection which anyone but a blind person could see. At least I didn't have to get involved in the final part when the four were completely naked. But it didn't help my excitement when I watched them 'making love to the camera', caressing their breasts, playing with their nipples, spreading their legs to display the most intimate details of their pussies, holding their pussy lips open and playing with their clits, and looking seductive as hell throughout.

"When the photographer told them they could get dressed, I saw them whisper something to each other, then all four came towards me. I didn't know what had hit me when they lifted me up and carried me to the bed where the pictures had been taken. I tried to resist - God knows why - but three of them held me down while the fourth undid my fly, released my cock and lowered her wet pussy onto me.

"I didn't last long before I came, but the woman riding me probably hadn't expected anything else. I wasn't completely inexperienced. In fact, to design the garments they had displayed so lasciviously I had studied the female anatomy in great detail and taken exact measures on my girlfriend. I knew everything a woman has to hide and to reveal. But I had never felt this excited in my life.

"My ordeal wasn't over after my rapturess released me. They stripped me naked and then they made me watch two of them make love to each other while the other two held me down. At this stage, it wasn't really necessary to hold me. I had already conceded defeat and was ready to endure whatever they had in store for me.

"The sight of two beautiful sexy women kissing and caressing each other and later licking each other's pussy had the desired effect on my flaccid cock. As soon as it raised its head, another woman climbed on top of me. But this time I wanted to play a more active role. I rolled on top of her and fucked her well and truly. I recovered some of my male pride by making her climax a few times before shooting my load into her delicious pussy.

"There was no letup. The two women who had already enjoyed a visit from my cock took turns in licking and sucking it back to life while a third one straddled me and offered me her moist pussy to lick. I obliged without hesitation. The wonderful taste of her ripe plum and the joint effort of her friends had me soon back in fighting condition. I took the third woman from behind, doggy-style, while she pleasured her friend's pussy, carrying on where I had left off. Again, my male ego got an enormous boost when I heard my partner moan into the soaking wet pussy of the fourth woman who was herself reaching an orgasm.

They had decided that my poor cock would have to visit all four of them and deposit its juice inside each pussy. I don't know how they managed, but thanks to their joint efforts I was soon hard again and made love to a fourth woman, all within the space of maybe a couple of hours. I lay there, exhausted, as they got dressed. Then each one of them gave me a kiss on the mouth and thanked me. 'We've never had so much fun with just one cock' they said."

There was absolute silence in the car after Ramon had finished his story. I don't know how the other two reacted, but I felt very excited and my tortured pussy was leaking. In my imagination I had always seen Ramon surrounded by scantily-clad attractive women and had taken it as a given that he didn't always separate business and pleasure. I had only dared to ask very timid questions about his affairs with other women because I was worried that he might think I was being possessive.

The story didn't make me jealous, and not only because it happened a long time before we met. The thought of beautiful women submitting to 'my' Ramon aroused me. I had always been curious to know what other women did to him so I could treat him to the same delights. But there was no way I could top the women in this story.

"I hope I haven't shocked anyone," Ramon said eventually into the silence. "You asked, so I told you."

"It's envy, not shock," Mirabelle said. "This story exceeded all my expectations."

When we arrived in Villiers, Mirabelle directed Ramon to her address, where we all got out of the car.

I hugged and kissed Ramon and asked him, "Do you still want me?"

He didn't find my question worthy of an answer and just said, "I'll call you tomorrow," before setting off on his return journey. We all went inside to thank Mirabelle's father for letting us stay at his hut.

Mirabelle's parents had heard a car pull up in front of their house and had gone to the window to see who it was. They didn't recognize the car or its driver and wondered who this might be. (Villiers is this kind of town.) Then they saw us three girls emerge from the car. As soon as we entered the house, Mirabelle's father wanted to know who the man with the car had been.

"Oh, that's Jacqueline's lover. He has an apartment in Paris. Jacqueline spent the weekend with him and he gave us all a lift home," Mirabelle explained.

I could have killed her. The wine had definitely gone to her head.

Her father immediately turned to me and said, "I didn't know you had a lover, Jacqueline. Aren't you a bit young for that kind of thing?"

I blushed. I explained that it wasn't quite the way Mirabelle had put it. But yes, I did have a relationship with the man who had given us a lift. I added, "You probably know that my father isn't quite as open-minded as you, Sir, so I would be grateful if you didn't tell him about this."

He assured me that he wasn't into gossiping about other people's children and guaranteed that he wouldn't tell anybody.

I soon made my excuses, saying that I wanted to have a good rest before the exams which were starting the following day. In fact, I was dying to get home to treat my aching pussy. I still had some of the ointment and bath salts the gynaecologist had given me and wanted to put them to good use.

Sylvie also left and we walked together to her house which was literally next door. She had been very quiet throughout the car journey and I asked her if anything was the matter. She seemed pleased that I had noticed and sighed, "Oh, it's nothing really. Just some boy trouble."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked. She did, so I accompanied her to her room.

"When we met Guy and Jean-Paul by chance, some time ago," she started, "they were on a hiking holiday and had walked all the way from Tours to that place in the mountains. They had spent two weeks on the road and it was just a lucky coincidence that we all were at that waterfall at the same time. After that, we didn't meet for a long time. We exchanged many e-mails until we arranged to meet again this weekend. This time they came by train.

"They found out that the journey was quite expensive and complicated - they only got there after midnight. We've arranged to meet again next weekend, but I don't know how often they will be willing to make the trip. Besides, we can't keep going to the waterfall when the weather gets cooler. So I was a little downtrodden, not knowing how long we could keep this relationship going. I like Guy. He's very sweet and gentle to me. But I don't think this can work if we only meet, say, once a month.

"Then I met Rui today. God, what a man! He just looked at me and I felt like melting into his arms. I think he likes me too. I wanted him to make love to me there and then, but there were too many people. Now I don't know how I can meet him again. And I feel guilty about wanting to drop Guy for someone else. I feel guilty about meeting him for an intimate weekend when my mind is really on another man. Oh Jacqueline, why do things have to be so complicated?"

Why indeed! Why couldn't I tell her that Rui had repeatedly made love to me that day, that he had brought me to a number of memorable orgasms and made me beg for more, that he had the hardest cock I'd ever felt inside me, that I ranked him high up there amongst the best lovers?

Instead I told her that I wasn't able to compare Guy and Rui because I knew both of them only casually. I encouraged her to sleep with Rui, just to find out what it felt like, and then decide which of the two she liked better. I told her not to feel guilty about 'betraying' Guy, because with this kind of casual relationship they were having, nobody expected exclusive rights on their partner. In fact, if she wanted to, she could maintain a loose relationship with both of them.

She looked a little doubtful about my last suggestion but said she would try to find a way to sleep with Rui. But not immediately, she would wait till after the next weekend with Guy. She just thought she couldn't face him if she had slept with someone else in the meantime. She also told me how lucky she was to know someone with whom she could talk openly about these things. Then I left and went home.

Chapter 8

[Fashion Model]

Being with Ramon was a wonderful experience. He shared with me his interest for music, the arts, good food and most of all his worship for the female body. He made me feel like a fully grown, mature woman, like the only woman in the world. His attention, his gentleness, his generosity made me want to give myself to him in any possible way. And when he fucked me - although he rarely used this term; he preferred to say we were making love - I wanted time to stand still, wanted the experience to last forever.

It was Saturday morning, but I had no notion how early or late it was. I didn't need to. All I knew was that I would be spending this and the following day in the company of Ramon, until he would deliver me back to my parents on Sunday evening. I was lying on the 'altar', as Ramon had christened the bed on the raised platform, because it was a place of offerings and worship: I offered myself to him and he worshipped me.

I was in that marvellous state where one is no longer asleep but not yet awake, when one is at peace with the world, when everything around one is perceived as through a soothing mist.

I was somehow aware that there was a third person present in the room. I didn't know how much or how little of me was covered and I didn't particularly mind if Ramon's visitor saw all or none of my charms. I vaguely remembered Ramon telling me that Alain would come by to discuss business, but had assured me that it wouldn't take long. The two men had worked together on some project that I didn't know much about, and had become friends.

Alain had indicated that he might be able to help Ramon find a financial backer for his ambitious plan of launching a range of sexy lingerie under his own designer label. Ramon was showing Alain drawings and some finished pieces of the collection he was creating. Alain was impressed but wanted to see the garments on a live model. Ramon, a little disappointed, said in this case it would have to wait until next week when he could ask some models he knew for a favour.

Alain pointed in the direction of the bed and asked, "Do you think we could ask your girlfriend?"

Ramon hesitated, then said, "I can give it a try."

I hadn't paid much attention to their conversation but had caught enough of the last few sentences to know what Ramon wanted when he kissed me gently and said, "Good morning, darling."

I hugged him and said, "Come back to bed, it's so lonely without you."

He promised that he would join me soon and asked if I would do him a big favour. I looked at the garment in his hand. I couldn't quite make out what it was, but it looked very sexy. I whined a little and mumbled something about a girl not being allowed a little rest after a hard night of love-making, but then I put on the garment which turned out to be a very sexy teddy.

I wanted to make it quite clear that I was not pleased. Expecting me to get up without having had a cock, a tongue or even a finger in my pussy was no way of treating me. I was sure the Convention of Human Rights had something to say about that. As I walked towards Alain, dressed in the teddy, I put on the sleepiest face I could manage, which combined very well with my unkempt hair and my pout.

Alain's eyes widened. "My God, this is fantastic!" he exclaimed. He quickly corrected himself. "My God, you look fantastic."

The teddy was made of an exquisitely light textile which clung to my body like a second skin. It was almost transparent but had been hand-painted with a motive which resembled a Japanese landscape painting. The pubic region contained a number of shrubs and trees to mask the transparency of the fabric. Likewise, the part covering my breasts showed a group of birds in flight, camouflaging my nipples and areolas. This sexy creation showed everything but revealed nothing.

Alain got very excited about it. "I've got to take some pictures to show them to Michel," he proclaimed, adding, "if that's alright with you," when he noticed my frown.

Ramon got one of his cameras and Alain started to take pictures of me. First standing, then sitting on a chair, with my legs crossed, with my legs uncrossed, full frontal, in profile, with one arm raised as if I was trying to arrange my hair. I was amazed how many different poses he could think of.

After the chair came the bed. They arranged a pile of cushions on which I could recline. Alain complimented me on how well I could play the 'sleepy-eyed disgruntled brat' role and suggested I should try a few other facial expressions, like seductive, innocent or seductively innocent. He acted like a film director spurring on his star actress to a memorable performance. When Ramon mentioned the fact that there was a wall of mirrors hidden behind the wall cover, Alain went really wild. He had me lie on my belly, one foot up in the air, and look at the mirror. He took a snap of me looking seductively at own my image in the mirror.

After a while Alain asked if there was something else I could model. Ramon went away to look for something suitable. In the meantime I took off the teddy and for a few moments I stood there, completely naked, right in front of Alan, a man I had only met half an hour ago. I guess I will never manage to be indifferent to this kind of situation where I'm completely exposed to a man's eyes. It made my skin tingle with excitement and my nipples hardened.

Ramon came back with a slip, or maybe it's better to call it a half-slip. It was held up by spaghetti straps, and reached only half way down my thighs, barely covering the essentials. The colour of the new garment was deepest burgundy which combined very well with my brunette hair and complexion. It wasn't transparent as the teddy had been but anyone looking at a woman dressed in this slip would automatically start fantasising about what lay beneath it - and then want to check if the reality matched his imagination.

Alain took pictures of me in various positions and poses, just as he had done with me wearing the teddy. As I was lying on my belly, looking at myself in the mirror, an air current caught the thin fabric and lifted it up, revealing part of my bottom. Alain got ecstatic. "That's marvellous. Why didn't I think of that?"

Then he suggested we'd do some 'erotic' shots. I asked him what he meant by 'erotic'.

"Well, slightly revealing, seductive, nothing dirty," he answered.

He took a picture of me reclining on a pile of cushions, apparently sleeping, where one strap had slipped off my shoulder, revealing a nipple. Ramon was in charge of arranging the partial undressing while Alain gave directions.

"A little lower! Just a little more! Hold it there! That's it. Fantastic!"

In the next shot the hem of the slip had accidentally ridden up, revealing my pussy, with one of my hands suggestively resting on my thigh.

For the next setting I had to take off the slip completely and hold it to my cheek, my face slightly inclined sideways, as if to feel its softness. The rest of the garment was hanging down the middle of my body, bunched together, covering my pussy as if by accident. My breasts were hidden behind my arms which were holding the slip to my face. The only part of my body the picture revealed was my bottom which was reflected in the mirror behind me. It was a wonderful picture, so innocent, yet so hot.

I asked what was going to happen to these pictures. I didn't want them to get into the wrong hands. I didn't want to see them published in some sleazy magazine or posted on the internet. I didn't want them to fall into my father's hands.

Alain noticed from the tone of my voice that this was important to me. He assured me that the only person to see these pictures would be Michel, Ramon's potential backer. He wanted to know why I was so concerned about who got to see them. There wasn't anything indecent or obscene about them. They were just very sensual pictures of an attractive woman showing off sexy lingerie.

"I don't want my father to call me a slut," I explained.

There was more on my mind than my father's unfavourable judgement of my behaviour. I was still a few weeks away from my eighteenth birthday and I was sure he would prosecute anyone involved with these pictures, accusing them of corrupting a minor, producing child pornography and whatever other crimes he could find.

Alain had used a digital camera so we were able to see the results immediately. When I saw myself on Ramon's large TV screen, I really felt like a famous fashion model or film star. Alain must have read my thoughts, because he suggested I take up a career as a model. He thought I had both the talent and the necessary figure to make a big splash.

Ramon didn't agree. He advised against giving up my studies for an uncertain future as a model. Besides, he said, it would be throwing pearls before the swine.

"You are an egoist," Alain exclaimed, "you want to have her only for yourself. Whatever happened to socialism? Down with private ownership of women! The working masses have the right to be devastated by this beauty."

After Alain had left, Ramon said, "Don't hold his remarks against him. Alain has a very difficult job. You have no idea how many beautiful girls approach him every week and offer to do anything he wants, just to get a chance to audition for the chamber girls."

"I wouldn't have thought that he'd consider that a problem."

"No, that isn't the problem. The problem is that he lives by very strict rules. He doesn't mix business with pleasure. He won't touch any of the girls who work for him."

"Well, I'm glad you don't have this problem. I'm horny as hell," I said, embracing him and tugging on the zipper of his trousers. I made it clear that I expected a compensation for having been made to work that early in the morning. And I wanted to be paid in hard currency - the one he carried between his legs.

-----

Men are so predictable, so transparent, even when they try to hide their real intentions! When Ramon met me at the railway station the following Friday, he carried a huge bunch of flowers which he handed to me after we had hugged and kissed. There didn't seem to be any logic in this. I was arriving to spend the weekend at his apartment and I sure wasn't going to take those flowers back to Villiers with me. So why didn't he just put the flowers into a nice vase in his apartment and present them to me as we got there. The answer was that he either felt guilty about something and wanted to achieve my forgiveness, or he was going to ask for a special favour and wanted to put me in a positive frame of mind with his gift.

He had only phoned me once, on Thursday night, to confirm our arrangements for the weekend and apologized for not having called more often, explaining that he had been very busy. That wasn't something which needed my pardon. So, as I thanked him for the flowers, I wondered what his special request would be.

He didn't come straight out with his request. I had to wait for some time until I found out what it was. He didn't mention anything unusual during our meal in a cosy Vietnamese restaurant. When we got to his apartment, Ramon undressed me, carried me to the 'altar' and made love to me in a very sweet and tender way. Afterwards, with his cock still inside me but rapidly shrinking, he said, "Remember those pictures Alain took of you last weekend?"

He tried to sound casual but didn't quite manage.

"I remember them well. What happened?"

Apparently, Alain had talked to Michel, the potential sponsor, the following Monday and showed him the photographs along with the clothes I was wearing in those pictures. Michel had been on the phone to Ramon the same evening, asking him to come and see him to present his entire collection the next day. And to bring the model who featured in the pictures with him. Ramon had explained that the woman in those photographs wasn't a model but his girlfriend but he would gladly arrange another model for the meeting.

Michel had answered, 'I don't care if the model is your girlfriend or your girlfriend is the model, I want her and nobody else. Otherwise there's no deal'. Ramon realized that this request was not subject to negotiation, but explained that his girlfriend did not live in Paris and was only available on weekends.

'In that case', Michel had said, 'we'll do it in my home. That way my wife can join us and we also get a woman's point of view. Shall we say Saturday at 2 pm. And don't make any plans for the rest of the day.'

So there it was. Ramon had made a commitment involving me without asking me first. He felt guilty about that but he was obviously keen on the opportunity. He told me that if for whatever reason I felt I didn't want to do it, I should just say it and he would cancel the appointment.

"No, my love," I said, "of course, I'll do it for you. I'm yours."

I found Michel's insistence that it had to be me and not any other model a little strange and asked Ramon, "Do you think he wants something from me?"

Ramon paused. "I hadn't thought of it that way. From what Alain told me about Michel, he's a shrewd businessman, a tough negotiator, but I don't think he's into raping little girls."

I slapped him. I hated it when he called me a little girl. I thought I had proven to him often enough that I was a woman.

"Besides," Ramon added after he had recovered from my blow, "he said his wife would be there as well. So I don't think there is any danger. But in any case, if there's anything you don't like, just say it and we'll leave."

I was determined to do whatever necessary to help Ramon realize his dream. I couldn't imagine anything that might make me want to break up the meeting.

"Do you know what name I have chosen for my brand of ladies' fashion?"

I didn't know.

"'_ Vous êtes très jolie _' by Ramon," he said.

I was flattered. Those were the first words he spoke to me when we met, not such a long time ago, at '_ Le Club _' in Villiers.

"Every woman wearing my lingerie should be able to say that to her image in the mirror. And every man fortunate enough to see a woman in her underwear by Ramon should say it, before saying anything else."

We spent the night making love in a very romantic, almost dream-like way.

The following morning we planned our little fashion show. Ramon had been busy arranging the garments I was going to wear according to a number of themes, from 'conservative', and 'romantic' to 'daring' and 'slutty'. There was even a 'bridal' theme, presenting his suggestion of what a bride should wear under her wedding dress. I didn't have any plans to get married - I still don't - but this outfit made me think twice. Except, I imagined getting married in these clothes without any wedding dress on top.

Ramon told me which mood each of the sets was supposed to represent and gave me hints on how to emphasise that mood by my facial expression, gestures or my way of walking. In some cases the outfit consisted of two layers of clothes and we rehearsed the best moment for shedding the top layer.

After so much preparation I felt pretty confident that I was going to put on a show they wouldn't forget so soon, but when we arrived at the address Michel had given to Ramon, my heart sank. What was a girl like me doing in a place like this?

The impressions piled on top of each other. There was the man at the ornamental wrought-iron gate who checked our names against a list of expected visitors. There was the gravel driveway taking us through meticulously looked-after gardens to the steps leading to the mansion There was the chauffeur who helped us retrieve our bags from the boot of the car and then took care of parking it behind some hedges for us. There was the butler who led us to the room where Monsieur and Madame Meunier were expecting us. And there was the mansion itself.

We didn't get a guided tour of the property but the small part we saw made me feel like a snotty-nosed girl who had intruded into a wealthy man's property in order to retrieve a ball and was now standing in front of that man, having to explain what on earth she was doing here.

Michel Meunier and his wife Roxanne were extremely pleasant and did their best to make us feel at ease. He told us to call him simply Michel and his wife preferred to be called Roxy. She was a redhead - her head sported the reddest copper-curls I had ever seen - which made me give her my own nickname: Foxy Lady.

Michel looked very much how I had expected, except that he was younger than I had imagined. I guessed he was forty, give or take a couple of years. Even though he was dressed casually, he couldn't hide the fact that he was a businessman through and through. He had a square, closely-shaven face with an energetic lower jaw. He gave me the impression of someone who is used to hearing 'Yes, Sir. No, Sir. Certainly, Sir. Sorry, Sir.' and never any disagreement.

I'm not very good at estimating the age of women and Roxanne was a particularly difficult case. All I could say is that she probably was quite a bit older than she looked and that she spent a lot of time and money on looking younger than she really was. Anything between 25 and 45 seemed possible.

After we had exchanged the usual niceties and the butler had served drinks, Roxy showed me to her bedroom which was going to serve as my changing room. She asked if I wanted her maid to help me change from one outfit into another.

I looked at the girl. She seemed to be about my age, very shy and probably very obedient. I imagined that she helped Roxanne into and out of her clothes. Seeing a woman without clothes was probably part of her daily routine. The idea of having this girl help me take off and put on Ramon's sexy underwear opened up the perspective for many exciting fantasies, including some resulting in the seduction of the poor innocent girl. But I had come here to help Ramon, not to enjoy myself, so I declined the offer.

As I arranged the clothes in the sequence in which I was going to model them on the large bed, I had a look around the room. The wall behind the bed was one large mirror - quite convenient for checking myself before going out. In front of the mirror, both on the floor and hanging from the ceiling, I noticed some loops and other fittings which I didn't quite understand. I assumed they had something to do with Roxy's fitness programme - I was sure she worked out regularly - and left it at that.

I still felt a little out of place when I started the fashion show. Luckily, the first sets were more conservative, less revealing. I would walk diagonally across the long room to the corner where Michel, Roxanne and Ramon were sitting, stand there for a few moments to let them have a good look, do a few turns so they could see me from every angle, and then saunter back.

I soon grew more confident when I realized that Michel and Roxanne liked what they saw - and I don't mean only the clothes I was displaying. Ramon's face also showed that he was pleased. Just like me, they liked the bridal wear very much. Roxanne commented that she'd like to get married again. Michel said they would have to get divorced first and asked Ramon jokingly if he'd also designed something appropriate for a divorce.

The last theme in the show was called 'red light district'. Ramon had indicated that we would only show this one if he thought the mood was right. I had checked his face and he had nodded, so I put on the outfit which consisted of a quarter cup bra which didn't cover anything but just pushed my breasts up so that my nipples pointed straight at whoever happened to be in front of me, a suspender belt, silk stockings and miniscule lacy panties. Everything except the stockings was in screaming red. Ramon had suggested that I wear an equally scandalous red lipstick and put some rouge on my nipples to heighten the sluttish effect.

The outfit was really stunning and it got everybody's attention as soon as I entered the room. I looked at Michel with a seductive, inviting smile but then I thought this might get me into trouble with Roxanne and I gave her the same look. I hadn't expected her to react. My heart started to pound fast as she got up from her chair, approached me and put one hand inside my panties.

"Look Michel," she said, "how wonderfully soft this material is. It feels like velvet." She moved her fingers up and down. She wasn't checking the softness of the textile but the wetness of my pussy. I didn't know what to say or do.

Michel said, "No, thanks. Maybe another time." Then he added, "Why don't you take Jacqueline to your room and check it out more thoroughly. I've got some serious business to talk with our friend here. You'd only get bored."

I was thrilled to hear that Michel wanted to talk business with Ramon. This was a good sign. Roxanne's hand was digging deeper into my panties, one finger was now inserted into my slit. I was sure that the men saw what was going on, but if they knew, they didn't let on. Roxanne put one arm around my shoulders. I heard her say 'Thank you, Sir' to Michel. Then she turned me around and marched me back to her bedroom without removing her hand from my pussy.

As soon as we entered her room, Roxanne used the arm around my shoulders to turn me around, facing her and gave me a deep kiss, her tongue invading my mouth. Her other hand was still in my panties, one finger lodged inside my pussy. She pushed me back towards the mirror wall until I could feel the cool glass against my back.

Then, in a surprisingly quick move, she pulled her hand out of my panties, grabbed both my wrists, lifted my arms up and secured them in two of the loops that were suspended from the ceiling. I didn't know what to make of this. What on earth was she doing? Next, she bent down, removed my panties and attached my ankles to rings fitted in the floor. She gave me another deep kiss and said, "Hang on a moment, sweetie, I'll be back in a second."

She left me there, half standing, half hanging, my legs slightly apart, and disappeared into an adjoining room.

Disconnected thoughts raced through my mind. What exactly were her intentions? Did I have reason to get worried? Was this her revenge for me having flirted with her husband? My mind went back to the conversation with Ramon the day before. "I don't think he's into raping little girls," Ramon had said about Michel. Maybe his wife was?

When Roxanne returned she was completely naked except for a strange contraption she wore around her hips. It didn't take me long to realize that this was a strap-on dildo, something I had read about and seen pictures of, but had so far not encountered in real life. The sight of a woman with an artificial penis protruding from below her belly was strange, but it somehow aroused me. Her intentions were clear. She was going to fuck me like a man. What would it feel like? She came towards me, the plastic phallus swaying in front of her.

"Don't worry, darling, you're going to enjoy this."

I wasn't able to move. She kissed me once more; deep, desiring, bewitching. Her hands moved down my body, caressing my breasts, rubbing my nipples, running down my sides and then behind me to reach my bottom, squeezing my bottom cheeks. Then they found my pussy. One finger went inside. She noticed my wetness.

"You're looking forward to this, aren't you?" she whispered into my ear.

The plastic cock felt strange, inhuman. I gasped as she thrust it deep inside me. Her hips moved back and forth, first slowly, then gathering speed. I could feel her excitement mount, her breathing get louder. I realized that the dildo stimulated her as well as me. Every thrust brought her closer to orgasm. Her desire took control of her. She fucked me hard and fast, fucking herself at the same time. Then she came with a loud sigh of fulfilment.

'Just like a man,' I thought, 'she didn't wait for me.' I hoped this wouldn't be the end. I wanted more. I could think of many things I wanted to do to this sensual redhead.

I said, "Let's move to the bed. It's much more comfortable there."

She looked at me approvingly. I hadn't struggled or screamed for help, I hadn't complained or begged her not to do such a thing to me. And, apparently, I wanted more.

"Your right, darling, let's move to the bed." She undid the catches which restrained my arms and legs, put one arm around my shoulders and lead me to the bed. She motioned me to get on all fours and entered me from behind. The smooth plastic shaft slid inside my waiting pussy. Her hands found my breasts, caressed my nipples. Her hips picked up speed, moving faster, thrusting deeper with each stroke. She whispered sweet nothings into my ear, telling me what a juicy little cunt I had, what a cute ass, what beautiful tits, what sensitive nipples; encouraging me to enjoy myself. I did. I forgot about the strangeness of the situation. I encouraged her to fuck me hard, pushing my rear back to meet her thrusting hips. We encouraged and stimulated each other. And finally, we both came with loud moans of pleasure.

Roxanne removed the dildo and lay on her back, her legs spread. I could see that she was a true redhead. Her pussy was covered with the same curly-smooth copper wire as her head. She offered me the dildo, inviting me to fuck her. I looked at her toy. There was a second penis which the woman wearing the dildo inserted into her own pussy. With every thrust the fucking woman stimulated herself as well as her partner. It looked tempting.

Roxanne was disappointed when I declined the offer.

"I've never done this before," I said, "I'm afraid that it won't be very good for you the first time around - and I want it to be good for you. I'll do something else I know you're going to enjoy."

She looked at me in anticipation. I climbed on top of her, pressing my still half-dressed body against her nakedness. I kissed her. Her face, her lips, her neck, her shoulders, her firm round breasts, her nipples, hard as pebbles, her belly and finally her pussy. Her moans started when my mouth touched her pubic mound - and didn't stop until much later, when I finally collapsed, exhausted, with my face buried between her thighs.

The Foxy Lady's pussy tasted of vanilla and was extremely sensitive to the lightest touch. I let my tongue run wild through the folds of her labia. My mouth discovered the hiding place of her clitoris and I took it hostage between my lips. I licked her slit and was rewarded with a rich flow of her juices. I made her writhe and squirm as I stabbed my tongue deep into her love hole and had to pin her down so she wouldn't wriggle out of reach. Oh, what a joy it was to make love to this woman who did not hold back and let me know with so much enthusiasm how much she appreciated every move I made. Her orgasms, announced by unmistakable gasps, made my own pussy cream in sympathy.

"That was absolutely wonderful!" Roxanne said after her breathing and heartbeat had returned to normal. "Jacqueline, you have a magic tongue! This was worth getting punished for."

"Punished?" I asked, wondering if I had understood correctly.

"Oh yes," she confirmed, "raping a guest is a punishable offence. And there's probably a rule about behaving so wantonly."

"But who's to know? I won't tell anybody."

"Michel will find out. I can't keep anything from him."

"So he's the one who punishes you. How?" There were so many questions I wanted to ask.

"He spanks me. His hand on my bare bottom. Sometimes he also uses his belt." There wasn't any sign of fear in her voice.

"You almost sound like you're looking forward to it," I observed. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Only in the beginning. When my bottom gets hot, so do I. And he gets very excited too. Afterwards he fucks me like a wild man, like an animal. It's fantastic. I'm sure you're going to love it."

I started to get alarmed. "What do you mean, '_ I _ am going to love it'?" I asked. If she enjoyed having her backside thrashed, that was her choice. I had no intention of getting involved.

"Well, you've committed at least one punishable offence: making love to me without his permission. You won't get away without punishment for this."

I grew apprehensive, but she spoke with so much enthusiasm about the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability, about being at the mercy of the punisher, that I started to get interested and agreed to give it a try.

We showered together to wash off our perspiration and any other traces our love session may have left behind. Then she asked me if I had a spare set of the 'red light district' outfit that she could wear. I managed to find one and she put it on, except the panties. She told me to wear the same outfit but also leave the panties off. "One of the things which Michel enjoys most is looking at a spankable bottom, framed by a suspender belt. Today, he's going to see two of them."

When we rejoined the men they had finished their negotiations and were drinking brandy from big snifters to celebrate the outcome of their discussions. We walked side by side, with our arms around each other's shoulders towards the two men, displaying our pussies and tits, as if this was part two of the fashion show. When we reached the place where Michel was sitting we turned around to show him our backsides. Then we bent down to give him an even better look.

When we had returned to an upright position and were facing Michel and Ramon, Roxy said, "We have behaved badly, Sir, and deserve to be punished."

Michel's face lit up, while Ramon clearly didn't know what was going on.

"What do you want to confess?" Michel asked.

"Raping a guest, Sir."

"You _ raped _ Jacqueline?" His voice was like thunder.

"Yes, Sir. I fucked her with my dildo."

"And did she enjoy it?"

"I think so, Sir."

"Do you want to confess anything else?"

"Yes, Sir. Wantonness."

"Be more specific."

"She licked my pussy and I came and came. I thought my orgasms would never end. It was wonderful."

"That's very serious. Anything else?"

"No, Sir."

"You'll get a double-fifty. Your punishment will start as soon as I'm finished with this young lady here."

"Ouch."

"What did you say?"

"I said 'Thank you, Sir', Sir"

Michel turned to me. "You made love to my wife?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" he growled.

"Yes, Sir."

"And did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, Sir. Very much."

"So what do you think I should do about this?"

"Nothing, Sir."

"So you think you can walk in here, make love to my wife, behind my back, and I do 'nothing'! If you were a man I'd have you castrated. So you think, just because you're an attractive young lady, I'll let you get away with it?"

"No, Sir."

"So you agree that you deserve a punishment?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you want me to spank your bare bottom?"

"Yes, please, Sir."

"Alright then. I won't be too harsh on you because it's your first offence. You get 25 on your bare bottom."

"Thank you, Sir."

Deep down inside I knew that this was only a role play, but Michel had been so stern-faced and had spoken with so much firm authority that I did indeed feel like I was going to get the punishment I deserved for my misdeed. Throughout the exchange I had stood there with my hands behind my back, my head bowed, looking at the carpet in front of me, not daring to look him in the face.

He called Roxy to him. She draped herself over his knee, supporting herself with her hands on the floor, so that her bottom was sticking up in the air, conveniently placed for Michel's hand. I could see her wince as the first blow hit one of her cheeks. Michel counted aloud as he spanked her bottom, alternating between cheeks, hitting both cheeks with every fifth blow. He stopped after twenty-five.

Roxy knew the routine. Obviously, she had done this before. She got up from his knees and knelt on the sofa, this time supporting her weight on the backrest and again sticking her bottom up in the air. I could see the effect of the 25 blows on her tender cheeks. Her bottom had a dark pink glow to it.

Michel removed the belt from his trousers and rolled one end several times around his hand. He stood next to Roxanne and whipped her rear, again counting the strokes aloud. These strokes were harder than I had ever imagined. Roxanne whimpered quietly, taking her punishment without complaining too much. The belt left red lines, crisscrossing on her bottom, some running further, to her side, some even reaching her front. Those blows, when the belt wrapped around her and stung her side and front, really made her jump.

The sight of my new-found friend being punished so mercilessly did nothing to comfort me. I knew it would be my turn soon. What I didn't know was that I would be spared the belt. The 'double-fifty' which Michel had pronounced as Roxanne's punishment consisted of fifty swats with his hand and fifty strokes with the belt, given in two instalments. I was only going to get 25 swats.

When Michel had completed the first half of her punishment, Roxanne got up and walked a little shaky to the corner where she stood, facing us, with her hands behind her head. She explained later to me that this was to prevent her from comforting herself by rubbing her sore bottom. I could see excitement on her face and her nipples were hard. I wondered if she had actually enjoyed this treatment.

Michel sat down again and beckoned me over to where he was sitting. I bent over his knees, imitating what Roxanne had done and waited for the worst to come. Michel didn't start spanking me straight away. He put his hand on my bottom to feel these tender globes of flesh which had never been spanked before. He moved his hand up and down, pushed my cheeks apart and slid one finger along the crack between my cheeks, all the way until it reached my pussy. My pussy reacted. It wanted attention. Then the first swat hit my backside.

"Ow, that hurt," I screamed, putting my hands on my backside to sooth the pain and protect my bottom from further blows.

"Keep still or I'll tie you down," Michel hissed impatiently. He moved his legs apart and made me stand between them. I was now immobilized, his legs held me in an iron grip like a vice. With his left hand he grabbed my wrists and held them so that I couldn't protect my bottom.

"That one didn't count. I'll start again from the beginning." Then he proceeded to spank my bottom as systematically and thoroughly as I had seen him spank Roxanne's.

Boy, did that hurt! At least for the first eight or ten strokes. Then I seemed to get used to it. The pain in my cheeks receded and a sensation of pleasure between my legs took over. Holy Cow! I was starting to enjoy this. When he reached 25 I was both relieved and a little disappointed that it was already over. I got up and positioned myself on the sofa as I had seen Roxanne do, resigned to receiving 25 lashes with his belt.

"No, no." Michel said, "The belt is only for hardened criminals like Roxy. Just stand in the corner and think about your sins."

Now I was definitely disappointed. "Please, Sir, can I have some more?" I heard myself say.

That caught everybody, including myself by surprise. But Michel didn't need a second invitation. He bent me back over his knee and treated my bottom to another 25 swats.

While I felt my bottom burn I watched Roxanne receive the second instalment of her punishment: 25 swats with his hand and 25 strokes with his belt. The colour of her cheeks turned from dark pink to a deep red. The crisscross pattern of lines on her bottom turned into a chaotic cluster of lines. She gasped, she winced, but she didn't complain. When she got up after the last stroke she was visibly aroused, her pussy was soaking wet.

"Fuck me. Please, take me," she said as she lay down on the carpeted floor, spreading her legs invitingly and lifting them above her head. Michel dropped his trousers and literally jumped on top of her. Seeing those two abandon all convention and fucking right in front of their visitors reminded me of my own needs. My pussy was in urgent need of attention. I turned to Ramon. I didn't need to say anything. He had already started to undress. I helped him get rid of the rest of his clothes and then lay down on the floor, eager to receive his wonderful cock. When my sore bottom made contact with the carpet, I felt an agonising pain but I grit my teeth and urged Ramon on to fuck me hard and fast. I experienced one of the most intense orgasms of my life.

Later, after we had returned to Ramon's apartment and he had treated my bottom to several applications of soothing skin cream, I wondered why pain seemed to have such an arousing effect on me. I had felt proud and accomplished when Ramon had fucked my pussy into a state of soreness during our first night together, and again when he and his two friends had achieved the same feat. The pain meant that I had given myself unconditionally. But today it hadn't been Ramon who had punished me, who had caused the pain. It had been a stranger whom I had never met before. Why did I get so turned on by it?

Chapter 9

[Foxy Lady]

Even before the result of the exams was published, I went to visit a number Universities in Paris to see what courses they offered and what my chances were of being accepted on a scholarship. What was important to me, apart from the curriculum, was the availability of student accommodation at a price that wouldn't blow my budget.

Ramon and I had discussed the possibility of me moving into his apartment but had decided against it. I didn't want to become completely dependent on him. We both feared that the daily contact might have an adverse effect on the attraction we felt for each other. Besides, the apartment was also Ramon's place of work and I felt that I might get in his way, just as his activities – I still imagined that he spent most of his working life amongst scantily-clad women – might interfere with my studies. And finally, there was the risk that we might not be able to keep our hands off each other all day long, which would keep both of us from getting any work done.

As soon as I had my exam result in my hands – it turned out to be even better than I had hoped for – I went to the University I had selected as my first option, the _ École Supérieur Sainte Denise _ and inscribed myself for the course in architecture. My first choice of subject had been psychology. I found Freud's theory that all human actions are ultimately motivated by our sex drive quite logical and had developed considerable awareness and sensitivity in this area. But the problem with psychology was that it didn't offer me a career path which would lead reasonably quickly to a job with enough income to sustain myself. So I went for my second choice, architecture, but continued to keep myself informed about the latest developments in the field of psychology.

I was pleased when the people at _ Sainte Denise _ informed me that my marks would guarantee my acceptance. What thrilled me even more was that they had a room available for my immediate occupation. Lectures were only going to start in about a month but the students who had finished their course had left at the end of the last term and there were now several empty rooms available. Of course, I would have to share the room with another girl, but most students only arrived a few days before the start of the term, so I would be able to enjoy having the entire room to myself for a while.

The recent weeks had been very stressing. Every time I wanted to meet Ramon, I had to invent a reason for my absence, had to ask Sylvie or Mirabelle to back my story and had to be constantly on guard so that my deception wouldn't be uncovered by some careless remark. The idea that I would be able to come and go as I pleased without owing an explanation to anybody thrilled me so much that I decided to move into my room there and then. I only returned to my parent's house in Villiers for one more night to pick up my belongings. I told my parents that I needed some time to become familiar with the University and the surroundings, which they accepted. After that I enjoyed the freedom of Paris.

The room and its furniture were very simple, but it was a far cry from the dormitories that I had heard about, with rows and rows of beds and no privacy at all. In fact, I thought of my accommodation as sharing a one-room apartment with someone else whom I had yet to meet. There was a small reception with a table, a few armchairs and a television set as one entered from the main corridor. The bedroom itself contained two beds, two desks, wardrobes and shelves with enough space for two people to live without getting too much on top of each other. Each room had its own private bathroom. I would have been happy with much less than this, simply because it gave me the right to be my own master.

Nevertheless, I was determined not to let the newfound freedom go to my head. After all, I was here to study. I wanted to do well so that I could land a well-paid job and would never again depend on my parents or anybody else. Besides, my scholarship and the small amount of savings I had accumulated over the years did not allow for any extravagances. So I did in fact spend a great part of my free time checking out the university's facilities, studying the schedule of lectures, planning which I would attend and looking through the local book shops for relevant publications.

The weekends were reserved for Ramon. Every Friday afternoon I would pack a few things into a canvas bag and set off to his apartment which was at the opposite end of town. This was probably the only negative point about the university. It took me almost an hour to get to his place, roughly the same time as the train journey from Villiers. Our passion for each other continued unabated; when we met we embraced as if we hadn't seen each other for months and soon abandoned ourselves to uncontrolled lust. It seemed to me that I was able to give myself to him more freely now that I didn't have to worry any longer about any cover-up. During the week we would talk frequently on the phone but decided to stick to our arrangement of weekends together and weekdays apart.

-----

There was something else I intended to resolve during the free period before lessons started. Some time had passed since Ramon and his friends had enslaved me so deliciously and Ramon had tried to turn my ordeal even more exciting by pushing his cock against my rear hole. His words, that I was denying myself the pleasure of having three men inside me at the same time were still ringing in my ears. But somehow I couldn't overcome my fear. I needed to talk to someone who had first-hand knowledge of this, who could set my mind at rest.

None of the people I knew well seemed suitable. But there was the Foxy Lady, or rather Roxanne, the woman I had met only once, quite recently, who had 'raped' me with a large dildo at that time, and whose husband had later punished both of us. She might have some experience in the matter. I plucked up my courage and phoned her. She was surprised but equally pleased about my call. I didn't want to discuss something this intimate over the phone, therefore I just asked if I could see her to discuss a personal matter. Curious about what this might be she invited me to her place the next afternoon.

I felt very apprehensive when I gave the butler my name. The opulence of the place, the large number of servants, once again had a humbling influence on me. How on earth did I get the idea that the lady of this mansion would want to have a conversation about taking it up the ass with me? Roxy welcomed me warmly and kissed me on both cheeks. Then she invited me to join her on a settee. After tea had been served and the butler had left the room, Roxy asked, "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

I blushed and tried desperately to find some euphemism, some flowery description, but I couldn't find one. In the end I just stammered, "I wanted to ask you about anal sex."

Roxy seemed amused by my embarrassment. "Oh yes, I've heard about it. It happens in the anus, doesn't it? What else do you want to know?" she teased me.

"I'm serious. This is important to me." I said, reacting to her tease.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I couldn't resist. I found it so surprising to see how embarrassed you got just pronouncing the word. Your face has the colour of a freshly-spanked bottom."

If anything, this made me blush even more.

"I just can't believe," she continued, "that this is the same Jacqueline who almost drove me insane with her tongue in my pussy, the one who asked for more after she received her first ever spanking."

I wanted to bring the conversation back to the subject I had come to talk about. "The thing is," I started, "I've never had anything inserted into my anus - except for those thermometers when I was very little."

She couldn't stop mocking me. "Oh yes, I remember them well. Those are nasty little things, particularly when they're cold."

I tried to carry on. "I believe Ramon, my boyfriend, wants to do it, but so far I've always been horrified when he tried. I don't know if you have noticed the size of his penis."

"Of course I have, my dear. How could I possibly miss something like that," she said, smacking her lips.

"And I'm just horrified by the thought of him trying to push all of it into my rear hole."

I felt relieved that I had finally said it. Just being able to expose my worry to someone seemed to have taken care of the irrational part of my fear.

Roxanne started to take me seriously. "Yes, I can see that this might be a problem, particularly if you're still a virgin back there. So, what did you have in mind? Did you want someone to widen your passage before Ramon comes with the big gun?"

I didn't feel comfortable with her flippant way of talking about this. "I don't know. I wondered if you had any suggestions. Do you ever have anal sex?"

"Occasionally," she said, "Michel prefers to use my rear for other purposes," she said with a conspiratorial smile.

"Could I watch?"

As soon as I had said it, I realized the absurdity of my suggestion. I wanted one of the top entrepreneurs of France to fuck his wife's ass so that I could watch it. I quickly said, "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

Roxanne wasn't offended. "I think you're better off watching some videos," she said, "they're much more educational than Michel and I. You can watch them here if you're too embarrassed to watch them at your place."

Then her face lit up. "There's something else we can do right now," she said. "I could loosen you up with one of my dildos. I have quite a range of sizes and shapes."

"What? Here? Now?" The suggestion made my embarrassment return and she smiled at me in amusement.

She kissed me, lifted me up from the settee and guided me to her bedroom, her arm around my shoulders. "Don't be afraid, I won't bite."

When we got to her bedroom she asked, "Would you like to chose or shall I select one for you?"

I was too bedazzled to respond. I wasn't even sure I had fully understood her question. When I decided to come here I had hoped that she would set my mind at rest, maybe talk about her experiences in this area, give me some hints on how to feel more relaxed about it all. I hadn't expected her to actually _ do _ it with me.

As I hadn't answered her questions, Roxy just said, "Alright, I'll select one for you. In the meantime, you can get undressed and assume the position."

Roxy disappeared into her dressing room. I wondered if I had got myself into a situation I really didn't want to be in. After all, she had kind of raped me with her dildo the first time we met. Was she now going to do the same to my behind? But I followed her instructions and took off my clothes. What exactly did she mean by 'assume the position'? I decided to lie on the bed, belly down.

I told myself that I was going to go through with this, no matter what happened. I wanted to let Ramon use my rear passage and I wanted to find out what it feels like to have three men inside me at the same time. And this was a necessary step on my way to this goal. 'Three cocks' became like a mantra which I would repeat to myself whenever things got painful or embarrassing.

Roxy soon returned from her dressing room. The way I was lying on the bed, I couldn't quite see her, but I gathered that she had undressed as well.

"No, no, no," she said, "that's not the position. It's a bit like spanking. You need to stick your bottom up into the air. It's probably best if you get on your knees and then spread your legs a little."

I positioned myself the way she had told me. She moved me around a little more until I was conveniently placed for her intentions. I felt how she spread my bottom cheeks and applied some cool jelly to my rear hole. She tried to push one finger, already covered with the lubricant, into my hole but found it difficult to get it inside.

"Relax," she said, "just think how much fun you're going to have with Ramon."

She moved one hand between my legs and touched my pussy. Her gentle touch made me swoon. Her hand moved back and forth between my legs, barely touching me. I wanted her to be more forceful, I wanted her to push her finger inside my pussy. I could feel that I was getting wet with desire.

Roxanne managed to divert my attention, as she had planned. All my feelings concentrated on my pussy. As I was yearning for a firmer touch there, I relaxed the muscles of my rear hole and she was able to slide her finger inside me. I gasped as she started to rotate her finger in my ass, pushing deeper all the time. My pussy was still aching for the touch of her other hand, but I became used to the penetration of my rear.

After a while Roxy removed her finger and, adding more jelly, pushed two fingers inside me. The fingers moved in and out while her other hand slid up and down my soaking pussy. My breathing followed the rhythm of her fingers in my rear.

Soon she replaced her fingers with a dildo but maintained the same rhythm, shoving it inside me deeper than her fingers had been while continuing to stroke my pussy. My rear felt so full, just like my pussy had felt during my first night with Ramon. I wanted to come but Roxy didn't let me. She had noticed my state of excitement and all but removed her hand completely from my pussy. But she kept pushing the dildo in and out of my ass.

There was a short interlude while Roxy strapped on another dildo and covered it with jelly. Then she removed the first one and pushed the new one inside me. I gasped. This one seemed much bigger, and there was now a lot more force behind it as she used the whole weight of her body to drive more and more of the artificial cock into my rear. Her hands moved to my hips as she pushed deeper inside me and started to fuck my ass in earnest.

"Please make me come. I need it, I'm so hot." I begged.

Her hands moved up to my breasts. She caressed them, rubbed my nipples with her thumbs, pulled my upper body into an almost upright position. I could feel her breasts press against my back. She kept fucking my ass and rubbing my nipples. It was such a powerful sensation. I came with a loud moan.

"What a horny little bitch you are! Climaxing like this from being fucked in the ass! Come here, lick me, I need some relief too."

Roxy had unfastened the straps of the dildo but left it sticking in my ass. She lay on her back and spread her legs, showing me unmistakably what she expected from me.

Roxy's pussy was ready and waiting. She had got some stimulation from the strap-on when she fucked my ass. Her pussy was moist and her love channel was gaping invitingly. She had told me earlier that I had driven her almost insane with my tongue in her pussy during our first encounter. I had assumed then that she enjoyed what I had done to her. Now she clearly showed me that she wanted more of the same.

With the dildo still sticking in my rear I moved between her legs and started pleasuring her. The taste of vanilla seemed more pronounced than the first time around and there was the musky smell of a woman close to orgasm. She was so hot! Every little touch was rewarded with exclamations of approval and demands for more. Once again I had to push her thighs down onto the bed so that she didn't wriggle away from my mouth. As I gave her pussy the full treatment, I imagined the dildo in my ass to be Ramon's cock. I thought about what it would be like to have him fuck my rear while I was eating Roxy's pussy. This thought and Roxy's enthusiastic response to my efforts turned me on so much that I came all by myself, without anybody touching me.

When Roxanne had recovered sufficiently from her multiple orgasms, she relieved me of the dildo still lodged in my rear. Then she strapped another, bigger one to my front. This was the first time I ever put on such a gadget. There was a second, smaller plastic phallus which was meant to be inserted into the vagina of the active woman. Roxy pushed this part inside my pussy. It was quite big but it slipped easily inside as I was already wet. She fastened the toy firmly, passing the straps around my hips and upper thighs. Then she turned around, pushed her ass up in the air and spread her legs so that I had a clear view of her pussy.

"Come on, tiger, give it to me. Fuck me hard," she ordered. I was still a little unsure about how to do this, but she got hold of the plastic cock with one hand and guided it inside her pussy. As I pushed it deeper inside her, I could hear her moan. "Deeper," she demanded, "I want all of it inside me." I thrust my hips forward, pushing a little harder each time. With each thrust the smaller dildo moved a little deeper into my pussy. I put my hands on her breasts, played with her nipples and fucked her as hard and fast as I could. It didn't take long for both of us to come. We collapsed onto the bed together, the dildo still inserted deep in Roxy's pussy.

-----

I was halfway down the steps which lead up to the front entrance of the mansion when a car came up the gravel path. It was Michel. I couldn't help thinking how he would react if he knew what I had been doing with his wife. It dawned on me that Roxy would probably tell him at the earliest opportunity. The way she liked getting her bottom spanked she wouldn't miss the chance of giving him a reason to punish her. But what about me? Would I get out of this scot-free by leaving straight away? Or would my departure merely postpone my punishment?

Michel was surprised to see me but was as friendly as he had been on our first encounter. I told him that I had visited Roxy for tea.

"And gossip, I suppose," he offered.

"Yes, lots of gossip too." I decided it was best to leave it at that as I made my excuses and left.

-----

Roxanne had told me that the first lesson of my 'anal training' was only the beginning. I would need at least another two session, gradually increasing the size of the dildo she would shove in my rear. We had already agreed the time of the second session for Thursday, two days after the first, but she called me in the morning to confirm our date.

"And, by the way," she said, trying to sound casual, "don't plan anything for the evening. Michel wants to see you."

"You told him! How could you?" I knew exactly what Michel wanted to see me about.

"I didn't have a choice," she defended herself. "When he suspects something, he can be worse than the Spanish Inquisition."

I had my own idea about what might have happened, but didn't say anything. 'Three cocks' I told myself and decided to accept whatever punishment Michel would select for me.

When I arrived for my second lesson, there was no need for tea and conversation. The maid took me directly to Roxanne's bedroom where the lady of the house was waiting for me, dressed in a silk robe which she discarded as soon as I arrived. On the dresser she had laid out her complete collection of toys - many more than I had imagined. Roxy asked me to chose one for the start of today's lesson. I asked which one was the last one we used and decided to move two sizes up on the scale.

Roxy complimented me on my choice and told me I was a brave girl. But I realized that there were still quite a few to go until I'd get to the largest one she had. I also noticed that further up the line, the artificial cocks didn't only get longer, they also had bigger, more pronounced cock heads. But maybe I didn't really need to go all the way to the biggest one?

As I undressed I asked Roxy why she has such a large selection of dildos. I didn't think she did this 'anal training' course on a regular basis.

"You should know by now, that two women can have a lot of fun playing with these toys."

That didn't satisfy my curiosity.

"Do you invite your friends to play with you?"

"Not necessarily friends," she said in a mysterious way.

"Who then?"

"There are other women in this house whom I wouldn't exactly call friends."

I had to think for a moment. Roxy made me 'assume the position' on the bed and started to lubricate my rear.

"The maids! You fuck the maids? Or have them fuck you?"

"Both. But I don't force them to do anything they don't want to do. And I don't do it with just any maid. I have a select few who know exactly what I need."

Roxy had inserted two greased fingers into my ass hole and rotated them while pushing deeper.

"Do you remember Marie, my personal maid?"

"I'm not sure. Is she the one you offered to me?"

"I didn't exactly _ offer _ her to you. I just said she could help you change outfits."

"I'm sorry, that was a bad choice of words. I didn't mean anything else." I felt myself blush.

"Of course you did. She's cute, isn't she? You should see her naked. The hair on her pussy is just as curly as that on her head. Would you like her to do your rear today?"

She pressed a button to call the maid. I panicked. I would be too embarrassed if she saw me the way I was, naked, kneeling on the bed with my ass sticking up in the air. I couldn't possibly ask her to 'do' my rear.

I protested loudly. "No! Please, don't call her."

But my plea came too late. Marie arrived. I could see a mixture of surprise and amusement on her face.

"You called, Madame?"

"Sorry, Marie. False alarm. We don't need you. Not today."

"Very well, Madame."

Marie left. I felt extremely embarrassed but aroused at the same time.

"Looks like I'll have to do all the work on my own," Roxy complained as she thrust the plastic cock deep inside me. This sudden, violent thrust without much preparation made me cry out in pain.

"That's what it feels like if Ramon ever decides to be rough."

I was sure that Ramon would be the most gentle of lovers when he got to fuck my rear. He was only rough with me when I asked for it, when I begged him to give it to me hard and fast. But Roxy had decided to let me experience a rough fuck.

She thrust into me deep and hard. 'This is what rape must feel like', I thought to myself. She had caught me kind of cold. There had been only a little stimulation when she had lubricated my rear. Now her hands were holding on to my hips to make her thrusts more forceful. There was just the dildo, stretching my ass hole, nothing else. While my own arousal was building up only gradually, I could feel that she was riding herself to a powerful orgasm. Her breathing became heavy and then she collapsed on top of me with one final thrust of her hips. 'This is what it must feel like when somebody uses your body purely for their own pleasure,' I thought.

Roxy simply undid the straps of the dildo and left it buried in my rear. Then she strapped another, much larger one to my front. She lay down on her back with a cushion under her bottom and said, "Now give it to me, wild and rough."

I was determined to make her feel as used and abused as I had felt, but her pussy was already well fucked and lubricated. The plastic cock slid into her with ease at first, but because of its size, I had to stretch her to get all of it inside her. I relished my chance to pay her back, but she just begged me to fuck her harder, faster, deeper. I didn't need a second invitation. I rammed the dildo into her with all the force I could muster. And as I fucked her, I also fucked myself. The level of my arousal was now rising rapidly and I decided to go for a powerful orgasm. I kept pounding into Roxy's cunt until I came. Then I collapsed, exhausted, on top of her.

"My God, you _ are _ wild today." Roxy was trapped underneath my body, still impaled on the dildo that was fastened around my hips. She eased my weight off her body, then slid up a little to free her pussy from the plastic cock. Finally she slipped out from underneath my body.

"Let's get a little more comfortable while we have a rest." She undid the straps holding the dildo in front of me and then eased the other one out of my rear. We lay next to each other in a tender embrace.

"This was almost like having two cocks inside me," I said, kissing her gently.

"Two cocks, eh? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

There was something about Roxy which reminded me of Charlotte. I only had to give the slightest hint, no matter how tentative, of a sexual desire and she would arrange to make it come true. I preferred to remain silent.

"Maybe I can arrange something next time."

After lying motionless in Roxy's arms for a while, my sweat-covered body pressed to hers, I started kissing her face. I licked the sweat off her forehead, kissed her closed eyelids, her cheeks, her earlobes, her neck. I felt an enormous tenderness for this woman who had been so rough with me only a short while ago.

I thought about how different this woman who might be old enough to be my mother - although she would never admit to it - was from my real mother. How determined she was to enjoy life as much as possible! For her that meant enjoying sex - any form of sex - to the full. In this respect I felt much closer to her than to my own mother.

Roxy didn't think twice about letting her husband thrash her bare bottom, because, as she had told me herself, afterwards Michel turned into an animal and gave her the best fucks of her life. And I looked at having my bottom spanked as a price worth paying for the pleasures I experienced in the arms of this magnificent woman.

My mouth moved further down Roxy's body, tasting the salty residues of her sweat, kissing, licking. Her nipples reacted to the gentle touch of my lips. I started to lick them, suck them into my mouth, when Roxy stopped me.

"We can play later. First we still have some work to do."

Roxy untangled herself from my embrace, got up and proceeded to strap on the next size dildo. I was still feeling a bit sore from the rough treatment she had given me earlier. I wasn't looking forward to having an even bigger cock shoved in my backside, but I remembered my 'three cocks' mantra and prepared myself for another onslaught.

Roxy checked my rear hole and found that it was still well lubricated, but she greased the new dildo before she got ready to enter me. Her hands were all over me; they caressed my breasts, rubbed my nipples, slid along my sides to my hips and finally found my pussy and ass. In marked contrast to the previous time, she wanted to make sure that I was hot and ready before she penetrated me. With two fingers in my rear and her other hand busy stroking my pussy lips, she soon had me moaning, my pussy leaking and my ass wanting to be fucked.

She entered me slowly, fucking me with slow long strokes while cupping my breasts with her hands and playing with my nipples. I could feel that the new dildo was stretching my ass more than it had ever been stretched before, but her caressing hands made me forget whatever discomfort this caused. She increased the speed of her strokes gradually and her hands caressed my breasts with more determination. She pushed the plastic cock deeper and deeper into my rear. Each time I thought it couldn't possibly go any further, but it did.

Her hands moved to my pussy and played with my clit as the rhythm of her hips became frantic and she pounded into me faster and faster. Her hands brought me off as she rode herself to a climax.

Once more she just undid the straps of the dildo to free herself but left the dildo buried deep inside my ass when she lay on her back, spread her legs wide and demanded her reward. The exquisite taste and smell of her pussy were by now familiar to me, but that didn't diminish the pleasure I felt, eating this luscious cunt.

It just meant that I could play her like a finely tuned instrument, knowing exactly how to stimulate each part of her highly sensitive body to produce the desired effect. I could make her whimper and beg by staying just on the edge of her pussy, kissing and licking her upper thighs or her abdomen. I could make her moan with pleasure by sliding my tongue along her pussy lips and stabbing my tongue into her hole. Or I could drive her into a frenzy by grabbing hold of her clit with my lips and lashing the sensitive morsel of hardened flesh with my tongue.

I played all these registers and many more, always taking care not to let her go over the edge. I slowed down, reduced my efforts whenever I felt she was getting too hot. I knew that she would thank me in the end for playing what may seem to be a cruel game with her. When she finally found relief, her hips bucking to crush her pussy against my face, it came with such a force that everybody in the mansion knew that the lady of the house had just experienced an extremely satisfying orgasm.

As we showered together, soaping each other, Roxy slipped two soapy fingers into my rear hole without finding any resistance. She told me how pleased she was for me, that I was making good progress. I needed just one more session, then I would be ready for the real thing.

Roxy wanted me to come on Saturday for the final lesson but I told her that my Saturday's belonged to Ramon.

"You mean, you belong to Ramon on Saturdays?"

"Not really. I always belong to Ramon, even when we're not together. But I always spend the weekends with him and I don't want anything to get in the way. Can't we have the last lesson next Monday or Tuesday?"

"If that's what you want. Let's make it Tuesday, so you have some time to recover from the weekend. Are you going to let him try your rear entrance?"

"No, not yet. I want to save it for a special occasion."

"Are you planning something special for the inauguration, something like an official opening ceremony?" Roxy asked.

"Well, I had thought of letting him use me for the first time on his birthday which is coming up soon. As a special present."

She seemed amused. "What a charming idea! But how are you going to give him this special present? Are you going to gift-wrap yourself? Or maybe write 'Happy Birthday, Ramon' on your backside? Or you could give him a voucher saying 'This voucher entitles Ramon to fuck Jacqueline in the ass. It is not transferable and cannot be redeemed for any other favour'."

I had the feeling she was mocking me again. I hadn't given much thought to this aspect, but Roxy's suggestions weren't much help.

It was time to meet Michel. Roxy informed me that we would have dinner together and then Michel would decide on our punishment. As I put on my clothes Roxy told me not to wear any panties. Michel considered it a sign of defiance when someone who was due to be punished covered their bottom. Her comments made me think of what lay ahead. I remembered the pain and the pleasure the swats on my bare bottom had produced. I remembered how turned on I had gotten from my own punishment and from watching Roxy receive hers.

Roxy herself didn't make any move to put on any clothes. I asked her if she wasn't going to get dressed she said no, she had to stay naked, that was part of the punishment she had received for the first 'lesson'.

"You mean, you'll let all the servants see you naked?"

"Yes," she said, "whoever happens to be around. I have to stay naked so often, they're used to it."

On the way to the dining room we met Marie. She curtsied and smiled at me. I don't know if there was anything special about that smile or if it was just my imagination, but it made me think about the position I had been in when she entered Roxy's bedroom earlier that day. I felt so embarrassed, I could feel my face get red.

Michel was already sitting at the dining table when we arrived. He got up to greet us. Michel and Roxy embraced; their lips locked in a passionate kiss, while I could see Michel's hand explore her bare bottom. Then Michel told me how pleased he was to see me again. He hugged me and gave me the customary kisses on both cheeks. I could feel his hand on my behind, sliding up under my skirt, probably checking that I was obeying his rules.

Two waiters served dinner. One filling our glasses with wine and water, the other one serving food. Neither of them bat an eyelid seeing the lady of the house sitting there stark naked. The food was beautifully presented and tasted delicious.

As we enjoyed our food, Michel asked, "What did you two get up to today?"

"Jacqueline licked me like I've never been licked before," Roxy blurted out.

So that's what she called 'worse than the Spanish Inquisition'. He just had to ask a simple question and Roxy went ahead and spilled the beans. I looked down on my plate, unable to meet Michel's eyes or to face the waiters who were hovering near the table.

"That's what I thought when I heard the noise coming from your bedroom."

Then Michel turned to me with a stern face. "I don't remember having given you permission to lick my wife," he said. It sounded half like a question, half like a statement.

I didn't feel any remorse about what Roxy and I had done - everything that happened, happened because we both wanted it. But there was something about Michel's tone of voice which made me tremble in my bones.

"No, Sir. I'm sorry Sir," I mumbled.

"You're sorry about what?"

"About licking your wife, Sir."

"Why? Didn't you enjoy it."

"No, Sir, I mean, yes, Sir. I did enjoy it, and so did she, if I may say so. I'm sorry about eating your wife's pussy without your permission, Sir."

"What else did you do without my permission?"

"I fucked her with a dildo, Sir. And I persuaded her to fuck my ass."

Now it was me who couldn't keep anything secret and had to tell him everything.

"Those are serious offences, young lady. And I believe today wasn't the first time?"

"No, Sir. We did the same things two days ago."

I was ready to beg him to spank me, to punish me any way he pleased, when he said, "Well, let's finish our meal first. Then I'll decide what to do with you - with both of you."

But Michel returned to the subject of punishment once more when he asked, "Doesn't Ramon ever discipline you?"

"No, he's never spanked me."

Roxy gave her version of the answer. "When he sees a bare bottom he only thinks of covering it to best effect in silk and lace. He doesn't feel the urge to smack it."

"I wasn't only talking of spanking. There are many other ways of disciplining a rebellious young lady with illusions of independence. But I think I got the picture. He's the kind of man who doesn't believe that women need to be disciplined. Although I have the impression that his girlfriend could do with a firm hand every now and then."

For the rest of the meal, Michel was his usual charming and friendly self. But whenever I looked at him I had to think of the punishment that was to follow. Would he make me feel his belt this time? The thought both frightened and excited me. My bottom was already feeling the sting of his determined hand in anticipation. And looking at Roxy who had to eat her meal without wearing any clothes, made me wonder what other forms of disciplining a woman there were. Had the contraptions in Roxy's bedroom, where she had tied me up on my first visit to the mansion, anything to do with this?

When the time to hand out our punishment finally came, we moved to the more comfortable setting of the lounge, the place where I had received my first-ever spanking. Michel listed our misdeeds and pointed out that these were no longer first-time offences. The frequency with which we repeated our misconduct suggested that we were hardened criminals and deserved to be punished as such. Michel wanted me to decide what punishment we would receive. It would be the same for both of us.

I didn't know what to say. His list of wrongdoings had made me feel once again that I did deserve to be punished but I didn't know what the options were. All I remembered was that Roxy had been sentenced to a 'double fifty' after our first encounter. But that involved fifty strokes with his belt. Would I be able to stand the pain?

Eventually I heard myself say, "Double fifties." It sounded like I was announcing my bet in some mysterious card game.

"I couldn't have said it better," Michel smiled. Then he specified the details. I would have the honour of being first. He would give me 25 swats with his hand on my bare bottom 'to warm me up', followed by 25 strokes with his belt. Then I would get a rest while he'd mete out the same punishment to Roxy. After that we would both receive the second half of the allotted penalty.

Following Michel's instructions I took off my skirt and draped myself over his knee. At first he just stroked my bottom with his firm hand. It was almost like a pre-punishment massage. His hand moved all over my bottom, kneading my cheeks and sliding down into the valley between them. His fingers slid along that valley, between my legs, coming tantalizingly close to my pussy without touching it. Maybe he thought feeling his hand on my bottom would be comforting, but it only served to increase my tension. I had the strange sensation that my bottom was apprehensive about what was going to happen, but my pussy was looking forward to it.

I gasped when the first blow hit my bottom. It hurt a lot more than I remembered from the previous time. I flinched after each swat until my bottom got used to the spanking and the pain turned into a general sensation of warmth. The 25th swat left my bottom glowing hot and my pussy soaking wet.

Michel's belt produced a completely different sensation. The whirring sound as it travelled through the air gave me enough warning to brace myself. The thick leather strap bit into the tender flesh of my backside without mercy. The pain from the lash cutting across my bottom made me wince, but I had the feeling that Michel was being lenient with me. He seemed to hit me a lot less ferociously than he had hit Roxy.

But it hurt nevertheless. My bottom felt like it was being slashed with long flexible knives. And my pussy got wet fantasising about the poor, abandoned creature I was, that had to suffer at the hands of a brutal tyrant.

As I stood there, my hands joined behind my head to prevent me from comforting my sore bottom, I must have looked a little strange. The upper part of my body was fully dressed and the lower part completely exposed. I couldn't take my eyes off the scene as Roxy receive her punishment. I saw the colour of her backside change as Michel spanked her with force.

A crisscross pattern of red lines was laid over the intense blush when Michel took the belt to her cheeks. Did my bottom look like this? I resisted the temptation to check. Roxy took it all in her stride. Obviously, she felt pain as the belt left its marks, but she accepted it as a necessary evil.

As I watched my new-found friend and fellow-sufferer getting her backside thrashed, I also observed Michel's face. He went about his business with the calm concentration of someone absorbed with a task which he wants to do well. There was no sign of anger or resentment, no aggression, no sadistic streak. Michel's face showed an enormous tenderness, maybe love, for his victim. It all fitted in with his statement that women - or maybe only some women - need to be disciplined. And he was simply performing a necessary operation that would be to our benefit, even if it hurt at the moment.

But I don't want to make Michel appear like a saint sacrificing himself to save reckless women from themselves. I'm sure he got a kick out of turning our pale cheeks purple and fucking Roxy after he had turned the heat up so much that she yearned for his cock.

Ramon had never shown any interest in disciplining me, although I'm sure that I gave him enough reasons if he needed any. Did that mean his feelings towards me were less intense than Michel's feelings towards Roxy?

When I draped myself over Michel's knees the second time, his swats hurt a lot more than before. Apparently the belt had left my bottom very sensitive and gave the spanks some extra sting. Although I tried, I didn't manage to hold back my tears. By the time he finished the 25 blows I was sobbing uncontrollably and the tears were streaming down my face.

The second set of belting was even worse. After a few strokes, I begged for mercy.

"Stop, please," I pleaded. "I can't take any more. It's hurting too much."

Michel continued relentlessly. "You should have thought of that when you fucked my wife," he said as his belt hit my bottom with a hiss.

I didn't manage to stay still. As I moved my bottom around to soften the impact, the leather strap found its way more and more often around my hips and bit into my side and front. On occasions it came dangerously close to my pussy, making me scream in pain and fear. When Michel was through with me I was barely able to move. I just slumped to the carpeted floor from where I watched Roxy receive the second half of her punishment.

Roxy suffered a lot less than I did. As soon as she had received the last stroke, she got up from the sofa, placed herself on the floor with her legs spread wide and begged Michel to fuck her. I watched Michel take off his clothes and plunge his cock into her waiting pussy like a tiger. Seeing the two so oblivious to my presence aroused me. I fingered myself as I watched them and forgot momentarily about my pain.

Returning to the university that night - Michel had asked his chauffeur to drive me home - I was glad that I still had the room to myself. Otherwise, how would I have explained the state of my bottom to a nosey roommate? The multiple layers of ointment which I applied provided only temporary relief; my bottom wouldn't stop burning until well into the next day. And how would I explain that I had to satisfy my pussy's demand and finger myself until I fell asleep from exhaustion?

-----

When I arrived at Roxanne's mansion for the third session, Marie was waiting for me to accompany me to Roxy's suite. I still felt quite embarrassed in her presence after my exposure last time around. What must she think of me, after having seen me in an unmistakable position, having my rear greased by Roxy? Marie behaved as if nothing unusual had happened; she just smiled her usual smile. Before she opened the door to Roxy's bedroom, she said, "If there's anything I can do for you, Mademoiselle, anything at all, please feel free to ask."

My mind started racing. What was that supposed to mean? Had Roxy put her up to this?

Roxy had already disposed of all her clothes when Marie lead me into her bedroom - or was her nudity part of another punishment handed down by Michel? Her complete collection of toys was laid out on the dresser as it had been last time. I grew apprehensive when Roxy told Marie to stay, saying we would need her in a moment.

"I've been thinking about your idea for Ramon's birthday present," Roxy started after she had hugged and kissed me. "Here's a suggestion: Why don't you buy a nice jar of lubricant for him to use on your rear. I'm sure he'll understand what this means."

It seemed an excellent idea, but I was reluctant to discus this subject in front of Marie. Roxy hadn't mentioned any details and I tried to keep the conversation as vague as possible.

"I've never bought anything like this before. What do I ask for and where can I find it?"

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Go to a sex shop and ask for an anal lubricant. They'll advise you what's the best for the occasion."

At that time I didn't know that these products are available from most drugstores and that I could have asked for them by their brand name, rather than asking for an 'anal lubricant'. Sending me to a sex shop was Roxy's idea of a practical joke, a way of making me pass through another deeply embarrassing situation.

"Last time we met, I had the feeling that you'd really like a double penetration, that you'd love to be fucked by two partners at the same time. So I have asked Marie to help us satisfy your desire."

Once more I could feel the blood stream to my face. What would Marie think of me? My protests and assurances that I never said or thought anything like that were of no avail. Roxy had put it into her head that I wanted and was going to get a double fuck. They were going to make a Jacqueline-sandwich as she called it. She simply told me and Marie to get undressed.

I had to admit that my protests were not entirely honest. Wasn't I dreaming of having three cocks inside me? I guess it was just my idea that Marie was such a young and innocent girl and probably had a similar opinion of me, that I worried what she'd think of me if she found out what a slut I really was. I would soon realize that I had no reason to worry.

Marie took off her clothes without hesitation. She revealed a beautiful, shapely body which had been largely camouflaged by her maid's uniform. Her breasts were large and firm with provocatively perky nipples sitting on top of them. I noticed that she was wearing a suspender belt and stockings, but no panties.

Thoughts raced through my mind. I remember that Roxy had told me that Michel couldn't resist the sight of a bare bottom framed by a suspender belt. Did he spank Marie as well? Marie's slit was hidden under a forest of curly brown hair, just as Roxy had told me.

"Shall I help you with your clothes, Mademoiselle?"

I had been so absorbed with watching Marie undress that I hadn't made any move to take off my own clothes. Marie, now completely naked, came towards me, embraced me and kissed my lips. She held the embrace for some time and pushed her tongue into my mouth, pressing her naked body against mine. It felt wonderful.

"It will be a pleasure to fuck you, Mademoiselle."

Marie released me from her grip and started to undo the buttons of my blouse. The blouse, my bra, my skirt and finally my panties, all fell victim to her nimble fingers. But, being a maid, she didn't just let my clothes drop to the floor. She folded them neatly and put them on a chair in an orderly pile.

I wanted to embrace Marie and feel her body against my naked skin, but Roxy called her to the dresser where the toys were on display. My eyes nearly popped out of my face when I saw Roxy select the largest, most ferocious looking dildo in her collection and strap it tightly to Marie's front.

"Oh, it's so big," Marie gasped as Roxy pushed the secondary cock into Marie's pussy. The toy Roxy selected for herself was a few sizes smaller but still pretty frightening. Two naked women with huge plastic cocks protruding from between their legs may look strange, even grotesque, in different circumstances, but knowing what they were going to do to me, I found the image both frightening and exciting.

"You can chose who will do your front and who will do your rear, " Roxy proclaimed.

The devil must have possessed me. Or maybe I just wanted a change from having Roxy fuck my ass. "I want Marie to do my rear," I heard myself say.

The two women guided me to the bed, holding on to one of my arms each, as if they wanted to prevent a last-minute escape. They made me 'assume the position' to get me ready for my new experience.

There were two pairs of hands on my body, stroking, squeezing, rubbing - caressing every part of me. Two mouths kissed my breasts, sucked my nipples, licked my pussy, rimmed my asshole. My pussy was soon dripping wet and I begged them impatiently to fuck me.

The touch of Marie's hands on my rear as she greased my hole was wonderfully tender and gentle. She managed to get three fingers inside me. I gasped as she pushed them in and out, rotating her hand to distribute the jelly evenly.

Roxy lay on her back, with some cushions under her bottom - her plastic prick sticking invitingly in the air - and told me to straddle her. I was on top of her in a flash. My pussy was so wet, I had no problem sliding the dildo all the way inside me.

Even though my ass was well lubricated and the dildo had been greased as well, Marie had to hold on to my hips to push the huge cock head into my rear hole. It was so big; I had never felt so tight in my life. And having already another plastic cock in my pussy added to the feeling of tightness. As Marie pushed deeper into my rear hole, I felt like a piece of meat stuck on two skewers.

Any feeling of discomfort vanished when Marie's hands moved up to my breasts. Her exquisite touch made me swoon with delight. She knew exactly what to do to my nipples to make my pussy leak. I bent down to kiss Roxy, whose face was positioned just below mine. "Thank you," I said, short of breath. "Thanks for letting me experience this wonderful feeling.

I climaxed as soon as Marie started to push in and out of my ass. With each move she impaled me even deeper on Roxy's artificial cock. It felt so unbelievably hot; my orgasms turned into a continuous stream, my moans grew louder all the time. Marie amazed me. This girl had a natural talent for giving pleasure. As she pushed into my ass, she also fucked her own pussy and the pressure of my weight on Roxy's dildo had the same effect on her. Soon my two partners started to moan and all three of us reached one tremendous climax.

After we had relaxed a little, Roxy decided that it was her turn to fuck my ass. As I got into position Marie slipped between my legs, her face just below my pussy. As Roxy fucked my ass, Marie licked me. What a skilful tongue she had! What an insatiable appetite for the juices which flowed freely from my slit! I was worried that she might get crushed under our combined weight as Roxy pounded her dildo into my rear, but she kept licking even after I collapsed, exhausted, on top of her.

Roxy left no doubt that both she and Marie had deserved a reward for their valiant efforts and that she expected me to show how much I appreciated what they had done for me. By now I had come to understand that I was exceptionally skilled when it came to eating pussy and I wasn't going to let them down.

I arranged them side by side on the bed, both lying on their back so that I could move easily from one to the other. I feasted my eyes on this delicious challenge: two pussies to be devoured, two women waiting for me to guide them to the gardens of paradise.

Roxy's familiar copper curls beckoned. I was sure it would be a pleasure to service this sexy creature. But my curiosity got the better of me. There was a new pussy waiting to be discovered.

I had to find my way through a thick forest of dark hair. When I finally dipped my tongue into Marie's slit, I was rewarded with a deep moan and the exquisite taste of rich, bitter chocolate. What a delicious pussy! And how freely Marie voiced her appreciation of my efforts. This girl was dynamite. Concentrated energy of lust disguised as an innocent-looking girl. After giving her two wonderful orgasms, I thought it was time to move on to Roxy. Marie protested loudly, demanding more.

Roxy had been waiting impatiently. Her pussy was already moist from witnessing what I had done to Marie. This time I decided not to tease Roxy and leave her on the brink of orgasm for a long time. She had deserved a quick relief and she should get it. I was amazed to see how different two pussies could be - and how similar the reactions of the women to my stimulations were.

Something made me reflect on the situation. I considered myself a 'normal' woman and couldn't imagine life without a cock inside me. I had just gone through a series of strenuous exercises so that I could accommodate Ramon's cock in my ass. And yet, I got a tremendous thrill out of eating pussy. It wasn't just their exquisite taste - each one with its own unique characteristics - it wasn't only the sensation of touching this sensitive flesh with my lips and my tongue. It was also the knowledge how much my partners enjoyed what I did to them, how much they appreciated my skills. Was I what they called bisexual? Or was it simply a symptom of my 'insatiable horniness', as Charlotte had diagnosed my condition?

Marie couldn't remain inactive. She wanted to join in and started fondling Roxy's breasts. When she took one nipple into her mouth, Roxy gasped with delight. Together, we let Roxy experience several satisfying orgasms. Then it was time for a return visit to Marie's bush.

Like an artist who thrives on applause from his audience, I was spurred on anew with each gasp, each moan, each shout from my victims. Their appreciation drove me into a frenzy. I pushed one finger into Marie's ass as I stabbed her pussy with my tongue. I treated Roxy's clit to an alternation of licks and whippings. I moved back and forth between the two several times until the three of us collapsed on top of each other, spent and exhausted.

After this session I felt quite comfortable that I could take Ramon's cock up my ass without major discomfort. I told Roxy that I thought I was ready and thanked her for her help.

Roxy handed me a small parcel. "You don't need to open it now. It's something to keep you in training until the big day."

I was too curious to leave the parcel unopened. At first I didn't know what this strange object was, but its shape gave me some ideas. Roxy explained that it was a butt-plug and that I should wear it frequently to keep my ass in a state of readiness.

"Your boyfriend is a lucky man, Mademoiselle Jacqueline. I hope he will appreciate the wonderful present he's getting. I wish I could be there when it happens." Marie had already thanked me profusely for the pleasures I had given her and stated that I would win the 'golden tongue award' hands down, if there were such a competition.

We showered together and then walked naked, with our arms around each other's shoulders through the mansion to meet Michel who would give us our deserved punishment. This time, I wouldn't need to finger myself to deal with my arousal. I would have Marie to satisfy my needs, to put out the fire burning between my legs, just as I would look after hers.

Chapter 10

[The birthday present]

It had only been two weeks since I left Villiers and escaped the direct control of my parents. And, maybe not all that surprisingly, I could still notice how their views and attitudes influenced my thinking. It would probably take a lot longer for me to become completely free of their grip on me.

It was easy to deal with the openly declared opinions of my father because I could tell from my own experiences how wrong they were. My mother's influence was more subtle. Her favourite statement was 'What will the people think?' That was her prime concern: not what she thought about something, but what 'the other people', this undefined anonymous mass of individuals, might think.

I had experienced the influence of this concern when I first talked to Roxy about anal sex and later, when Marie saw me naked, kneeling in an unmistakable position on Roxy's bed. Particularly with Marie, I had been terrified by the thought that she might think badly of me, that this young, innocent girl would despise me for being a slut. Well, I needn't have worried.

What was strange about this attitude was that I considered it all-important whether _ they _ regarded me a slut, not whether _ I _ did. Or, whether I thought being a slut was a bad thing. Because deep down inside, that's what I wanted: to be Ramon's slut.

I went through another attack of the 'what will the people think' syndrome when I prepared myself mentally to follow Roxy's suggestion and buy the present for Ramon in a sex shop.

There had been a brief period when Villiers had its own sex shop, but the 'right minded citizens' of Villiers soon put an end to this episode. The owner demonstrated a certain naivety when he decided to display his goods openly in the shop window. The good citizens promptly had a court order served on him, prohibiting him from displaying goods which could corrupt the children who passed the shop on their way to and from school.

But even after the shop windows had been completely covered with black paint, displaying only the words 'Sex Shop', the defenders of moral standards - my father amongst them - were not satisfied. They mounted a vigil outside the shop and took pictures of anybody entering or leaving. They did not specify what they would do with the pictures, but the implied threat of seeing their 'immoral act' exposed to the public kept most potential customers away. The shop had to close due to lack of business.

Of course, Paris was different. I had noticed a sex shop near the university but decided not to go there. I was afraid I might run into someone who worked or studied at the university and be embarrassed if I met them again later, after the lessons had started.

Instead, I took the _ metro _ to Pigalle, an area which showed a certain decline in standards but still had the reputation of being the centre for sex entertainment in Paris, particularly amongst foreign tourists. Shops and other establishments advertised their goods and services in several languages. There were women whose attire and behaviour identified them clearly as street walkers, looking for customers. Several men approached me and asked for my price even though I was conservatively dressed and hadn't done anything to attract their attention.

I passed a few shops but didn't enter any of them, either because they looked a little too sleazy or because there was nobody inside - I didn't want to be the only customer. Eventually, I had to tell myself to stop delaying things and I decided to enter the next shop I'd pass without making any further excuses.

The shop I ended up in was much larger than it looked from the outside. There were several aisles with shelves, where all kinds of magazines, books, videos and other items were displayed. It was almost like a small supermarket. Quite a few customers - as far as I could see, all men - were standing in the aisles examining the products on offer.

I didn't feel like mingling amongst those customers, looking for something I wasn't even sure what it looked like, and possibly receiving some explicit invitation from the male clientele.

"I wonder if you could help me."

The man behind the cash register had his head buried in the sports pages of the daily paper when I approached him. He didn't seem too pleased about the interruption. But when he saw me, his face lit up. 'They probably don't get many blushing teenagers in here', I thought to myself.

"I'm looking for an anal lubricant."

He looked like he was suppressing a grin. "Anal lubricant," he repeated, much louder than necessary. "Male or female?"

"Male or female what?"

"The anus, of course."

"Female." I could feel even more blood rush to my face. "Is there one you can recommend?"

"Well, I don't try all the products we sell here myself," he said with a grin, "but KY is the one we sell most of, so I assume it must be good. Small, medium, large or extra large?"

I thought of Ramon's cock. "Extra large."

"Nadine! Can you get an extra large jar of KY for the young lady here?" he shouted across the shop. By now everybody in the shop had stopped whatever they were doing and was looking in my direction.

A girl in her early twenties arrived with a large jar in her hand. She wore a simple dress made of a material which left no doubt that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. I wondered if she had another job in the sex business.

"Is that the only size you have?" I asked when she handed me the jar.

"I thought you had asked for extra large, didn't you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I misunderstood the question. I didn't know he had asked what size I wanted."

"What did you think I meant by 'small, medium, large, extra large'?" the man asked, clearly puzzled.

"Oh, I understand," Nadine interrupted with a big smile, "it's _ him _ who is extra large."

I was sure my face just got several shades darker. 'The colour of a freshly spanked bottom', as Roxy had called it. The thought made me smile.

"I'll take this one," I said to Nadine. "Can you gift-wrap it for me, please."

"I see, it's a present! Is that all he gets?"

"He also gets a chance to use it," I replied. I had reached the point where I couldn't possibly get any more embarrassed.

"Lucky fellow," she said, giving me the once-over. "I wish I could be there when he unwraps his present."

After I had paid for my purchase, Nadine opened the door for me and wished me good luck.

[Ramon's birthday]

When the alarm went off, I was on the large bed sucking Ramon's cock, to my left Pablo had his head buried between Mirabelle's thighs while on my right Sylvie was riding Rui's cock. I had had the foresight to set the alarm clock so that we wouldn't miss midnight, the start of a new year in Ramon's life. I, in particular, didn't want to miss the opportunity to give him my present.

The sudden noise caught everybody by surprise, but they soon realised what it was about. We all stopped what we were doing and joined in a heart-felt rendition of 'Happy birthday to you'. I'm sure this was the first time this song was sung to Ramon by five naked friends who just minutes ago had been engaged in serious lovemaking.

Readers may be wondering how we got from my purchase in the sex shop to the tableau on Ramon's bed. Let me fill in the gaps.

Apart from attending Roxy's lessons, having my bottom spanked and buying 'anal lubricant' in a sex shop, I had been busy sending e-mails to Sylvie and Mirabelle and having private conversations with Pablo and Rui.

Because of my sudden departure from Villiers when I moved into my room in Paris without much notice, there wasn't any chance to say farewell to Sylvie and Mirabelle and to follow up on my conversation with Sylvie. But I wasn't moving to the other side of the world; there was always a chance for the occasional visit once I had settled in, and there were the telephone and e-mail to stay in touch.

In one of my messages to Sylvie, I let it shine through that I knew from a reliable source that Rui's performance in bed was quite spectacular and definitely worth a trip to Paris. Mirabelle, on the other hand, revealed an interest in Pablo in one of her messages. She confessed that the reason she had acted like an oversexed nymph on our journey to Villiers was that she had been thoroughly aroused by Pablo. "The way he looked at me and talked to me made me want to take off all my clothes and throw myself at his feet," she said in her e-mail.

But she had just spent a large part of the weekend making love to one man. She couldn't possibly jump into bed with another one on the same day! She felt that even a sexually liberated woman like her had to exercise some moral restraint. Now she was wondering whether she should have followed her instinct. Little did she know that all three men, Ramon, Pablo and Rui, had fucked me repeatedly that day.

I had met both Pablo and Rui a few times since then and had steered the subject of conversation towards my two friends who had stopped by to get a lift to Villiers. Both Pablo and Rui had shown interest in the young women. They had expressed the wish to meet their respective partners again so they could pick up on their conversations.

The only thing which kept these four people from meeting the object of their desire was the distance and a lack of opportunity. I thought I owed it to them to do my part in helping to bring the two couples together. I didn't have any ambitions to create long lasting relationships; that was up to them to decide. I just wanted to create the opportunity for them to try.

And then there was Ramon's birthday coming up. I had asked him casually what he intended to do and how he would like to celebrate his birthday. He always answered that it wasn't really an important date for him. He considered the impending launch of his collection much more important, particularly because it was the result of his hard work and determination.

"There's no merit in getting older, it happens all by itself," he kept saying.

But finally I got him to agree to celebrate his birthday.

"Who are you going to invite?"

"Nobody." He still hadn't fully accepted the idea. "You, of course, but that goes without saying. Maybe Pablo and Rui."

"Are they going to bring their girlfriends?"

"They don't have anybody steady at the moment. And I doubt that their casual acquaintances will be interested in coming to a boring birthday party."

The thought of being on my own with Ramon, Pablo and Rui when I was going to present Ramon with his present made me think of making up for the missed opportunity of having three cocks inside me. I could let Ramon fuck my virgin ass while I took the other two in my pussy and mouth. But the birthday would also make an excellent opportunity to join up my friends with Ramon's friends.

"Would it be okay if I invite Sylvie and Mirabelle, so they don't feel left out?" I asked.

Ramon got suspicious. "Are you trying to be a matchmaker?"

"From what I can tell, they got along very well the one time they met. I thought they deserved another chance."

As soon as Ramon had agreed, I got into contact with Sylvie and Mirabelle and managed to persuade them to accept the invitation. They were a little reluctant at first. They probably figured that this meant staying in Paris overnight and didn't want to appear too easy. I informed them that, apart from the huge bed they had seen, there were two more bedrooms, one of which was set aside for visitors. But I also hinted that they would be able to retire to the guest bedroom whenever they wanted a little privacy.

I had been telling Sylvie and Mirabelle that their respective pretenders had shown a lot of interest in getting to know them better but that they were a little shy by nature and didn't quite know how to make their move. Sylvie had found it hard to believe that Rui was shy. She had almost melted under his look and his words and had been ready to jump into bed with him. The only thing that held her back that day was the fact that she was still recovering from a weekend of sex with Guy.

Likewise, I told Pablo and Rui that their prospective partners were willing but shy, so it would depend on them to make the decisive move.

I had prepared myself for the big event by wearing the butt plug Roxy had given me for almost 24 hours non-stop. I had never worn it for this long and it did get quite uncomfortable towards the end, but I considered it worth the pain. I only removed it when it was time to get myself ready for Ramon's party. I noticed that my hole was red, looking slightly irritated. But I was sure that this would soon disappear.

My preparations seemed to have had the desired effect. As soon as Sylvie and Mirabelle arrived they were caught in a tight embrace by their respective partners, treated to deep, passionate kisses which lasted for several minutes. When the two couples eventually settled down, they engaged in intimate caresses, apparently completely oblivious to what went on around them. It was only a question of time when the first couple would disappear into the guest bedroom.

Sylvie was the first to disappear and to treat us soon after to her version of the 'screaming orgasm' in three parts. When they returned, their clothing was reduced to one item each - it was still too early for complete nudity.

In the meantime Pablo had helped Mirabelle to shed a good part of her wardrobe and was sucking her voluptuous breasts, while I had removed Ramon's trousers and was riding his cock in a slow, sensual rhythm. Mirabelle and Pablo went to enjoy the privacy of the guest bedroom and soon Mirabelle let us all know how much she enjoyed what Pablo's cock was doing to her pussy. They returned from the bedroom without any clothes on.

Seeing how well my plan had worked out so far, I longed for some serious fucking by Ramon. We both undressed and moved to the altar. Ramon's cock and mouth worked wonders and I soon joined the chorus of women proclaiming the benefits of a good fuck. Ramon kept fucking me through my orgasm but my shouts must have stimulated the other two couples who joined us on the big bed.

It was wonderful to be part of this threesome of women who were urging on their studs to give it to them good and hard, to ram their cocks deeper and faster inside them. I wish I had a recording of the sounds we produced. It would be a powerful document of the joy of sex.

Sometime in the middle of all this uncontrolled lust, I realized that I was the link between the other five people present. I had made love to all of them. Mirabelle and Sylvie before I met Ramon, and Pablo and Rui as part of Ramon's plan.

Ramon had specifically told everybody that he didn't want any presents. In my case he had added, 'You are the best present I've received this year - I don't need anything else.'

So when I approached him just after midnight with my little parcel in hand he wasn't very pleased. "I told you I didn't want any present."

"Ssh, this isn't a present. Just something that lets you use what you've already got in a new way."

He didn't have a clue what I was talking about and started to unpack the parcel with a puzzled look on his face. When he realized what it was, he stopped unpacking and looked at me.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes darling, as sure as I've ever been."

He gave me a big hug.

"I'll be yours tonight or any time you want me."

Ramon tried to put the still half-wrapped packet on a shelf out of sight, but Mirabelle and Sylvia had observed the exchange and became curious about what my parcel contained. They picked up the half-unwrapped parcel to see what it was. For a moment I was undecided about what to do. Maybe they would recognize the brand name and know what it was for, or they'd read the description and manage to draw their own conclusion, or they didn't have a clue and would riddle me with their questions.

I didn't feel comfortable with either of these options, but didn't want to leave it to chance. I gave both of them a smack on their bare bottoms, took the jar out of their hands and said, "What kind of behaviour is this, spying on other people's shelves?"

"We were just curious what present you gave Ramon. What is it?"

"You're too young for this kind of thing. When you've grown up your mothers will tell you what it is and what it's for."

"Oh, I didn't know you had secrets," said Mirabelle.

"After all we've done for you," Sylvie added.

Ramon had observed our conversation. "You're really curious about this, aren't you?" he asked my two friends.

They nodded.

"Would you say your curiosity is stronger than your jealousy?"

They didn't understand. Ramon explained. "I won't tell you the answer. I won't explain; I'll demonstrate. But this demonstration would involve Pablo and Rui. It would involve them making love to another woman, to Jacqueline."

They both gasped in horror.

Ramon continued. "If that idea bothers you, either of you, just say it and we'll drop the subject. I'll understand. Most people couldn't bear the thought of their partner getting involved with someone else, even if it's only physical. However, if you are determined to find out, we'll demonstrate it for you."

I knew what Ramon was getting at. He wanted to let me experience three cocks at the same time while he fucked my ass for the first time. Right here in front of my friends! I was grateful for his intention but I felt uncomfortable about the situation.

Not only was I unsure how they would react to my taking Ramon's cock up my ass, I also expected them to be deeply shocked watching me having sex with three men at the same time. And on top of that, it would involve Rui and Pablo, with whom their relationship had only just started. I was trying to tell Ramon that there was no need for any other man, that he could fuck my ass now or any other time he liked. And if the chance to have three cocks inside me did not arise again, that wouldn't be a problem either.

"I think he's just called us provincial and narrow-minded," Sylvie said. "I'm not as possessive as you think. If Rui wants to play with Jacqueline, go right ahead. What do you say, Mirabelle."

Mirabelle was in a tight embrace with Pablo, his cock poking against her lower belly. "Alright," she said, "but only for a short while. I want him back in working order."

Ramon arranged two chairs near the bed so that my two friends could watch from a comfortable position. Rui and Pablo climbed on the bed. They gave me a choice whom I wanted to suck and whom I wanted to fuck me. I asked Rui to lie on his back and lowered myself onto his rock-hard cock. I could hear Sylvie gasp. Maybe she had thought that Ramon's explanation had been a bluff. Pablo positioned himself so that I could stuff his cock into my mouth.

Ramon got hold of the jar. He spread my bottom cheeks and applied the lubricant. As he pushed his finger inside me, I could hear the surprised voice of Sylvie. "Her ass! He's going to fuck her ass!"

That was all she said. Almost as if she was talking to herself.

Ramon's fingers in my rear passage felt wonderful. He was as gentle as Marie had been and made sure that I was well greased before he'd enter me. I speared myself deeper onto Rui's rod of steel and ran my tongue around Pablo's cock head. There were so many sensations, I didn't know which one to focus on.

Then Ramon started to push his cock inside me. My lessons with Roxy had prepared me for the sensation of having a hard object inserted into my rear. But this hard object was Ramon's cock! Nothing had prepared me for the feeling of fulfilment that I experienced as he pushed deeper and deeper into my hole. And, of course, there was another cock throbbing in my pussy and a third one in my mouth.

I contracted my pussy muscles so firmly around Rui's cock that I could hear him gasp. And I shoved Pedro's cock so deep into my throat that I almost gagged. Could this be called a Jacqueline sandwich or was Jacqueline kebab more appropriate? There isn't really a culinary term which can describe what I felt.

I ceased to exist; my body ceased to exist. It was simply the centre of a desire for more and more intense sexual pleasure. I wanted Ramon to hurt me, punish me, split me in two, as I sucked Pablo's cock and slammed Rui's hard rod into my pussy, in a frenzied desire to reach my orgasm. When I came, I didn't stop. I flooded Rui with my juices. His cock pounded the liquid into a foaming cream as he, too, came and added his semen to the mixture.

Pablo shot his hot cum into my mouth but Ramon kept pushing his cock in and out of my ass. His hands roamed over my upper body, sometimes holding on to my hips to thrust deeper inside me, sometimes moving up to caress my breasts, fondle my nipples.

The other two cocks had already wilted and I had licked Pablo's softening cock clean when Ramon filled my rear with spurt after spurt of his cum. I could feel his cock pulsate in my tight channel and came to a final peak before I passed out. This had been the most intense pleasure of my still young life, but I knew it was something that would be difficult to repeat or improve on.

Sylvie and Mirabelle watched the spectacle open-mouthed. Later they confirmed to me that they had never imagined that a woman could abandon herself so wantonly and single-mindedly to the pursuit of pleasure.

-----

Later that night, after the other two couples had retired to their individual bedrooms, Ramon made love to me on the altar, where we always spent our nights together. He caressed me with so much tenderness that I felt I wanted my body to melt into his. I wanted the two of us to become one person.

"I love you very much Jacqueline."

That well worn phrase both of us had been avoiding sounded natural, truthful and genuine. It seemed as if these words had never been spoken before by anybody else. "I love you too, and I want to belong to you forever."

I had never been happy with using the word 'love' for our relationship, mainly because I wasn't sure I really understood the concept of love. You were supposed to love your God, your country, your parents, children and other family members. In this context the word implied a sacrifice, giving something without expecting anything in return. But people could also love strawberries and cream or classical music, to use just two examples. In this case 'love' simply meant enjoyment. The fact that the word could be used to cover such a wide range of feelings and the fact that it was used indiscriminately made it almost meaningless to me.

If, on our first encounter, Ramon had said 'I love you', I might have just laughed at him. But he had said 'I want to make love to you' which is simply a euphemism for having sex. When I met Ramon, I considered what happened between us simply as a special form of physical attraction. My body and mind reacted very intensely to his touch, his voice, his presence. I would have called this desire, passion or lust.

He was able to make me react to his touch like I had never reacted before. And it was from my reactions, my responsiveness to his caresses that he derived so much pleasure to make him want to go on caressing me. Our passion for each other was feeding itself. I was willing to let him do with me whatever made him happy and accept any pain or discomfort knowing that my body was giving him pleasure. I felt that my body was his to use and abuse.

My 'anal training' had been in large part an expression of this desire. I wanted to train my body to accept his large cock in my rear. Of course, I did enjoy the training sessions with Roxy and Marie very much. I even had pleasant memories of the punishment I received afterwards from Michel. And I admit that the possibility of the foursome with Rui, Pablo and Ramon had always been in the back of my mind. I had to admit that I hadn't been thinking exclusively of Ramon's pleasure.

But I felt an urge to take my commitment to Ramon further. I wanted to belong to him. But whenever I talked to him in these terms, he shied away from the idea. He insisted that I was an independent woman and that I belonged to no-one but myself.

My desire remained, nonetheless. I wanted to be his slave, but in a more complete way than I had been Charlotte's slave. That episode had only been a game of make-believe. I had read that real masters used to mark their slaves to identify them as their property. Not only to tell others, but mainly to serve as a constant reminder for the slave herself that she was the property of her master.

I wanted Ramon to mark me, or agree to have me marked. I was thinking of a tattoo 'Property of Ramon' either across my breasts or on my lower abdomen, just above my pussy, but high enough so that it would be visible above a bikini bottom. The problem was that so far Ramon had not shown any interested in taking a dominant role. The only times he had given me any orders was when he told me to take off my panties, the day we met at '_ Le Club _', and after my first encounter with Pablo.

The gang bang when Ramon and his two friends had 'violated' me, could be taken as a sign that he accepted ownership of me and the right to share me with his friends if he wanted to do so. But I saw it more as his way of helping me to realize a fantasy I had told him about.

I wanted Ramon to punish me like Michel punished Roxy, with or without reason. Given the will, it wouldn't be too difficult to find offences I had committed which could displease him. Consulting Roxy on anal sex, my orgies with Roxy and Marie, even pulling strings to get Sylvie and Mirabelle together with Rui and Pablo could all be legitimate reasons for punishing me. Maybe this would be a first step.

If Ramon accepted that he had the right to punish me, then he would also accept that he had the power to decide what behaviour was right and wrong for me. He could lay down the rules and enforce them, punishing me whenever I stepped out of line. But for the time being I just had to be content with being able to offer him my rear for his pleasure.

Chapter 11

[Arlette]

Arlette, my room mate, arrived a few days before lectures were due to start. She was from Nice, where her father was a well-known plastic surgeon, catering to the whims of the rich and famous.

Her father was obviously quite wealthy but had decided that it would be a good education for his daughter to spend some time without the luxury she had grown accustomed to and had arranged for her to stay at the university rather than renting her an apartment. He had also decided that she should learn the value of money and was sending her only a modest monthly allowance. She was not at all pleased about these decision and spent hours complaining about the student accommodations which she considered below her standard.

After she had calmed down a little, she told me that she had just returned from cruising the Mediterranean with her parents and some friends on her father's yacht. It seems that she spent most of the time on the sun deck working on her deep seamless suntan which she would eagerly display to me later on. When I asked her if she didn't feel embarrassed to be naked in the presence of her father she just said, "No. Why?"

I explained that my father would get very upset, should I ever show him even as much as half a nipple. Arlette said, "You see, in his job he gets to see some of the most beautiful women in the world without clothes on. He won't get excited about a blotchy teenager like me."

It made me think of Ramon who – at least in my imagination – spent his working day surrounded by semi-naked models but got still very excited by me – although I didn't exactly consider myself a blotchy teenager.

I asked her if she had a boyfriend in Nice and if she was missing him. She answered that there had been a few young men she had been sleeping with – if that was what I meant by boyfriend – but that she had no commitment towards them and would probably soon find new sex partners.

"I'm a liberated woman," she declared. "I'm not interested in a long lasting, steady relationship with just one man which inevitably leads to marriage and the slavery known as being a housewife and mother."

On occasions like this, when Arlette made it quite clear that she considered herself the owner of the truth and wouldn't accept any different point of view, I found her unbearable and considered her a stupid little brat. It probably had something to do with the fact that she thought of herself as superior to 'ordinary' students like me.

I reminded myself that we were only room mates, we didn't have to become close friends or even agree on all aspects of life. I simply informed her that I had a steady boyfriend and, as I was extremely happy with my relationship, I didn't see any need to look for anyone else. I also told her that I was spending the weekends at his place and that she was free to bring whoever she wanted to our room when I wasn't around.

That seemed to please her and she soon got into the habit of spending Friday and Saturday nights with a man of her choice. Sometimes she would tell me about her adventures but more often than not her comments were confined to calling her partner an egoistic male chauvinist pig. I gathered that meant he wasn't in the running for a future weekend encounter.

I didn't talk much about my own sex life to her. She knew that I spent the weekends with my boyfriend, so she probably deduced that we were sleeping together but I didn't comment on the kind of things Ramon and I got up to. Only once – I don't know what devil possessed me – did I give her a hint of our love marathons.

She had complemented me on my good figure and asked what the secret behind my lean, trim body was.

"There isn't any secret to it," I answered, "you just have to remember to eat only as many calories as you burn; or burn all the calories you eat, whichever way you want to look at it. A little care when you eat and some physical exercise should do the trick."

"I hate physical exercise!" she exclaimed.

"Well, it all depends on which exercise you choose. Did you know that making love for one hour burns twice as many calories as one hour of jogging?"

"One hour of making love!" she gasped.

She probably meant to say that she considered herself lucky when her partner lasted as long as the statistical average of eleven minutes, but I deliberately misunderstood her exclamation and said, "Well, sometimes we are in a hurry or have an appointment to go to and there isn't time for more than an hour. But we usually make up for it at the next opportunity."

I checked her face to see if my comment had had the desired effect and left the room smiling.

-----

We were two liberal-minded women and didn't see any need to hide our bodies from each other. Therefore, it was nothing unusual for either of us to walk around the room naked before or after having a shower, when getting dressed or before going to bed. Arlette usually put on a nighty to sleep whereas I had become fond of sleeping without a stitch on, a freedom which I had not been able to enjoy in my parent's house.

Arlette was particularly keen on displaying her top-to-toe suntan and stayed naked whenever she had a chance. But I saw this more as a show-off than an exhibitionist streak or an attempt to get me interested in her. She was very proud of achieving such a uniform colour and had told me on several occasions that her weekend partner had been completely knocked out when he discovered that she was tanned all over.

Arlette had a very pretty face and her body had all the right things in the right places, but I found her a little overweight and a bit too short to be perfect. My impression was that she had never made love to another woman and wasn't particularly interested in trying it.

But maybe I was wrong. One Friday afternoon when I was getting myself ready to go to Ramon's apartment and had just put on a new bra and panty combination he had given me, Arlette came closer and said, "Oh my, that's some sexy underwear you've put on, where did you buy it?"

In fact, the set I was wearing was a particularly beautiful creation, a mere whisper of brilliant white silk and lace which caressed rather than restrained, emphasized rather than hid, and made my curves appear in the best possible light.

In the early stages of our relationship I had made a point of not wearing any underwear when I went to meet Ramon. It was my way of paying homage to our first encounter when I had removed my panties and handed them to him before I even knew his name. But Ramon had showered me with presents of sexy lingerie, much of which he had designed especially for me. While I was still living with my parents I refused to take the presents with me for fear that they might be discovered and lead to loads of tricky questions. But since I had moved into my own place there was no longer any reason to deny Ramon the pleasure of removing these delicate garments from my body – which was the real reason for giving them to me in the first place.

As I had put on the bra and panties my mind had already raced ahead to the moment when he would take off my clothes ever so slowly and ever so gently while covering my whole body with kisses and making my heart pound in anticipation of the pleasures to come.

"I didn't buy it, I got it as a present from my boyfriend," I said.

Arlette had put her hands on my breasts, gently rubbing my nipples which had already hardened as a result of my daydreaming.

"He gives you underwear? Doesn't he like to see your naked body?"

"Of course he does. He considers this as a gift wrap and he enjoys unwrapping his present very much."

One of her hands moved between my legs and started stroking my pussy through the thin material.

"Oh, he's one of those men who consider women their sex objects, a present for their male ego. I wish I could be your lover tonight."

"To tell you the truth, I too consider myself a gift to him, just as I consider him a gift to me. Giving yourself to your partner – isn't that what love is all about? And as for you being my lover, maybe another day, today I've already got an appointment."

With that I removed her hands from my body and proceeded to get dressed. Then I left, wishing her a pleasant weekend, just to show that there were no hard feelings on my part.

-----

Arlette would take me up on the 'maybe another day' promise during the following week. I had been to the gym for a thorough workout and returned to the room, dripping with perspiration, dying to have a shower. I stepped out of my track suit, peeled off the skin-tight leotard and went to the bathroom, only to find that Arlette was in the shower.

She didn't usually take a bath in mid afternoon but I hadn't exactly reserved that time for myself, so I had no reason to complain. I returned to the bedroom and sat on my chair, waiting for her to come out of the bath. My body temperature soon returned to normal and my nipples hardened in response to the cool air.

When Arlette came out of the bathroom, dressed in a white towelling robe, she said "You look so beautiful when you come back from the gym, covered with sweat, your breasts still heaving from the effort. This is when I find you most attractive."

The sweat had already dried and my breasts were no longer heaving, but that didn't stop her from cupping them with her hands and rubbing her thumbs over my nipples. I couldn't help getting turned on by her words and touch but I felt uneasy about my sweat covered body – I had never thought that sweat could be a turn-on. As she pulled me up from the chair and embraced me I told her that I needed a shower first.

"Let's shower together, shall we?" she said and dropped her robe to the floor.

The shower booth was tiny, it obviously hadn't been designed for two students having a bath at the same time. The only way we could fit inside was by standing very close and putting our arms around each other. Arlette had decided to give me a treat. She put copious amounts of shower gel into her hand and then applied it to my skin, working up a rich lather. This gave her an opportunity to caress every part of my body.

The only problem was that our position limited her reach to my back. With a few careful moves and our arms raised above our heads we managed to change position so that Arlette was standing behind me. She told me to keep my arms lifted and applied more shower gel to my front. This time she really went to town. She ran her hands all over my body, exploring every part of it. Particularly my breasts were visited innumerous times and my pussy had probably never before been cleaned that thoroughly.

After the shower Arlette dried me meticulously with her fluffy bath towel, again making sure that no part of me would be forgotten. Then, after having dried herself and having slipped her bath robe back on, she told me to lie on my bed belly-down and rubbed moisturiser into my skin.

When she had finished my back she made me turn around and treated my front with great attention to detail. I was quite surprised by the treatment she gave me and it certainly had the desired effect. I got increasingly aroused and arched my body towards her hands. I hadn't been pampered like this by another woman for a long time.

When she finally started to apply the moisturiser to my pussy, I could no longer remain passive. I opened her robe and started to fondle her full breasts. Then I slipped the robe completely off her shoulders and pulled her onto the bed, next to me. We embraced tightly and pressed our naked bodies against each other. Soon we were stimulating each others nipples, making one another moan with delight, and it didn't take long for our hands to find each other's pussy.

Arlette opened my pussy lips and started to stroke my clitoris and I did the same to her. She pushed a finger inside my vagina and I returned in kind. Everything she did to me, I would do to her. With this tit-for-tat stimulation we brought each other slowly but steadily to a climax. When we finally came, almost simultaneously, we embraced and lay still for a while.

When I replayed in my mind what had happened, I realised that there hadn't been any kissing. Not on the mouth, not on the breasts, nor between the legs – nothing. It reminded my of an article I had recently read. It stated that in a survey of 14 to 18 year old girls, a large majority had thought of kissing another woman as a lesbian act.

The same majority had considered lesbianism 'unacceptable' or 'best avoided'. (This survey may already be out of date, thanks to Madonna's and Britney's valiant efforts.) The same group had found nothing wrong with mutual masturbation among girls. So, on reflection, what Arlette and I had just enjoyed was innocent schoolgirl sex: clean harmless fun.

I was trying to decide whether this was the right time to treat Arlette to a 'Jacqueline's special', driving her out of her mind by exploring every part of her pussy with my mouth, when she said, "Have I told you that I now have a steady boyfriend?"

"No, you haven't. How did this happen?"

"Well, I realized that I was dating a large proportion of real arseholes and I didn't have much hope of finding any better material. So I decided to go steady with one of the less bad guys, kind of 'give him a chance to improve', you know? That's how I ended up with Claude."

"Well, let's hope that it turns out OK for both of you," I said, wondering why she would bring up this subject right now.

"He says, for our relationship to grow, we need to see each other more often, not just on the weekend."

As I didn't comment on her observation, she continued. "So I've taken the liberty of asking him around this evening."

I started to smell a rat, but just to be sure I hadn't misunderstood, I asked, "So when is he going to pick you up?"

"Well, he isn't exactly going to pick me up," she said sheepishly, "I thought we might be able to use this room for a while."

That confirmed my suspicion. "Oh, I understand. When he says you ought to see each other more often he doesn't exactly mean 'see', he means 'fuck'".

She was feeling uncomfortable about my direct language. "Well, you know how it goes."

I realized that I was in danger of being misunderstood. So I explained, "Look, I'm not criticising you and your boyfriend for wanting to have an active sex life. It's just that we share this room. And what do you want me to do in the meantime? Sit in the reception until you're finished?"

"Actually, I thought you might want to join in."

This remark took me by surprise. I could feel my anger rise but tried to remain calm. "I wonder if you realize what you are suggesting. 'Joining in' wouldn't just mean you having sex with your boyfriend and me having sex with you. It would also mean me having sex with your boyfriend whom I have never met. I'm not in the habit of having sex with anybody I've never met before. Maybe you ought to contact one of those women who do it for money; they don't care who they do it with. I have sex for pleasure, so I have the right to pick my partners."

"I'm sorry," she said, becoming aware of my anger, "I didn't mean to offend you. It wasn't really my idea. Claude suggested it."

"Claude suggested it? He doesn't even know me!"

"No, he's never met you, but I told him what a beautiful, sexy creature you are, so he suggested I should try to seduce you."

"Thanks for the compliment, but the answer is still 'no'. If I had met him before and come to the conclusion that we tick together, sexually, there might have been a chance, but I don't go for seduction by proxy."

We were still lying naked side by side on my bed, one arm around each other's shoulders, the free hands resting on each other's upper thigh. Looking at us made me feel a little more conciliatory.

After a short silence I said, "Listen, what we did today was really wonderful. You were very sweet to me. I enjoyed it tremendously when you took me to the shower, when you dried me, rubbed moisturiser all over my body and when we climaxed together. I had even thought of taking it a little further. It's a pity it had to end like this."

It was my way of telling her, and especially myself, that 'Jacqueline's special' was definitely off the menu for today. Arlette was touched by what I had said about our lovemaking and hugged me, which softened me up a little more.

"I suppose he'll be coming in any case?" I asked.

Arlette just nodded without saying a word.

"I guess, room mates ought to be flexible enough to let the other one use the room on her own sometimes. It's just that I have to get up early tomorrow, I have an important lecture first thing in the morning which I can't miss, so I don't want to go to bed very late tonight. I don't think it's fair of you to spring this on me without giving me any choice.

"Anyway, this is what I suggest: I'll leave in a short while and let you have your privacy. But I'll be back at eleven sharp. I'll ring the doorbell, but I won't come in straight away. I'll give you ten minutes to finish whatever you're doing, clean up, get dressed, whatever. Then I'll ring the doorbell again. If you're finished, you open the door, if not, I'll give you another ten. When I ring the third time it means I'm coming in, no matter what. Is that acceptable?"

"Thank you, Jacqueline," she said, giving me a little kiss on the cheek.

-----

I had a meal at the students' restaurant and then went to the cinema around the corner. They were showing an old Hitchcock film which was probably very interesting, but I was unable to focus on the plot. My mind kept wandering back to the events of the afternoon.

Were Arlette's advances towards me really just a ploy to get me to agree to a threesome? And had I been foolish to believe that she was interested in sex with me? I decided that she had been interested in me all along without admitting it to herself and that her boyfriend's suggestion had given her a motivation to do what she wanted to do anyway.

But what kind of a boyfriend was that who wanted to grow their relationship by including another woman? Sure, I had read about couples whose sex life had become stale and who had managed to put some pep back into it by including a third person in their love life. But their relationship had only just started. Did it need a booster already?

I also examined my own attitude towards the situation. Had my steady relationship with Ramon turned me into an inflexible bore? After all, my sex life before and with Ramon was anything but conventional and would probably raise quite a few eyebrows if I were to tell anybody the full story. So why should I sit in judgement of other people's attitudes and behaviour?

Also, it wasn't true that I only had sex with partners I picked myself. Most of the boys I slept with in the early stages of my sex life had been chosen by Charlotte and I had obliged without much protest. I had no reason to get on my high horse over her suggestion. Was I just venting my frustration about not getting to eat her pussy? I concluded from all this that I needed to watch out for any signs of intolerance in my attitude towards other people's sexual behaviour and fight this attitude before it became a problem.

I returned to the room at eleven and rang the door bell. As I turned away to give Arlette and her boyfriend some more time, as agreed, a lanky young man opened the door.

"Hi, you must be Claude, I'm Jacqueline," I said, holding out my hand to greet him.

But he just stood there, shell-shocked, ignored my hand and looked at me with a face from which all signs of intelligence had disappeared. I said, "Do you mind if I come in? I live here." With that I walked past him into the bedroom where Arlette was sitting on her bed.

Claude came eventually out of his stupor and followed me into the bedroom. "Haven't we met somewhere before?" he asked.

It made me laugh. I retorted, "Surely, you don't expect me to react to such an old pick-up line. And in case your next question is 'do you come here often?', the answer is, 'yes, I happen to live here'".

"No, seriously, your face looks so familiar, I feel like I've seen you many times before. Do you appear on television? Is your picture in the papers? Or maybe on the cover of a magazine?"

When I shook my head to all his questions he said, obviously puzzled, "That's strange. I could have sworn that I've seen you or your picture somewhere. And not just once, many times."

As far as I was concerned this was clearly a case of mistaken identity, or maybe a vague similarity with someone else that I wasn't aware of. But he kept racking his brains and, suddenly, he snapped his fingers in the air and exclaimed, "I've got it! Caroline!"

Arlette, who had been watching the whole scene with amusement said, "Her name is Jacqueline, stupid, not Caroline."

"I know that. Caroline is a colleague at work, in fact her desk is next to mine, and she's got a poster with your picture hanging on her wall. The reason it took me so long to make the link between you and that poster is that on that picture you are ...," he hesitated for a moment, blushing slightly, "well, you are not fully dressed."

"Oh yeah? What is the woman on the picture wearing?"

"Sexy lingerie. A black bra and black panties. And you look extremely appetising, if I may say so."

Something dawned on me. But, if it was the picture I was thinking of, how would it end up on some civil servant's office wall?

"Is there anything written on the poster?" I asked.

"I think so, but I'm not sure I remember exactly what it is. Something like '_ jolie jeune fille _' maybe."

"_ Vous êtes très jolie _," I offered.

"Could be. And then there is the name of some guy, but I can't remember what it is."

"Ramon," I said, confirming to myself that the picture was the one I had been thinking of.

This gave Arlette, who had been fairly quiet so far, a chance to join the conversation. "So you admit, that it's you! Jacqueline, you surprise me! Have you been moonlighting as a semi-nude model! Or is this another gift wrap?" she asked mockingly.

"Yes, it's me," I said, sitting down on my bed. "The explanation is really quite simple. I just don't know how this poster ended up in the possession of this colleague of yours."

"You mean someone took your picture and then used it without your permission," asked Claude, hoping for some detective story.

"No. It's all one hundred percent legit. The picture was taken for a test launch of a new line of luxurious ladies' underwear. The posters were distributed to a small number of selected shops which specialise in this kind of product. The idea was to display the poster inside the shop in a place where it would be easily noted.

"When a customer asked about the garments on the poster, they would be informed that they were not yet available on the market, but the shop assistant would then ask the customer a number of questions. Would they be interested in this style of sexy lingerie? Which kind of garment would they consider buying? How much would they be willing to spend? What size did they require? Etc. This information was then used to estimate the potential demand and to finalise the product range. You see, it's quite straight forward. No murder mystery, no body."

"Oh yes, there is a body," said Claude, "Yours. And it's very beautiful."

I gave him a big smile. His compliment was rather clumsy, but it was a compliment nonetheless.

"This still leaves us with a question. How did your body, or rather, how did you end up on an advertisement for fancy knickers? Are you pursuing an alternative career?" Arlette wanted to know.

"The sponsor who finances the project didn't want to invest a lot of money before he had an idea of how much demand there is for this type of product. There wasn't any money to pay a professional model. I agreed to be the model and Ramon took the pictures himself."

"So you know this Ramon whose name is on the poster?" Claude wanted to know.

"Yes. He's my boyfriend." I said. It felt like I had just given away a state secret.

"Ah! Mr. Gift-wrap!" Arlette beamed. "Now it all starts to make sense."

"But how did this picture end up on Caroline's wall?" asked Arlette after a short while.

"Maybe she went into one of the selected shops, saw the poster and liked it so much that she asked for it and the shop owner gave it to her. Maybe she knows someone who works in one of the selected shops and they gave her the poster instead of putting it up in the shop. There are probably many other possibilities. The only way to know for sure how it happened would be to ask her."

As I spoke I thought about what might have happened if one of these posters had found its way to Villiers, but I wasn't overly worried.

"Why don't you ask her?" suggested Claude.

"I don't think it's that important. Besides, I don't know the woman."

"Let me tell you what I know about her and then I'll rephrase the question," said Claude.

"She's about twenty years old and really good looking – and I mean _ really good looking _: tall, black hair, charcoal black eyes and a mouth that just seems to be begging to be kissed. I think you get the picture.

"When she joined the department all the men – and that includes me – literally fell over each other asking her out for a date, but she gave us all the brush-off. It almost seems that she's embarrassed about her good looks. She seems to consciously select clothes which de-emphasise her curves, hide her beauty.

"Anyway, one morning she arrived at the office with a bunch of photographs, all showing beautiful women in sexy underwear, and put them up on her wall. Your poster got pride of place, bang in the middle of them all. Now, when someone asks her out for a date, she just points at the pictures and says, 'I'm surrounded by so many beautiful creatures. Why would I want to go out with a man?'"

"You mean she's a lesbian?" Arlette interrupted.

"Well, she never used that word and nobody has ever seen her in the company of another woman. I suspect that it's only a ruse to distract her male admirers, keep them off her scent, so to speak.

"The other day, when I suggested we go for an ice cream during the lunch break, she turned me down as usual. So I pointed to the poster, Jacqueline's picture, and said 'I get the impression you'd sooner go out on a date with her than with me.' 'You can say that again,' she replied, 'but then this wonderful woman is probably a world famous fashion model and wouldn't want anything to do with me.'

"So to come back to my question: would you be willing to meet Caroline if I manage to talk her into it?"

"I don't quite understand what you expect to get out of this, but I won't stand in your way."

I turned to Arlette. "But what do you think of all this, Arlette? Doesn't it bother you that your boyfriend is plotting to date another woman?"

"I'm a liberated woman," came the answer, "and besides, if she's really that good looking I might want to get into the action as well."

So we all agreed that Claude would tell Caroline that he knew the woman on the poster and that he could arrange for Caroline to meet me but that he and his girlfriend would want to come along as well."

After that was settled Arlette asked, "Where are you going to take her? There isn't much fun in inviting her to the movies and going to a restaurant for a meal offers also very limited choice for seduction. It would have to be some sophisticated place, maybe with dancing."

"I've got an idea: _ Le Chambre Séparée _," I announced.

Arlette shook her head. "Three months waiting list." And Claude added, "And much too expensive for the likes of us".

I wasn't dissuaded that easily. "We can eat somewhere else before we go there and we don't have to order Champagne," I said. "If we stick to orange juice it won't break the bank. And as far as the waiting list is concerned, I may be able to work something to get us in."

-----

There probably isn't a person in Paris, or even in the whole of France, who hasn't heard of _ Le Chambre Séparée _. However, for readers from further afield, it might be useful to say a few words about this unique place.

It takes its name from the private rooms which were available to noble and illustrious visitors to some theatres and ballrooms in times long gone. They were directly accessible from the boxes in which these guests were watching the spectacle and allowed them to retire, with their respective companions, to an intimate area where they were protected from the prying eyes of other members of the audience.

What exactly happened inside the chambres séparées of old is anybody's guess but it probably wasn't much different from what happens anywhere in the world between two people who are attracted to each other.

The new _ Chambre Séparée _ was the brainchild of six young enthusiastic Parisians. They had discovered an old-style ballroom which had shut its doors many years ago and fallen into disrepair. They tracked down the owner and persuaded him to sell them the building for a modest sum. That purchase ate up all their savings.

The six came from a variety of professions which covered a wide range of disciplines including architecture, business administration, catering, marketing, entertainment and electronics. Jointly they prepared a detailed plan for the proposed enterprise: they wanted to create a new variety theatre which would offer top class entertainment to an open minded adult audience.

The plan included the restoration of the original features of the ballroom including the already existing chambres séparées. They would also add new chambres séparées to each and every box in the five rows of balconies which ran around three sides of the ballroom. There would be a sophisticated restaurant. The stage lighting and sound system would be completely replaced with state-of-the-art equipment. The whole place would become a hi-tech entertainment complex within a renaissance shell.

Armed with their plan, which also included detailed estimates of the cost involved and a forecast of the expected income, they set out to find a financial backer. It wasn't easy, but their contagious enthusiasm eventually won over one of the best known venture capitalists of the country. The restoration of the building took longer than they had expected but their backer accepted the delay and budget overrun with good grace.

All in all, almost three years passed between the start of the project and the grand opening. Two months before the scheduled opening, they hired musicians for the house band and the members of the dance troupe which they called '_ Les jeunes filles de chambre _', the chamber girls, a play on the name of the venue and the French word for chamber maid.

The venture ran into controversy right from the start. Conservative circles with strong backing from the catholic church demanded the immediate closure of this 'Sodom and Gomorrah', trying to turn their point of view into a public outcry against the decline of moral standards.

What had happened was that, by accident or by design, the guests who came to the opening night – and the pattern continued on subsequent nights – did not see this as a place where you went to watch a show; it was a place where the audience was part of the show. If the venue offered facilities for making love, why should the libidinous activities be confined to the isolation of the chambres séparées? After all, everybody here was a consenting adult.

Many of the women arrived in attire which would have done a nightclub stripper proud – and the attire diminished as the night wore on. And if they were going to submit to their partners wishes a little later on, what was wrong with letting them get a head start? There was fondling of breasts – both clothed and bare – and stroking of buttocks and thighs on the dance floor or wherever else one might look. The media people soon coined a term for this by calling the place a 'public foreplayground'.

The six consulted a lawyer to find out whether they or their guests were breaking any laws and were advised that it would be best not to permit copulation in the public areas. The lawyer did not see any problem with any of the other activities.

In the meantime, one of the newspapers checked the register of ownership and 'discovered' that the financial backer of the enterprise was Michel Meunier, a wealthy businessman who was known for his shrewd investments in start-up enterprises. The front page headlines the next morning accused Michel of living off the wages of sin. However, if they thought he would withdraw his financial support because of this personal attack, they had misjudged him.

Michel Meunier went on the counter-attack. He called a press conference and read a prepared statement.

I was still living in Villiers when these events took place. At that time I knew nothing about _ Le Chambre Séparée _, but I immediately recognized the man who appeared on television to defend it as Roxanne's husband, or the man who had spanked my bare bottom so mercilessly and so deliciously. It had never occurred to me that the Michel Meunier I knew was _ the _ Michel Meunier, one of the top businessmen in the country. Although, on hindsight, I should have guessed that the luxurious mansion could only belong to an extremely wealthy person.

I watched the press conference and some of the ensuing interviews on television with great interest and was impressed by his forthright manner of presenting his views.

Michel started his statement by telling the assembled reporters how six young entrepreneurs who were planning to convert a decaying ballroom into a luxurious variety theatre – possibly the most sophisticated venue for adult entertainment in Paris – had approached him and asked him to finance the project and how he had agreed to their proposal, not only because he considered the enterprise financially viable but also because he thought that it would bring back some of the glamour which Paris was in danger of losing.

That venue – they probably all knew that he was talking about _ Le Chambre Séparée _ – had opened only a few days ago and was already an outstanding success. However, he, Michel Meunier, had been accused by one newspaper – and he mentioned the name of the paper and the chief editor – of living off the wages of sin. This was, of course, a ridiculous accusation, because only a hypocrite could confuse love with sin. Even though the accusation had no foundation in reality he had called this press conference to set a few points straight.

Paris was known, not only to French citizens, but throughout the world, as the city of love. Every year hundreds of newly-wed couples came to Paris to spend their honeymoon here; thousands came for romantic weekends or stays of longer periods. He reminded the audience that the Beatles, when they created the song 'All you need is Love' - one of their biggest hits - found it appropriate to include a short citation of the Marseillaise, the French national anthem. This meant that for them France, and more specifically her capital, Paris, was the place which best represented the idea of love. Not London. Not Amsterdam. Not New York. Not Moscow, Bangkok or Rio de Janeiro. No. Paris, France.

Every night thousands of couples in Paris – and Michel admitted that in this respect Paris may not be very different from the rest of the world – fell into each others arms and, before going to sleep they made love. Earlier that evening, these lovers may have taken a ride on the Seine in a _ Bateau Mouche _, watched a show, had a meal in one of Paris's many famous restaurants – possibly a romantic dinner by candlelight – or been dancing to soft music.

All these activities had one thing in common: they did not allow the lovers to show each other how strongly attracted they were to their partners. A kiss which was maybe a little too long or too intense, a touch, a caress that was maybe a little too daring, could earn them the disapproval of the other patrons; they might be called to order by the _ maître _, or they might even be expelled from the place in question. The rules of our society were such that lovers were not allowed to demonstrate their passion to each other until they reached the privacy of their own home or their hotel room. Up to that moment they had to behave like celibates.

_ Le Chambre Séparée _ had dared to break this rule. In its ballroom a caress was not an offence. Patrons were allowed to demonstrate how much they appreciated each other's company without fear of disapproval or expulsion.

The huge success of _ Le Chambre Séparée _, the fact that every seat in the house was sold out for weeks to come proved that _ Le Chambre Séparée _ was offering something that both citizens of Paris and visitors had been waiting for.

Passion was not something one could turn off and on at the convenient moment like a hot water tap. Making love, that most wonderful of human activities, was not a one course meal, nor fast food. It was a succession of dishes, each one more delicious than the previous one, each one to be savoured in full and without hurry.

Only a hypocrite could call this 'sin'. Only a hypocrite could call for the closure of _ Le Chambre Séparée _. Michael ended his presentation with the slogan 'Down with sin. Long live Love'.

After the statement Michel did not accept any questions but announced that he would be available for interviews to all the major television channels, radio stations and newspapers. This was a very clever move on his part, because this way his statements were not reported just once at the time of the press conference, but repeated whenever he gave an interview. In fact, for about two weeks Michel's views on the subject were a constant feature on television, radio and the front pages of newspapers and magazines. After that, the calls for the closure of _ Le Chambre Séparée _ all but died out.

Nevertheless, _ Le Chambre Séparée _ continued in the headlines. Publications specializing in gossip about the rich and famous published stories about who had been there and what they had been wearing, or who had been seen disappearing into a chambre séparée with whom.

It is sometimes said that there is no such thing as bad publicity. The attacks and Michel's defence had been an invaluable help in turning the recently opened venue into a household name within a very short time. But the gossip reports were bad for business. A number of prominent figures cancelled their reservations, saying that they had chosen _ Le Chambre Séparée _ for the privacy and discretion it afforded them. They were not prepared to see their names dragged through the gossip column of third-rate newspapers.

The managers were quick to act. Previously, anybody who presented a press card had been able to gain access to the house. Now, clear rules on the presence of news reporters were established. The worst offenders were banned altogether, others were only allowed on the premises when the house was closed to the public. They were free to inspect the facilities and talk to management and staff. A handful of Arts and Entertainment correspondents were given access to the theatre during the performance, but were reminded to report on what the house had to offer, not on what the individual members of the audience got up to.

Even before these measures were put into place, _ Le Chambre Séparée _ had been the subject of raving reviews in the press. Journalists were impressed by the professionalism of the operation, the slick, efficient and unobtrusive service, the quality of the food, the originality of the show and particularly by the chamber girls – '_ Les jeunes filles de chambre _'.

They seemed to have been recruited from the four corners of the world, one more beautiful than the next one, each one displaying the charms specific to her origin. Apart from their beauty and sensuality they also showed great talent and stamina – for it took the stamina of an athlete to keep up the fast and furious pace of their presentations. There was also a special mention of the girls' costumes, designed by one Ramon from Argentina who apparently already had a reputation over there but was a surprise discovery here.

_ Le Chambre Séparée _ became the place to go to, the place to be seen. Soon, reservations had to be made several months in advance. Having a reservation became a trump card when inviting someone for a date, there were even some newspaper adds where proud owners of tickets invited candidates, usually of the opposite sex, for the privilege of accompanying them.

One interesting fact was the variety of people who were attracted to _ Le Chambre Séparée _, compared with other adult entertainment venues. Firstly, there was the unusually large proportion of women in the audience, but this could be explained by the simple fact that it isn't much fun to disappear into the chambre séparée with your business associates.

Apart from this factor, there were many people who wouldn't normally be seen 'in a place like this'. Of course, there were the curious who only came to watch – both the show and the audience. Happily married couples looking for some extra excitement were rubbing shoulders with bosses taking their secretaries for a treat (and expecting a special treat from them in return).

Mature ladies were proudly showing off their toy boys while Lolita look-alikes were putting their sugar-daddies through their paces. There was a small number of threesomes; hunky males accompanied by two smashing females or ravishing beauties sandwiched between two handsome fellows. Swingers had adopted the place as an excellent location for making first contact with potential new partners. One section of the ground floor had been set aside for adepts of bondage and sadomasochism, where fierce looking masters and dominatrices displayed their bound slaves to anyone who cared to watch.

Unaccompanied singles were accommodated at a small number of telephone tables where they were able to contact other members of the audience by phone, the number of each table being prominently displayed.

But let's get back to the story.

-----

"What do you mean 'work something'"? Arlette asked. "Don't tell me you have connections to _ Le Chambre Séparée _."

"There are two options," I said. "The first one is to ask Ramon for help. He's done an excellent job designing many of the costumes the dancers are wearing. Alain, the Artistic Director, thinks he owes Ramon some favours. Ramon and I have been there a few times and we always got our reservations through him on short notice. But I don't feel like bothering Ramon with this."

"You've been to _ Le Chambre Séparée _? And not just once! A few times!" Arlette asked, showing her surprise. I had obviously risen in her estimation.

"Yes I have, and I can say that it always lived up to its reputation."

"The second option," I said, picking up my thread, "is to ask Michel Meunier to let us use his VIP box."

I knew that, as part of the sponsorship deal, Michel had one box permanently reserved for him which he only rarely used. Most of the time he made it available to friends and business associates. I thought I might be able to persuade him to let us use it.

This time both of them stared at me, open-mouthed, voiced their astonishment and wanted to know more about my connection with the famous businessman. I just told them that this was a long and complex story, too long for tonight as it was already way past my bedtime. It was also too late to call Michel now, so it would have to wait until the next day. Besides, we weren't yet sure that Caroline would accept the invitation and when she would be available.

In the end we agreed that I would call Michel the next evening after Claude had reported on the success or failure of his mission.

-----

When Claude arrived the next evening, there was no need for him to say anything. The broad smile on his face told us that he had achieved what he wanted. He was clearly pleased with himself and started to tell the story of his success immediately. This is what happened (probably slightly embellished by Claude to suit his ego):

"When I arrived at work in the morning I saw that Caroline was already at her desk. I got myself a cup of coffee from the dispenser and strolled casually into her cubicle for a chat. 'If I told you whom I saw last night, you probably won't believe me.'

'Try me', she said without even looking up from the papers on her desk.

'Your favourite fashion model. The one you would like to ask for a date', I said, pointing at the poster behind her. She looked around, following my pointing finger.

'Oh yeah, was she on television?'

'No. I saw her in the flesh. In my girlfriend's room. The two are room mates at the university.'

'You're having me on. This woman doesn't need to share a room with anybody.'

I said, 'Well, if you don't want to believe me, it's your loss. I just thought you might be interested.' With that I started to walk slowly in the direction of my cubicle.

Caroline came after me. 'Hang on a moment. How can you be so sure it's her and not someone who looks vaguely similar?'

'I asked her. I told her about this poster and she confirmed it was her. She even told me exactly what's written on it. I also told her that you were infatuated with her and would like to meet her.'

'Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm infatuated with her. Yes, I would like to meet her, but I feel a little apprehensive about it. I mean, what would we talk about?'

'Ladies' underwear' I offered, half jokingly, 'but if you think you're not yet ready for a tête-à-tête, I could come along as your chaperone.'

"Modesty apart, I think this was a brilliant move. I, who had been trying ceaselessly to get her to agree to a date with me, was offering to be her guardian on her first meeting with another woman.

'Would you do that for me?' she asked, 'I would appreciate it.'

'Of course', I said, 'that's what friends are for. But I will have to ask my girlfriend to come along as well, otherwise she might get the wrong idea.'"

Claude did not manage to complete his story because Arlette broke into a hysteric giggle and hugged him like crazy. However, he was still able to tell us that the meeting had been fixed for next Wednesday and that she had been very impressed by his suggestion to go to _ Le Chambre Séparée _ and even more so by his affirmation that he had a reservation.

-----

"Hi Roxy, this is Jacqueline."

I didn't have Michel's direct number so I had called the one which Roxanne had given me at our last encounter. She was pleased to hear my voice and asked how I was doing and also inquired about Ramon. She complained that I hadn't been in touch for some time. I apologized for having neglected her and explained that I had been very busy with my studies, but promised that I would see her some time soon.

After some polite conversation – I was keen to avoid subjects of a more intimate nature in the presence of Arlette and Claude – I asked her if it was possible to speak to Michel.

When Michel got on the phone he also complained that I hadn't been in touch, but soon asked what the reason for my call was. I explained that I had been talking to some friends about _ Le Chambre Séparée _ and they had become quite interested in visiting the place but that the long waiting period was a turn-off. So, to come to the point, would he be kind enough to let us use his VIP box, specifically, we had been thinking of going next Wednesday.

My heart was beating like mad as I waited for his response – after all, I didn't know him that well and he might easily get upset about my cheek.

"I think that should be possible" came his reply, "but I don't keep track of the reservations for this box. You'll have to check with Alain if it's free that evening. I'll talk to him in a moment and let him know that it's OK to let you have the box. Then you call him, say in half an hour to confirm that it's available. Don't leave it too late, because once the doors open he'll be busy chasing his girls around."

The girls he referred to were of course _ Les jeunes filles de chambre _, Alain's contribution to the success of _ Le Chambre Séparée _.

Overjoyed, I thanked Michel very much and was about to ring off when he said, "There's just one more thing, young lady. I think you know very well that nothing in life is for free."

This took me a bit by surprise, but I said quickly, "Of course, we pay you for the use of the box."

"Don't be silly," he said, "you know that I wouldn't take any money from you. The kind of payment I'm thinking of isn't quoted in euros, but in swats, doubles to be precise. So, what's your offer?"

Damn! I had completely forgotten his predilection for spanking female bottoms. And being the shrewd negotiator he was, he now had me by the short and curlies, able to demand just about anything he wanted.

"Thirty," I said, knowing full well that I wouldn't get off that lightly.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, otherwise I would have to get angry."

"Alright then. Fifty."

"That's an improvement, but I think you can do even better."

Arlette and Claude had been listening intently to my half of the conversation, trying to guess the other half. At this stage they were utterly confused and showed this by making gestures and drawing question marks into the air. I didn't want them to know what this bargaining was about and was keen to end it as soon as possible.

I decided to be bold and said, "One hundred."

Michel was impressed. "That's what I call a brave girl. You've got a deal. But I expect you to pay your debt soon, otherwise I'll have to add interest."

After I hung up I remained quiet for a while, thinking about what I had just agreed to. My heart sank. One hundred swats and another hundred strokes with his belt on the bare bottom! That was more than I had ever received. And I knew there was no way of wriggling out of this punishment.

Arlette and Claude noticed the change in my mood and asked me what the matter was.

"It's just that Michel is such a kind and generous man, he treats me like a father." I realised the irony in this statement as soon as I completed the sentence. "So when I talk to him it makes me think of how strained my relation with my real father is."

They swallowed this outright lie and wanted to know if I had had any success. I said, "Just one more phone call and we can celebrate."

Chapter 12

[Caroline - Part 1]

When Arlette and I arrived at the bistro, Caroline and Claude, who had gone there directly from work, were already waiting. Claude did the introductions. I ignored Caroline's outstretched hand and kissed her on both cheeks. She looked wonderful. Her pitch-black hair and dark eyes contrasted beautifully with her pale skin, just as Claude had told us. And her mouth! Her full lips were always slightly apart. It made me think that she was permanently ready to plant a kiss on a cock head in front of her.

The pin-stripe suit and loose pullover she wore did a good job of hiding her figure but showed just enough for my trained eyes to detect that there probably was a magnificent body hidden beneath all these clothes.

The situation was too artificial for the conversation to flow naturally. Nobody felt at ease. The person who was most interested in the get-together was Claude because he was hoping somehow that he might persuade Caroline to sleep with him. This wasn't likely to happen soon, but he wanted to maintain a closer social contact, hoping he might eventually get what he wanted. However, this evening his desire had to take a back seat as he played the role of the one who had made Caroline's encounter with me possible.

Caroline probably wasn't all that keen on meeting me but kept up the façade because she had once told Claude that she'd rather go out with me than with him.

I myself never thought that I would fit into the famous-model-meets-fan role, simply because I didn't consider myself a famous model. So I didn't find it easy to contribute.

And Arlette? Arlette had come along to prove to herself and anybody else what a liberated woman she was and that it didn't bother her to see her boyfriend chase another woman.

We ordered some wine to go with our meal. Something light because we didn't want to get drunk; we just hoped that a little alcohol might help to break the ice.

"It's funny how some things you do take on a life of their own," I said to no-one in particular.

I had decided to steer the conversation to the infamous poster, a subject which had slightly erotic undertones, to see how Caroline would react to this.

"When I posed for that poster I did not imagine that it would end up on your office wall, that my room-mate's boyfriend would see it and later recognize me and that we would be going to _ Le Chambre Séparée _ as a result of it. How did you actually get this poster?"

I had turned to Caroline who had been awfully quiet, trying to get her involved in the conversation.

"Yes, it's strange how it turned out. I got the poster from the shop where I usually buy my lingerie. The owner knows my taste and immediately told me about the new products which were about to be launched. I adored what I saw and felt quite frustrated when he told me that the products were not yet on the market. Anyway, I asked him if I could have the poster. He said he would still need it as an attention-catcher for the survey but as soon as the survey period ended he would let me have it. That's how I got it. And I think you look very sexy on that picture."

Arlette found that this was the right moment to join in. "So you like to buy sexy underwear?" she asked, and after Caroline had nodded, she continued, giving me a little wink, "I know somebody who thinks it's kind of like a gift wrap, a way of giving yourself to your partner. What do you think about that idea?"

"Hmm, I don't have anybody to give myself to. I just like to wear these silken lacy nothings because they make me feel..." Caroline hesitated for a moment, "desirable."

"Ah, so you do want to look and feel desirable?" This time it was Claude who joined in.

"Yes, but before you get the wrong idea, it's not the kind of desire that men think of all the time."

-----

It was only a short walk from the bistro to _ Le Chambre Séparée _. When we arrived there, the place was starting to fill up. The entrance to _ Le Chambre Séparée _ looks a little like the lobby of a five star hotel with guests checking in and finalizing the requirements for their rooms.

As we walked towards the reception desk a man patted Claude on the shoulder and said, "You're a lucky fellow, young man."

He was referring to the fact that Claude was arriving at _ Le Chambre Séparée _ accompanied by three attractive females, something most men can only dream of. I had never thought about what effect this might have had on Claude's ego.

I told the clerk my name. He checked his computer, looked back at me, seeming a little surprised, and then handed me four keys. "You're in the VIP suite on the third level. I hope you all have a good time at _ Le Chambre Séparée _," he said with a smile.

Access to the elevators and the rooms is controlled by small micro chips embedded into little pieces of plastic which function as keys. They come on an adjustable strap which allows them to be worn around one's neck, wrist or any other place one might chose. They open doors without needing to be inserted into any slot or similar device and prevent people from strolling – accidentally or intentionally – into places where they're not supposed to go. The chips also serve as charge mechanism and allow guests to put any food, drinks or other items they order on their bill.

Our box faced the stage and offered just about everything one might expect from a top class lover's nest. The adjoining room had two double beds and a sliding wall which could be used to create two separate bedrooms. There was also a fully equipped bathroom including a Jacuzzi large enough for four people.

Soon after we arrived, Caroline excused herself and went to the bathroom 'to powder her nose'. Claude, Arlette and I looked at each other, all thinking that this meant she would 'slip into something more comfortable'.

Arlette took the opportunity to take off the dress she had been wearing. Underneath she wore a see-through baby doll nighty and a matching thong. Her seamless suntan had started to fade a little but she was still very proud of it and didn't want to miss the opportunity to display it to everybody in this place – and nobody could say she was naked.

"It seems like you've caught on to this gift-wrap idea," I said jokingly. I had prepared for the occasion by wearing the black bra and panty combination from the famous poster with the intention of shedding my dress at a convenient time and letting everybody appreciate that picture in the flesh. I had also brought along an identical set, only in white, for Caroline to wear. But I decided not to rush things and stayed the way I was, wearing a simple, unspectacular black dress.

The performance had just started with a number called 'Carnival in Rio'. The number probably didn't have much in common with the real event in Rio, but that didn't matter. The rhythm was contagious, the girls were beautiful, and their costumes, although miniscule, had everybody wonder what treasures might lie hidden beneath them. The audience loved it.

When the doorbell rang, I went to answer the door. It was a waiter carrying an ice bucket, a bottle of Champagne and four glasses.

"There must be a mistake," I said, "we didn't order any Champagne."

"This bottle comes with the compliments of Monsieur Meunier," the waiter said, pushing past me and depositing everything on a little table. "He apologizes for not being able to be with you tonight and hopes that you have a wonderful time. If you require anything else, please let me know. It's all on Monsieur Meunier."

We asked the waiter not to open the bottle as we were still waiting for Caroline.

When Caroline returned she was still wearing the same clothes as before, so we all felt a little disappointed. She didn't seem very pleased about the Champagne and at first didn't want to drink any. But we jointly convinced her that she had to at least join us in a toast to our generous host.

The dancers had completed their first performance and the band was now playing some smoochy number to give the audience a chance for some close encounters of the sensual kind.

"Let's dance," said Arlette, grabbing Claude by the hand and pulling him after her.

I watched the two leave, then I turned to Caroline and asked, "Shall we dance too?"

She agreed, reluctantly. When I suggested that she would be more comfortable without her jacket, she took it off, just as reluctantly, and followed me to the dance floor.

She was about two inches taller than me but she let me take the lead. I danced with her cheek-to-cheek, holding her body close to mine. As we moved through the multitude of dancers we happened to meet Arlette and Claude. He had put his hands under her baby doll top and was caressing one of her breasts. This had caused the garment to move up and gave everybody a good view of her thong-framed bottom.

"They're really enjoying themselves," I said to Caroline, "shall we do the same?" With that I put one of my hands under her pullover, hoping I might be able to move up to her breasts.

The moment my fingers touched her skin she froze. With an expression of terror in her face she moved away from me and said, "No, please, don't. It's all so sordid. Please, can we go back to the box."

Her reaction surprised me, but I wasn't going to force her into anything she didn't want, so I followed her back to our box. On the way I concluded that she had probably never been touched by another woman, and had quite clearly never slept with a man – a double virgin!

Caroline sat down on the bed, supporting her head in her hands, looking down at the floor. I slid the dividing wall into place, assuming that Arlette and Claude would soon want to use one of the beds in privacy.

Then I sat down next to Caroline and put my arm around her shoulder.

"Listen, Caroline," I said gently, "I'm sorry if I went too far too soon. I just thought if you don't want to be desired by a man, you would prefer to be desired by a woman. And all this talk about sexy lingerie made me think you already had some experience. Look, I've even put on the clothes from the poster to get you interested in me."

I got up, undid the zipper of my dress and let it drop to the floor. I stood in front of her naked except for a tiny bra and some miniscule panties. She looked up and seemed impressed.

"You are very beautiful," she said almost inaudibly.

"I'm sure you're at least as beautiful as I am," I responded. "Look I've brought exactly the same model for you to wear. Would you like to try it on?"

She looked at the bundle of frilly textile in my outstretched hand and was clearly tempted. "Only if you promise not to look," she finally said.

I went out on the balcony watching the multitude dance in close embrace. When I returned to the bedroom Caroline sat huddled together on one corner of the bed like a trapped animal, covering herself with her arms as if she were ashamed of her body.

In spite of her efforts, she was not able to completely conceal her beauty. The sheer white lingerie almost matched the colour of her skin, her breasts seemed to be wanting to jump from their lacy prison. And the legs! It seemed that her slender legs would never end. If women were capable of getting hard-ons I would have had a huge erection, just from looking at those legs. Oh, how I longed to trail my tongue along them until I reached the point where they met!

But such thoughts seemed to be idle fantasy, because she could hardly bear letting me look at her, let alone touch her.

"God, you look fantastic," I said, "why don't you stand up and let me have a look at you?"

"It is an offence, punishable with expulsion, to try to entice members of the teaching body."

Where on earth did that come from? She had pronounced the sentence in a trance-like voice, as if reciting some rule book she had memorized. Was this some trauma she had experienced? Had she been thrown out of a school for displaying her underwear, or possibly more, to a teacher? I didn't know how to handle this sudden outburst from deep inside her psyche and made the common mistake of concluding 'If you don't understand it, ignore it'.

I wanted her to become comfortable with her semi-nakedness by letting her see that I was comfortable that way. I walked deliberately around the room from one end to the other, briefly went out to our balcony to check what was happening outside and then returned. Then I lay down on one side of the bed, hoping she would lie down next to me. That didn't happen but she did turn around to see what I was doing and it seemed to me that she was a little more open, relaxing her cover a little.

"Did you ever feel like touching another woman, caressing her most intimate parts?" I asked, trying to make it clear that I would be available if she felt like trying out what that felt like. She didn't react.

I tried again. "Did you ever long to be caressed or kissed all over your body by another woman?" Still no reaction.

"Do you never touch yourself, your breasts, between your legs, and feel that beautiful sensation of lust?"

She looked at me as if she didn't have a clue what I was talking about.

I said, "Before I used to go out with men I had a very close relationship with another girl. We used to spend hours lying on the bed like this – well, not actually like this, we didn't have a stitch on – bringing each other off. I used to enjoy that very much. Would you like to try it?"

She barely acknowledged that she had heard my voice but didn't react to my suggestion. I decided that a practical demonstration might help. I took off my bra and started pressing my breasts against each other to make the nipples stand upright. Then I ran one of my fingers around one nipple. I got hold of her hand an placed it on one of my breasts. It lay there without moving.

In the other half of the room I could hear Claude and Arlette returning from the dance floor. They noticed that the dividing wall had been moved into position. Arlette said, "I think they're at it," and Claude replied, "Let's do it too."

They seemed to be quite excited and hot for each other. Soon I could hear them dropping onto the bed and only a few seconds later there were the unmistakable sounds of two people making love. In my mind I pictured Arlette lying on her back with her legs spread wide and Claude on top of her, pounding his hard cock into her moist pussy.

As the rhythm of the humping got faster I took Caroline's hand and slipped it inside my panties. I hoped somehow that the activity next door might inspire her to move her fingers in the same rhythm.

The humping noise behind the wall soon stopped. Now I could hear Arlette complain. "Oh no, not again! You promised you would be slower this time, you would wait for me!"

Then there was Claude's voice. "I'm sorry, I just got so terribly excited by it all. It's going to be better next time, I promise. There will be a next time, won't there?"

Arlette mumbled something which indicated that she hadn't completely given up on him, then the room became quiet again.

"Oh dear," I thought to myself, "their relationship isn't going too well either."

I could feel my frustration rise. Caroline's hand rested on my sex, but from what I could tell it didn't make any difference to her if it rested on my pussy or on a dead fish. There wasn't a spark of desire in sight. My own sex life was going very well, thank you very much. I didn't have any need to seduce her. Why should I have to struggle with other people's hang-ups?

I removed Caroline's hand from my panties, got up from the bed and put on my bra. Then I got her clothes which she had placed neatly folded on a chair and handed them to her.

"We don't have to do this, if you don't feel like it. Let's get dressed and watch the show."

She hesitated and looked towards the dividing wall. Maybe she was worried what the others might think, or maybe she was worried that they might hear me.

I lowered my voice and said, "We don't need to tell anybody what happened or didn't happen between us. We'll just behave like two discreet lovers."

She still didn't want to take her clothes from me.

"I think I can do this, but I need your help. I need you to tell me," she said timidly.

"You mean teach you?"

"No. Order me."

Flashbacks of my relationship with Charlotte passed through my mind. Of course, that had been a completely different situation, but I had been only too happy to submit to Charlotte's wishes because it meant I wasn't responsible for what I did, I didn't have to feel any guilt. Could it be that Caroline needed someone to order her so that she could overcome some kind of taboo, some feeling of guilt?

I asked Caroline, "Do you really want this?"

"Yes I do, very much."

"Do you want to be my slave and do whatever I tell you to do?"

"Yes I do," she answered, surprisingly lively. She seemed to have become animated by the thought.

"Okay, this is how we'll do it: I'll give you a slave name – Isaura. When I call you Isaura, you have to do what I tell you, when I call you Caroline, you're a free human being."

I wanted to try it out immediately, so I said, "Isaura, put your hand inside your panties and stroke your pussy."

She did exactly as I had told her and sat there with one hand inside her panties, stroking her pussy.

After a while I said, "Isaura, stand up and pull down your panties so I can see if you're already wet."

Again, she followed my orders to the T. I couldn't believe that I was finally going to see that closely-guarded secret between her legs. I knelt on the floor in front of her to have a good look. Her pussy lips were slightly puffed up and I could see some moisture between them. I concluded that not all hope was lost. As my next step I wanted to give my slave some public exposure and ordered her to put her panties back on. Then I pulled her behind me to the dance floor.

Our arrival, two beautiful young ladies, scantily dressed in matching underwear, caused quite a stir. We were even noticed by the band's female singer who announced that the next song was dedicated to the 'black and white couple'.

The applause which followed this announcement grew even stronger when she added that the next number would be '_ Je t'aime _'. This old Jane Birkin song was still pulling in the crowds and the dance floor filled rapidly with dancers wanting to do the song justice by demonstrating their affection to their partners.

I had seen the band perform the song before and knew that the singer used to emphasise the words by caressing her breasts and eventually rubbing her crotch through her dress, a gesture which would have looked vulgar in most women but she performed it with so much style that it was extremely arousing to watch her.

As we danced, I pressed Caroline's body close to mine. She seemed a lot more relaxed now than during our first dance but I still had to tell her exactly what I wanted her to do. As soon as the singer started to caress herself I turned Caroline around so she was facing the stage and held her from behind, caressing her nipples through the thin material of her bra. I also told her to put her hand into her panties and to masturbate.

I could feel how she slowly moved her hand up and down her slit as I squeezed and rubbed both her nipples and whispered encouragement into her ear. Her movements became more frantic and as the song reached its end her body shuddered and she climaxed with a moan that sounded like the last yelp of a drowning man. Her legs became weak and I had to support her weight to avoid her dropping to the floor.

People near us had noticed what had happened and looked at her in amazement and admiration. I decided that this had been enough excitement for the moment and guided her back to our box.

When we arrived at our room I could hear the rhythmic breathing and the movement of two bodies in close contact, noises which told me that Arlette and Claude were having another go at growing their relationship. I made Caroline sit down on the bed and offered her some more Champagne. She refused at first, saying that she didn't want to drink any more, but I insisted that we had to celebrate her orgasm. When she finally agreed, she only took a little sip.

The powerful orgasm she had experienced seemed to have a detrimental effect on her mood. I was in danger of losing control, letting her retreat into her shell again. I kissed her face, ran my fingers through her hair and tried to cheer her up by telling her how wonderful she had been, and how everybody had enjoyed watching her come to such a beautiful climax.

My declarations were interrupted by an outburst next door.

"For Christ's sake, Claude, you're such a bloody egoist. Can't you think of me for a moment. I want to come too, you know. Otherwise there isn't anything in it for me."

There was a humble mumble from Claude, then a long pause, and finally he said something else to Arlette, not loud enough for me to understand.

She reacted angrily, "You cannot be serious! No way am I going to take your filthy little prick into my mouth!"

"Oh boy," I thought to myself, "there speaks a liberated woman."

I had an idea. I told Caroline to rest a little, I would be back in a minute. Then I knocked on the dividing wall saying, "It's me, Jacqueline, can I come in for a moment?"

The two were lying on the bed, obviously sulking, as far apart from each other as possible. They had pulled up the sheet to cover themselves when I announced that I was coming in. Claude used the opportunity to have a good look at my semi-nude body.

This was the first time he actually saw me in my underwear and he said, "In the flesh you look even more appetizing than on that poster."

This earned him a huff and a black look from Arlette. I told them that I wanted to talk about Caroline with them and explained that I had discovered that inside Caroline there was buried a slave personality who would do anything she was ordered to do.

The two didn't quite know what to make of my story, so I said, "If you don't believe me, come and see for yourselves. And there's no need to get dressed."

Caroline had dozed off and needed to be woken up. This was also the first chance for Claude to see his colleague from work down to some flimsy underwear. He must have felt like some kind of Don Juan, being surrounded by three beautiful women in various stages of undress, even though his performance didn't seem to live up to this role.

I addressed Caroline as Isaura and told her to kneel on the floor. The short rest seemed to have done her good because she followed my order immediately and without hesitation. I motioned Claude to stand in front of her and then told Caroline to suck his cock until it was hard again, but to be careful not to let him go over the edge.

She took his flaccid member into her hand and licked its tip. When it started to harden she took his cock into her mouth and moved her lips up and down his hardening shaft. Claude probably couldn't believe this was happening. Ms Touch-me-not from the office was kneeling in front of him, giving him a blowjob, something his girlfriend had just refused to do.

Arlette herself was watching the scene with a mixture of amazement and disgust. Claude's excitement mounted rapidly. When he started to moan, I told Caroline to stop. He looked a little disappointed as he stood there, his throbbing penis glistening with Caroline's saliva.

Next, I got Arlette to lie on the bed with her legs spread and ordered Caroline to eat Arlette's pussy. Again, Caroline followed my orders without hesitation, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. In fact, it seemed that Arlette was more uptight about the whole thing than Caroline.

But she relaxed as soon as she felt Caroline's tongue sliding up and down her pussy lips, circling her clitoris and finding its way into her love hole. It was obvious that this wasn't the first time Caroline had performed cunnilingus – which cast serious doubts on my double virgin theory – and it seemed probable that Arlette's pussy had never before been visited by such an expert tongue – or by any tongue, for that matter.

Soon Arlette was writhing on the bed, emitting little moans of pleasure. Caroline had to hold on to her victim's thighs, pressing them down onto the bed and forcing them a little further apart, to be able to continue. Arlette's moans grew louder. Unable to move the lower part of her body she moved her head from one side to the other, her hands clasping the bed sheets. Then she erupted in an almighty orgasm.

For a few moments there was silence in the room, except for the heavy breathing of the two women on the bed. Claude was obviously shaken. Watching what he had just witnessed probably ranked amongst his wildest fantasies. But hopefully he also realized how much pleasure his girlfriend was able to experience if she received the right treatment. His penis stood out from between his legs like a soldier ready to march.

I helped Arlette get up from the bed and walked the two to their side of the room, suggesting they give it another try.

I thought the time had finally come for me to have some fun with Caroline, but when I turned around I found her slumped on the floor, her upper body resting on the bed, her face buried in her arms, crying. I lifted her up, asking what was wrong.

She said, "The floor of the cathedral is hard and cold." It was that trance-like voice again, a voice which seemed to come from somewhere else and simply passed through her. Something had happened in a cathedral somewhere that still gave her nightmares.

"What happened in the cathedral? Please tell me."

I tried to order her as her master, persuade her as a friend, but she did not react to my questions. She was trembling, her eyes were wide open.

With a terrified look on her face she whispered, "His weight is pressing me onto the stones."

The stones? Would that be the stones of the cathedral floor? And who was it that was pressing her to the floor? Was this a rape? By a priest? She sure had had her share of problems with figures of authority! First a teacher, then a priest! Had she provoked them? Had they been so enthralled by her beauty that they could not resist her? And then blamed her for it? And why did all this resurface now?

My mind had no problem coming up with lots of questions, but there were no answers. I felt absolutely helpless, not knowing what to do.

Suddenly, Caroline's mood changed again. She looked at herself and said, "My god, I'm almost naked. How did this happen? Where are my clothes?"

This was the shy, almost sex-less Caroline I had met earlier that day. She noticed her clothes on the nearby chair and put on her pullover, skirt and jacket. Then she said, "I'd like to leave, please."

The request was voiced in a tone that did not leave any room for negotiation. I slipped on my dress but removed my underwear - I wanted to feel the cool air on my body – after all, nothing else had touched me that night. I wrote a brief note to Arlette, then I accompanied Caroline to the exit. I put her into a taxi and offered to go with her, but she assured me that she'd be okay on her own.

I decided to walk. It would take me about an hour to get home but I wanted to be alone and I expected that the fresh air would help me get some order into the jumble of thoughts which were floating through my head.

-----

Paris never sleeps, but this was probably the quietest part of the 24-hour cycle. It was the time when the late-night revellers had gone to bed and the early risers had not yet started their day. Nevertheless, there were some people out and about, walking or driving along the deserted streets.

A few times my silhouette (or maybe more than just my silhouette?) was caught in an oncoming car's headlights. Some of these cars turned around for a second look; one or two slowed down and the drivers shouted unambiguous invitations. I ignored them. I needed to think.

The temperature had dropped considerably from the pleasant early autumn warmth we had enjoyed during the day. I felt cold, particularly when I crossed the side streets which lead down to the Seine. I shivered and braced myself as the wind blew the cold air from the river right through my thin dress. I could feel my nipples harden from the cold.

I was furious with myself. I had chosen to ignore Caroline's problems although the indications had been clear from the beginning. I had manipulated her into doing what I wanted her to do. She had trusted me and I had betrayed that trust. My obsession with sex had made me think that everybody else wanted to spend their lives fucking and sucking.

But, as I always do on these occasions, I also looked for arguments in my defence – in the interest of a fair trial, so to speak. After all, I hadn't forced her to come with us to _ Le Chambre Séparée _ which was well known as a place for sexual adventure.

Intervention by the prosecution: But she didn't exactly come dressed for sexual adventure, did she? Was she one of the handful of people in Paris who didn't know what _ Le Chambre Séparée _ was about? Had Claude not told her we were going to _ Le Chambre Séparée _?

But – my defence continued – Caroline had displayed great skill and experience in performing both fellatio and cunnilingus. She had done these things before, and probably others. I hadn't corrupted a pure person, just stimulated her into doing things she already knew how to do. And wasn't sex one of the most wonderful things people could do, no matter what form it took?

My mind wandered off momentarily to the things Caroline had said in her trance-like state. I wondered what it might feel like to be thrown on the hard stone floor of a cathedral, half-naked, or naked perhaps, and then feel the weight of your castigator on top of you. The scene I pictured wasn't that of a rape but of an uncontrolled outburst of lust provoked, perhaps, by a lack of humility, by too few clothes, by an excessive display of female charms. I felt aroused by the thought of being taken roughly on a stone floor. Maybe not in a cathedral, but there should be plenty of abandoned churches, maybe a disused monastery, even the ruins of a castle would do. We could find such a place and Ramon could play the role of the priest or monk.

When I became aware of my thoughts I scolded myself for having turned Caroline's suffering into a sexual fantasy.

I decided to postpone the question whether I was guilty or not and to concentrate on how I could help Caroline. Independent of whether I had done her any wrong, I felt an enormous compassion for that woman with the doe-eyes and the never-ending legs. I wanted to approach her, as a friend, as a fellow female, and offer my help. I would not try any do-it-yourself therapy but would steer her in the direction of a professional who might be able to help her.

-----

"Good morning, beautiful lady. Would you be kind enough to assist a less fortunate fellow citizen?"

I had been deep in thought and the voice which seemed to come from nowhere made me jump. It took me a while to realise that it had come from a narrow gap between two buildings. After my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see a man sitting on the ground near the entrance to the gap, his back leaning against the wall. He seemed to have made this narrow space his home. There was an old mattress on the ground, his clothes were hanging on wire coat-hangers which had somehow been fixed to one wall. He even had a little gas stove which was giving off a limited amount of heat.

"Please forgive me if I have startled you. Sometimes I forget that people can't see me when I'm sitting in the shadow of my front porch. Would you be kind enough to give me a cigarette?"

His unshaven face and his huddled posture made it difficult to guess how old he might be. He spoke clearly; his voice sounded like that of an actor or a television announcer, although living under the open skies, drinking cheap booze and smoking had turned it slightly hoarse. The antiquated politeness in his speech was his way of maintaining his dignity: he wasn't really a beggar, he was someone left over from a previous century, unable to cope with the demands of modern life.

"I don't have any cigarettes," I said. "I'll give you some money, but first I want you to do something for me."

"Anything you desire, oh noble mistress." He said in his theatrical fashion. It made me think how the meaning of the word 'mistress' had changed over the centuries.

"I want you to eat my pussy," I heard myself say, surprised how matter-of–factly I had voiced my request.

"What? Here? Now?"

He was so taken aback that his usual flowery speech was reduced to monosyllabic questions. There were probably many other questions going through his mind. Was I serious about this? Was this a joke? A setup? Why would a pretty young girl like me offer her pussy to a scruffy beggar like him? And offer to pay for it? Weren't there hundreds of willing young men out there who would give their eye-teeth for a chance of getting their mouths on this juicy morsel of flesh?

All these questions remained unasked and unanswered as I stepped into the gap and positioned myself facing the man. I lifted the hem of my dress above my hips and spread my legs, leaning against the wall behind me for support.

The street lighting shone some way into the gap. It reached the place where I was standing and gave the man and anybody else who happened to pass by a good view of my pussy. I could feel my excitement mount, making its way to my exposed sex. Suddenly, I felt an enormous tenderness for the man in front of me. "_ S'il vous plait _ , " I said.

I wanted him to be rough, I wanted relief for the frustration which had built up inside me. The world, including myself, had turned out to be less perfect than I had wished and I wanted to purge all the negative feelings from my system by letting a complete stranger bring me to an earth-shattering orgasm – and I wanted it now!

He hesitated for a moment, then he got onto his knees and moved towards me. He stopped when his face was less then a couple of inches from my sex and took his time contemplating the sight.

This delay only served to heighten the tension that was building up inside me. It became almost unbearable. I held my breath waiting for the first contact. Suddenly, he lunged forward and took my whole crotch into his wide open mouth, as if he was literally going to eat me, trying to suck my whole pussy into his mouth.

Next he covered my pubic mound with short little sucking kisses which caused my pussy lips to open and my clitoris to peek its head through the gap. Having found a new target for his attack, he moved his tongue rhythmically up and down my slit until I was shivering with delight.

Unable to remain passive, I pushed down the top of my dress to release my breasts and started to knead them frantically, squeezing and rubbing my hardened nipples. The man's attention shifted again and my clitoris was given the full treatment. He put his lips around the sensitive knob and sucked it into his mouth. At the same time he used his tongue, alternating licks and stabs with rapid flicks which sent shivers up my spine.

After a short while he retreated, then shot forward again and thrust his tongue into my pussy. He grabbed hold of my buttocks with both hands and pulled them apart, forcing me to open my legs wider and pushing my pussy into his face. He continued stabbing his tongue into my love hole, plunging it a little deeper each time. His tongue was twisting and turning inside me, then his fingers found my anus. He forced one of them in the tight little hole, using short circular movements to get deeper inside me.

The double penetration by his finger and his tongue was too much to bear. I came, releasing all my tension in a primal scream which echoed through the deserted streets.

The man, probably thinking that he had completed his task, removed his finger from my rear and started to move away from my pussy, but I wanted more. I pushed his head back into position and begged him to continue. "No, don't stop, I need more, eat me, stab me, make me come one more time," I pleaded hoarsely.

He returned his attention to my now soaking wet pussy and fastened his grip on my buttocks, this time inserting two fingers into my anus. His tongue seemed to work even faster, exploring every crevice of my pussy and sending wave after wave of delight through my body. My excitement had reached a plateau and it didn't take long for my second climax to arrive, this time less noisy but just as satisfying.

I released the man's head and he moved slowly away from my pussy. While I straightened my clothes, I tried to think of something to say, but everything that came to my mind sounded so trite, so meaningless, so out of place that I just said, "Thank you," as I handed him a generous reward – much more than my financial situation allowed – and left.

"It's been my pleasure," he shouted after me, "you know where to find me if I can be of service again!"

In fact I did make a mental note of the place where I had stumbled upon him. "Maybe next time I'll let him take me in the ass," I thought to myself.

When I arrived at my room I took a shower and, having promised myself that I would contact Caroline the next day, I soon fell asleep.

-----

When I woke up the next morning I saw that my room mate had also found her way home. She was still sound asleep. I went about my normal duties during the day and only met Arlette again in the afternoon.

"I just want you to know that Claude and I broke up last night, thanks to your efforts."

The way Arlette said this implied, "And I'm finished with you too."

I wasn't in the mood for an argument, so I just said, "Listen, last night didn't turn out the way I had expected and if that was my fault then I apologize. But as far as your relationship with Claude is concerned you ought to ask yourself if this relationship really had a future, if the two of you really are compatible."

I had planned to ask Claude through Arlette for a telephone number or some other means of getting in touch with Caroline. The fact that the two had broken up and that Arlette was now sulking with me complicated matters. I didn't even know their full names, nor the exact name of the department where they were working. While I was still pondering whether I should ask Arlette how I could contact Claude, the phone rang.

"If that's Claude, I'm not in," Arlette said.

I answered the phone and found to my delight that it was Caroline.

"I'm glad you rang. I was just thinking of you. I think I owe you an apology."

"I can't see why. It's me who owes you an explanation."

I wasn't going to argue with her; I was glad she had got in touch and agreed immediately when she suggested we'd meet for a conversation. Caroline said she'd leave work early the next day and suggested that I come to her place around four so we'd have enough time to talk.

Chapter 13

[Caroline - Part 2]

When I arrived at Caroline's apartment the next day, she opened the door dressed in a silk gown which showed off her stunning figure to best advantage. The garment was held together around her waist and whenever she walked and later when she sat down the gown opened and her beautiful long legs came into view.

I was amazed to see her like that. My surprise must have shown on my face, because she said, "I hope you don't mind that I receive you like this. I had a quick shower when I got home and there wasn't enough time to get fully dressed."

Caroline had laid a small table and asked me if I preferred tea or coffee. I opted for tea and she disappeared into the kitchen to prepare it. I had a look around the room. It gave the impression that the person owning this place was quite wealthy. Everything was of the finest quality and had been carefully chosen to combine with everything else. Although this wasn't how I would have decorated my own home, I had to admire Caroline's good taste.

When the tea was ready, Caroline made me sit down on a small sofa and then sat down next to me, her legs almost touching mine. I found her a warm and charming person; any shyness had disappeared. Perhaps being in the familiar surroundings of her own home made her feel more secure, more relaxed. I started to wonder which of the many Carolines I had met so far was the real Caroline.

As I was a guest in her place, I thought it appropriate to wait for Caroline to start the conversation. I didn't have to wait long. Soon she said, "There are so many things I want to tell you, I hardly know where to start."

I suggested to start at the beginning and she accepted my suggestion.

"I'm twenty-two years old now. When I got married I wasn't yet eighteen."

That hit me like a bombshell.

"You're married?" I asked.

"I'm a widow. Billy, my husband, died more than a year ago."

I told her how sorry I was to hear about her loss.

"You probably wonder why I got married so young. No, it wasn't an unexpected pregnancy. We were infatuated with each other. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. We were constantly rolling around on some bed. Quite often we didn't make it to the nearest bed, so strong was our passion. You wouldn't believe the things we used to get up to.

"I didn't feel that our relationship needed an official stamp of approval but Billy insisted that we get married. He wanted to make sure that I would be provided for. You see, he was a test pilot – no, not airplanes, motorbikes. He used to test those heavy racing machines and fine tune them to get the best performance out of them. This job was considered dangerous and the people he worked for took out a life insurance policy in his name as part of his contract.

"Although Billy never seriously believed that anything could happen to him, he assumed that I could only benefit from the insurance as his lawfully wedded wife. So I finally gave in to his pleas and agreed to get married. Billy was twenty-one at the time.

"In addition to his job, Billy also participated in bike races on the weekend. Not the big international events; small amateur races on secondary race tracks. Billy loved motor racing, it was his number one passion. I only came in second place; I wouldn't even say I was a close second. In the beginning, I tried to compete with his number one passion, tried to force him to choose between me and racing, but I soon realised that I couldn't win.

"Then, I tried to share his passion for the sport. I went to a few races with him, but by the time it was over I was a nervous wreck. So I stayed at home waiting for his phone call. He always called me immediately after each race to tell me that he was okay.

"That day, when the accident happened, the phone also rang, but I knew instinctively that it wasn't him calling. I almost fainted before answering the phone. It's ironic that his number one passion did not want to share him with me and took him away from me for good."

As she spoke I had placed my hand on hers to comfort her. It was clear from the tone of her voice that it was not easy for her to talk about Billy's death. And I believed she had all the reasons in the world to feel cheated by life.

"The life insurance only covered accidents during the exercise of his job. Participation in races in his spare time was not included. However, his employers persuaded the insurance company to pay up and I received a considerable sum of money. But I didn't want any money. I wanted Billy back. Without him, life wasn't worth living.

"I went into a state of deep depression, refusing to eat and sleeping very little. I didn't have the guts to commit suicide, but I was in the process of killing myself slowly by refusing my body the food and sleep it needed. When Billy's parents noticed the decline in my physical and mental health, they had me placed immediately in a hospital where I could receive psychiatric treatment.

"There were daily sessions with psychiatrists and psychoanalysts. It took me a long time to accept that Billy had gone for ever, that nothing could bring him back and that my life had to go on. When my physical health had recovered and the doctors were confident that I wouldn't do myself any harm, I was released from hospital. I continue to see a psychoanalyst twice a week. It was her who suggested I should get a job to keep me occupied and to give me a chance to meet other people.

"That's how I joined the department where Claude works, about three months ago. I don't need the money – I have enough for the rest of my life – and the job isn't challenging nor satisfying, but it gives me something to do during the day.

"I was completely unprepared for the impact my arrival at the department had on my male colleagues. At first they showered me with compliments about my good looks. When they found out that I was living on my own – I didn't yet feel strong enough to talk about Billy – they kept asking me for a date.

"The idea of starting a relationship with another man terrified me. It wasn't that I had decided to be faithful to Billy even after his death. It wasn't that I thought no other man could replace Billy. It was the fear that I wouldn't be able to handle it, should that relationship ever end.

"I didn't want to get emotionally involved with anybody for fear of disintegrating emotionally if it ended. The pain I experienced over losing Billy had been so intense, nothing seemed to justify risking a repetition of that pain. I decided to tell my suitors that my refusal to accept their invitations wasn't anything personal, I just wasn't interested in men. And as a kind of proof I put up pictures of scantily-clad women on my office wall – which brings us to your picture and the reason why we are here together today.

"Although most of what I told my male colleagues about being attracted to women was just a trick to keep them off my back, there was something on that poster which attracted me. It wasn't your body, it was your face. It has this serene expression of a person who is at peace with herself and with the world, a fulfilled, happy person. I was almost the exact opposite, and your face gave me hope that I could one day achieve this state of happiness again."

I was touched by her description of my face and amazed by how much she could see in a simple photograph of a girl in sexy underwear. But she was right: I had been feeling happy and fulfilled when the picture was taken and it probably showed. Come to think of it, feeling happy and fulfilled and being with Ramon were almost synonymous.

"Of course, I didn't lose my sex drive because of Billy's death. Once I had recovered the will to live, my sexual desire also returned. But as I didn't want to get involved with anybody, I was reduced to having sex on my own. I started a collection of sexy lingerie, scouring the shops for the most seductive garments I could find.

"I would put on those flimsy clothes and would stand or sit in front of a large mirror. I'd let myself be seduced by that woman I saw in the mirror who was removing her underwear in the most sensual, most suggestive way possible. And later, when I masturbated, I made love to that beautiful creature who writhed and moaned under my expert touch."

That was the most romantic description of a woman masturbating I had ever heard. I wanted to be that image in the mirror which seduced her, I wanted to feel her hands on my body and I wanted to return the pleasure she would give me by making love to her. I embraced her tenderly and we stayed like that for a long time.

"One of the dangers of these sessions was that I would think of Billy, that I would start to bemoan my loss and sink into depression. My analyst accepts that I'm not yet ready to see other men and considers masturbation a healthy and normal alternative. She also realises that I can't block Billy completely from my mind. So she prescribed me some anti-depressants or 'uppers' as they're sometimes called, with the instruction to take one of them whenever I feel in a depressed or anxious mood.

"When Claude told me that he had met you, 'the woman on the poster', and suggested we'd all go out together, I had mixed feelings. On one hand I wanted to break out of my isolation and meet a few people socially, and who better to start with than the woman with the serene, happy look? On the other hand, wasn't this whole idea of wanting to meet someone because I had seen her picture a little too school-girlish for a woman of my age?

"Then there was the suggestion to go to _ Le Chambre Séparée _. I had a vague idea of what to expect and I would never have gone there with Claude alone. But as his girlfriend would be coming along I felt safe from his advances. It also occurred to me that casual sex without commitments might be a first step in returning to a normal sex life. After all, when I was a teenager I used to 'sleep around' until I met Billy. In the end, I accepted the invitation.

"That evening – it seems such a long time ago, but it was only the day before yesterday – I felt very apprehensive. I was worried that I wasn't yet ready for social contact, that I might spoil everybody else's fun. In the restaurant, I noticed that everybody was eager to make me feel comfortable, but that made me even more tense. I wasn't able to participate in the conversation. My mind went blank and I couldn't think of anything meaningful to say. I agreed to have some wine but the alcohol didn't have any relaxing effect.

"Then, when we got to _ Le Chambre Séparée _, things really got bad. I don't need to tell you, you know what happened. But you probably don't know the reason for my strange behaviour. It was the mixture of 'uppers' and Champagne which sent me on a horror trip."

I looked at her in amazement and disbelief.

"As soon as we arrived at _ Le Chambre Séparée _, I went to the bathroom and took an anti-depressant. You're not supposed to mix them with alcohol, but on a few occasions before, I had drunk some wine and when it didn't loosen me up I had taken one of those pills without any negative side effects. When I took it that evening, it wasn't my intention to have any more alcohol, but then everybody insisted that I had to join in a toast to our host. I guess, I should have come clean and said that I was on uppers and couldn't drink anything, but I didn't have the guts. I felt I couldn't explain why it had been OK to drink wine in the restaurant but not OK to have Champagne now. In the end I agreed to join you in your toast and had a little Champagne.

"As soon as it hit my stomach, I started to feel unwell. I had nightmares; horrible visions passed in front of my eyes. I don't remember everything I said or did, maybe I don't really want to know. But I remember that one half of me wanted to leave immediately and the other half said, 'If you do that, nobody will ever invite you again'. So I did hang on for as long as I could."

"You don't remember what you did or, more precisely, what I made you do?"

"I think I know what you mean. The horror trip came and went. In between I had some lucid moments and in those moments I decided to get the most out of the situation and became your slave."

"You mean you actually wanted to do this at the time?"

"Oh yes. It's a game Billy and I played sometimes. We used to take turns in taking the role of the master and the other one had to do what the master ordered. We never hurt each other, we instinctively knew how far we could go. Occasionally our games would involve other people, usually complete strangers."

I was speechless. "You're saying you knew what you were doing when I made you masturbate in public, suck Claude's cock and eat Arlette's pussy?"

She nodded. "I enjoyed those moments very much. I wasn't responsible for my actions. It wasn't me who was doing it, it was that slave girl ... what did you call her? ... Oh yes, Isaura. I was a little disappointed that I wasn't allowed to go all the way with Claude, but I understood that it was for a good cause. I hoped you might get someone to fuck me."

I interrupted, "You were prepared to go that far?"

"Oh yes, I was in the mood for mindless, irresponsible sex. Sex for sex's sake, without any commitments or afterthoughts. But then I started to get a splitting headache and there was no way I could enjoy myself any longer. So I decided to leave. It all happened so quickly, I didn't even have time to thank you for the lovely present you gave me."

I told her that it had been a pleasure to see her wear my present, that it made her look even more desirable.

"I've got a little something for you too," said Caroline and handed me a small parcel. It was a silk dressing gown, exactly like the one she was wearing, only in black.

"A special dedication to the black and white couple," she said, "Would you like to try it on?"

"Only if you promise not to look," I answered, and we both laughed.

I undressed standing right in front of her and she watched my every move. When I was completely naked I put on the dressing gown. It felt wonderfully cool and smooth on my skin.

Caroline got up and put her arm around my shoulders. Then she walked me to her bedroom where one wall was covered by a floor-to-ceiling mirror. In front of the mirror was an old-fashioned double bed with brass rails at its head and foot. We stood there and looked at our image.

"Aren't these two ravishing beauties?" she asked.

I couldn't help feeling aroused by the situation. She embraced me and our mouths met in a deep kiss. She undid the loop which was holding my gown together and slipped the garment off my shoulders until it fell to the floor. I did the same with her dressing gown. I realised that this was the first time I saw her naked. I stepped back a little to take it all in.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her breasts were a perfect round shape, her nipples, slightly erect, pointed straight at me. Her belly was small and firm and her pubic hair had been reduced to a thin strip. I assumed that she removed the hair because of the miniscule size of some of her underwear. Her legs, as I had noticed before, were just unbelievably long and sexy.

"My God, you're beautiful," I said, "no wonder the men are falling over themselves trying to date you."

"But they don't get to see me like this – at least they didn't so far," she answered and pulled me back into her arms.

It was wonderful to feel her naked body against mine. I didn't feel like going back to the students' residence that night, I wished she would let me spend the night with her.

After a while she turned me around so that I was facing the mirror and positioned herself behind me. She placed one hand on my breasts and the other one between my legs.

"This is how I do it when I'm on my own," she said.

"You won't be on your own tonight," I assured her.

Caroline got very animated by my response and asked me, "Have you ever used vibrators?"

I told her that I considered vibrators substitutes for a penis and, as I was very well looked after in that respect, I had never felt a need to use them.

"Yes, but that's only part of the story. Vibrators are extremely useful and versatile in stimulation. They can do things men can't do and can make you experience a completely different range of sensations. We used to have sessions when Billy gave me a wonderful time, just with a few vibrators. After all, men have their physical limitations," she said, smiling.

"Come here, I'll give you a treat you won't forget so soon."

She positioned me at some distance from the foot of the bed and told me to spread my legs. Then she made me bend forward and support myself on the brass rail at the foot of the bed. My upper body was almost at a right angle to my legs and my breasts swung freely from my chest.

"Stay like this while I get my toys," she said and got a number of objects from the drawer of her dressing table. It seemed she didn't only collect sexy lingerie, she also had a collection of sex toys. Standing at my side she reached between my legs from behind and touched my pussy with her hand.

"It seems that you are rearing to go," she said and switched on one vibrator which she held very lightly against my pussy lips.

The first touch of this phallic object which emitted a humming noise seemed strange, but I soon started to enjoy the vibrating sensation against my sensitive flesh. As Caroline moved the vibrator up and down my pussy lips I wanted more, faster, harder stimulation; I wanted to feel this throbbing stick inside my pussy.

My reaction must have shown because Caroline said, "I knew you'd like it. There's no need to rush things. Let's play it nice and slow."

But I wasn't into 'nice and slow' that evening. As soon as the vibrator touched my clitoris I came. The orgasm ripped through my whole body as I flooded the vibrator with my juices and I had to hold on tight to the brass rail to maintain my position.

Caroline just said, "God, you're hot!"

Then she selected another toy. It looked like a short, slightly crooked penis.

"This one stimulates the G-spot," she announced.

I had read and heard about the G-spot as the seat of the female orgasm, but had never paid much attention to my own G-spot. Charlotte didn't approve of any form of penetration and gave me enormous pleasure and uncountable orgasms by just stimulating my clitoris, and Ramon always stretched me to the limit so that every millimetre of my pussy was stimulated intensely and I never wondered whether he was stimulating my G-spot in the process. So I had regarded all this talk about the G-spot as something for women who had problems reaching an orgasm in the 'normal' way.

Caroline switched on the innocent looking toy and pushed it slowly into my pussy. When she reached the intended position I realised that there was something magic about this G-spot after all. I could feel that I was quickly approaching another climax. I found it difficult to remain steady on my legs but I was determined to enjoy this as long as possible.

Caroline increased the speed and my orgasms started to flow in a continuous stream. She somehow managed to secure the vibrator in my pussy with a strap which ran between my buttocks and around my hips and was fastened in the front. Then, while I was penetrated by one tool she used another one to stimulate my clitoris. It felt like heaven but I wondered how long my legs would be able to support me. Finally she switched on another vibrator and held it against one of my nipples.

That was more than I could take. My pussy exploded in another earth-shattering orgasm, my legs caved in and I fell on my knees with a tremendous moan, the vibrator still pulsating in my pussy. Caroline quickly helped me get up from the floor and pulled me onto the bed. Only then did she unfasten the strap which held the vibrator in place and switch it off.

We lay on the bed in a tight embrace until I caught my breath. Then I asked her why she had made me stand in such an awkward position which had made it difficult for me to stay on my feet.

She answered that she and Billy had experimented with many different positions and found this one the best because it made the victim completely accessible from all angles, something that could not be achieved by sitting or lying on the bed.

"In the beginning I found it a little uncomfortable too, but the lust was stronger. I learned to maintain the position during long periods of stimulation," she explained. "In the end my legs were always like rubber and I was dripping wet. Billy had to carry me to the bed where he'd lick the juices from my pussy or just plunge his cock into my wetness."

"But enough nostalgia, my pussy is dying for some attention. Shall I get into position?"

This made me realize that I had completely forgotten about returning the pleasure I had received to my partner. I explained that I wasn't sure I could match her skills with the vibrators – I had never used one before – and preferred to use my traditional technique which I knew for sure would drive her crazy.

With that I started to caress her entire body with my hands, lips and tongue. Caroline was very responsive to my touch. The fact that she hadn't had sex with anyone except herself for such a long time had turned her into a hot wire. Every little kiss on her sensitive skin made her writhe in pleasure. I spent a long time caressing her wonderful breasts, kissing and licking her nipples. She rewarded my efforts with exclamations of how much she enjoyed this, how she had missed it and that she didn't want to go without this ever again.

As my hands and mouth made their way across her belly towards her sex her excitement became uncontrollable. She twisted and turned on the bed, moaning in pleasure and desire. But I didn't want to touch her pussy, not yet. I wanted to do what had come to my mind the first time I saw her terrific legs. I wanted to trail my tongue along those legs, with tantalisingly slow movements, first along one, then the other, until I reached the point where the two meet. But her ecstatic movements made this impossible.

I told Caroline to keep her legs still so I could treat them to the exhilaration they deserved.

"Do you want to tie them to the bedpost? That would keep them still," she asked.

That woman was certainly full of surprises. She told me where I could find some scarves which she had bought for exactly this purpose and I tied her legs to the opposite ends of the brass rail. This being a double bed, her legs were now spread very wide, her pussy invitingly exposed to my every desire. I did as I had planned, knowing that the slow progress of my mouth towards her sex would drive her crazy.

She urged me on, wanted me to forget about subtleties and come straight to the point where she needed me most. But I was unperturbed by her commands and continued to proceed at my own chosen pace. When I reached her pussy, her hips were up in the air, arching towards my mouth and the relief she longed for. She gasped and erupted in an almighty orgasm when I kissed her wide open sex and circled my tongue around her clitoris.

I continued to pleasure her pussy with my mouth right through her orgasm and into the next and into the one after that. I only stopped when her moans had turned into one continuous wail. Then I untied her and took her into my arms, holding her in a tender embrace.

My mind wandered back to that evening at _ Le Chambre Séparée _ and the things Caroline had said then. I asked, "Caroline, what happened in the cathedral?"

"What cathedral?" she replied, puzzled by my strange question.

"When you were in a trance-like state you said something about the floor of the cathedral being hard and cold and then you added that someone's weight was pressing you against the stones."

"That must have been one of my nightmares. I don't remember anything about this."

I was a little disappointed by this answer. I had expected some story of seduction and forced sex involving a man of the cloth. I asked Caroline if she had ever been in trouble at school about exposing herself or her underwear to a teacher. Again she didn't know what I was talking about.

I told her the fantasies those fragments of her hallucinations had triggered in my mind and we both laughed about my fertile imagination. I also told her how I had been furious with myself for abusing my power over her and manipulating her into doing things she probably didn't want to do, how I had paid a beggar for eating my pussy and how I had purged myself of my frustration by screaming my orgasm into the silence of the night.

Caroline looked at me in wonder. "You didn't!" she said, more as a question than a statement, and when I simply nodded she declared, "You're a naughty girl, Jacqueline. You deserve a good spanking."

This statement startled me – was she into spanking as well? – but it also reminded me of my unpaid debt. I resisted the temptation to tell Caroline about my deal with Michel. I decided that some things better remain secrets, even between friends.

"Next time one of those fellows asks me for a date, I'll accept, no matter who it is," Caroline said.

It sounded more like she was talking to herself than to me.

"And if he plays his cards right, I'll spend the night with him. I've denied myself the pleasure of feeling a cock inside my pussy for too long. I'm not looking for a lasting relationship, just plain, uncomplicated sex. That's what most of those men are after anyway. And when I'm through with the men in that department I'll quit my job and start somewhere else. There are plenty more fish in the sea."

Caroline told me that the events at _ Le Chambre Séparée _ had made her realise how much she really wanted to pick up the threads of her interrupted sex life and that I had played no small part in helping her to muster the courage for this decision.

We spent the night together, sleeping peacefully in each other's arms. It was the beginning of a very close friendship. From then on I visited Caroline about once a week, always trying to arrange the visits so that I didn't have any lectures the next morning and could enjoy her company without having to worry about getting up early the next morning. It was an almost innocent relationship between two women who had a fulfilled sex life with male partners but found it just as enjoyable to spend a night with another woman.

Caroline helped me to improve my vibrator technique and together we tried out every single toy in her ever-growing collection.

Chapter 14

[Lola]

The big moment had finally arrived. Ramon had designed extremely sexy versions of just about any piece of ladies' underwear one can imagine, to be launched under his own '_ Vous êtes très jolie _' brand. Michel had invested a lot of his money and entrepreneurial skills and hired a crew of people who created an advertising campaign, designed attractive packaging, produced press releases and organised a fashion show with top models to launch the brand.

On the evening before the fashion show which would mark the official launch of the collection, there was a cocktail party in one of the most fashionable hotels of Paris to allow the media and other interested members of the public to meet the designer in an informal setting. Ramon knew that I would be bored out of my skin and left it up to me whether I would attend or not. But I understood how important the event was for him and I wanted to be at his side when the public paid tribute to his talent.

To fight the boredom I decided to wear one of my own creations, which Rose had kindly put together following my instructions. It didn't look anything like a conventional dress and could best be described as various lengths of chiffon, held together by magic. The white textile resembled a mosquito net, which is to say it was almost transparent. Underneath I wore a few drops of expensive perfume and nothing else.

Ramon had gone with Michel to discuss some final details for the launch. While I waited for him I went to the upper part of the split-level room to observe the crowd. I found myself standing alone with my back to a wall, when I overheard a conversation between two men, who were probably standing just around the corner without noticing me and without me being able to see them.

"They say this Ramon designs lingerie which makes women look more seductive, but his girlfriend doesn't wear any."

"You mean she doesn't wear his creations?"

"No. I mean she doesn't wear any underwear, full stop. Not his nor anybody else's."

"How do you know?"

"Well it's quite obvious, you just need to look at her. Everything's on display. And I mean: _ everything _. You obviously haven't seen her yet, otherwise you'd know what I'm talking about. I'll point her out to you when I spot her again."

The conversation didn't upset me. I was no longer the little girl who would try to cover herself and run away when someone saw her in the nude. I had learned to be proud of my body and the pleasures I and others derived from it. Only a short while ago, when we arrived at the hotel, I had been caught in the headlights of an oncoming car when I crossed the driveway which leads to the hotel entrance. The bright lights of the car had shone right through that pretence of a dress I was wearing, and everybody present could see me as naked as I really was. I had just smiled and waved to the photographers who were busy taking my picture.

On another occasion, when I was wearing a skirt which consisted of a series of silk scarves barely long enough to reach my thighs, held in place by a wide belt, the unexpected opening of a window caused a draught which sent my scarves flying into the air and gave everybody around a clear view of my pussy. Again, I just gave everybody a big smile and carried on as if nothing had happened.

It didn't matter to me who saw me naked or barely dressed. What mattered was that it was Ramon who would leave the party with the sexiest woman around to take her to his home, into his arms and into his bed.

I was about to walk around the corner to give the two men a chance for another look, when one of them said, "Look, there comes another one wearing hardly any clothes."

That remark made me curious. I looked in the direction of the entrance where I saw the figure of a slim young woman who had just arrived. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was Beatrice, the woman I had met during Charlotte's 'sex lesson', the one whose bare pussy had inspired me to a memorable performance! I had often wondered what had become of her and had felt some regret that our paths had never crossed again. Now she was standing only a few metres away from me.

Beatrice was wearing a white blouse which was open in the front. Only somewhere near her navel were three tiny buttons holding the piece in place. Although the gap in the middle of the blouse didn't reveal much, the transparent textile of the blouse didn't hide much either. Her beautiful breasts and the pink nipples on top were clearly visible.

With the blouse she was wearing a pink wrap-around skirt which was fastened by a single knot on one side. The skirt was quite short, showing off her beautiful long legs. It was made of a fairly thin fabric, and with some light shining at her from behind a keen observer could make out the shape of her panties, a mere wisp of material covering her sex.

She looked ravishing. Her style of dressing had changed radically from the first and so far only time I met her. I could understand that men got hard-ons just from looking at her.

I set off immediately to meet her, but not without first passing the two men, giving them a big smile and a little wave.

As I made my way through the crowd, a crazy idea started to take shape in my head. When I got to the place where Beatrice was standing, she already had a drink in her hand, and a group of men had gathered around her. They were quite obviously keen on 'getting to know her a little better'. And what better start could there be than to strike up a conversation about erotic ladies' underwear?

I wasn't sure how she would react to seeing me again. Maybe she didn't want to be reminded of Charlotte's 'lesson'? I gently tipped her on the shoulder from behind. She turned around and when she saw me, her face lit up.

"Jacqueline! What a surprise!" She handed her glass to one of the men for safekeeping and gave me a big hug and an even bigger kiss on the mouth. I was delighted to feel her body against mine.

After she had recovered her drink, she asked, "So, how's life treating you."

I wasn't interested in making small talk. I ignored her question and asked her, "Do you still shave your pussy?"

This unexpected and direct question made her burst out laughing.

"I did it just a few hours ago. It's nice and smooth," she answered with a seductive smile. "Are you still crazy about eating pussy?" came her question back.

"Only if they're as juicy as yours."

The men who had gathered around Beatrice couldn't believe their ears. They probably thought they were dealing with a couple of lesbians and started to drift away.

Beatrice asked, "Do you still get undressed in front of complete strangers?"

"Well, what do you think?" I asked, taking a step back.

She hadn't had a chance yet to look at my outfit, but when she saw what I was wearing she nodded, "You still do," and we both had a big laugh.

I found out that she had moved to Berlin and was working there as the fashion correspondent for a German magazine. She had come to Paris to interview 'some up and coming fashion designer', as she put it.

"He seems to be quite popular because I could only get an appointment for tomorrow morning at nine – not my favourite time."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Ramon had finished his meeting and was looking for me on the upper level of the room. I waved to him but signalled him to stay where he was.

"Nice fellow. Is he yours?" asked Beatrice who had seen me waving to Ramon. She obviously didn't know who he was.

"Well, it's the other way around. I'm his."

"Oh yes, I forgot. You're the submissive type."

"Which didn't stop you from submitting to me."

Beatrice didn't have an answer to that one. She looked again in Ramon's direction. "Is he good?"

"Very." I said. "At least, that's what I think. Maybe you want to form your own opinion?"

Beatrice looked at me in disbelief. "You mean...?"

"Yes. I mean."

"You ..., me ... and him?" She wanted to make absolutely sure she hadn't misunderstood.

"You got it in one – or should I say in three?"

"Do you think he'd like it?"

"It's number one on his wish list."

Beatrice looked again at Ramon. "Very interesting," she said, pronouncing each syllable as if it were a separate word.

"I'll take that as a yes," I said. "Stay here. Don't move. I'll have a quick word with him, but I'm certain I already know the answer. We'll be with you in a moment."

I was elated. My feet hardly touched the ground. Not only was I going to get another taste of this wonderful pussy, I was also going to give Ramon the best present he'd ever received – apart from myself, of course. And finally, Beatrice would have an opportunity to pay back some of the thrills I had given her. I wondered what her mouth would feel like on my pussy. I felt seriously aroused when I reached Ramon.

"Everything alright?" I asked.

He ignored my question and inquired, looking in the direction where Beatrice was standing, "Who's that girl, sorry, young lady you were talking to?"

"Are you interested?"

"Do you know her well?"

Ramon didn't usually answer a question with another question. This was a sign that there was something on his mind, but he didn't quite know how to say it.

"I do," I said. "Would you like me to introduce you?" I put a special stress on the word 'introduce', hoping he would get the hint.

He looked at me in disbelief. "You mean ...?"

This was the second time within only a few minutes that someone had given me this puzzled look and asked, 'You mean ...?' Did I have a problem communicating my idea or was this a case where people just couldn't believe their luck? I decided it was the latter.

"Remember when we talked about your fantasy of making love to two women at the same time? This is your chance."

He smirked. "Don't you think we should ask her first?"

I smirked back. "I already have. She'd be delighted to join us. Come, let's meet her."

There was something else worrying Ramon. "You know, Wanda has set up an interview with some reporter from Germany for tomorrow morning at nine. That's very important. I don't want to miss it."

"You won't miss it. Trust me," I said. "Now let's go and meet her."

I took Ramon's hand and he followed me willingly through the crowd to the spot where I had left Beatrice. She hadn't moved an inch, just as I had told her. The two looked at each other and quite obviously liked what they saw.

I was going to do the introductions. "Ramon, meet Bea..."

Beatrice interrupted me in mid-sentence. "Lola," she said.

It dawned on me that the name she had given me at Charlotte's place probably wasn't her real name. I started again. "Ramon, meet Lola who has come here from Berlin to interview some up and coming fashion designer. Lola, meet Ramon, the up and coming fashion designer."

The two looked at me in disbelief. I could almost hear the relays click as their brains tried to process the information I had just given them. Eventually they looked at each other and, almost at the same time, both of them laughed, "The interview."

"Yes," I said, putting my arms around both of them, "you'll be able to do the interview without getting out of bed."

Ramon said he needed to stay at the party, at least for half an hour, to circulate among the guests and talk to a few people. We agreed on a time when we would meet near the entrance. He went off to circulate and we did the same, displaying our assets to whoever cared to look. Shortly before the agreed time to rejoin Ramon I decided that Lola was slightly overdressed. I took her to the ladies' toilets and made her take off her panties.

"This fits better into my plans," I told her. I resisted the temptation to do it myself. I knew I would be unable to control myself once I touched or even looked at her delicious little slit.

Then we met up with Ramon and left. This time he wasn't just leaving with the sexiest woman, he was taking the two sexiest creatures with him. The photographers waiting in front of the hotel fell over each other taking pictures of Ramon leaving with two scantily dressed females, one in each arm.

I let Lola sit in the front, next to Ramon who was driving, so that the two could get a little more acquainted. I sat in the back and thought about the play bill for the evening: the overture, several movements, the grand finale, and in the end probably a few encores.

-----

When we arrived at the apartment Ramon prepared a round of drinks for us. Lola smiled when she saw the huge bed on the raised platform. "Looks like I've come to the right place," she said.

We toasted to an enjoyable evening and then Lola and I proceeded to undress our man.

Standing on either side of him, we unbuttoned his shirt, stroking his masculine chest with our fingers. Then we took off the shirt altogether. This was the first time I realised how much work it is to undress a man. First you have to sit him down to take off his shoes and socks, then you make him stand to pull down his trousers, after that he has to sit again to take them completely off. I came to the conclusion that women's clothes, at least the kind Lola and I were wearing, were much more practical.

But eventually we had Ramon down to his underpants. As we pulled those down, Lola's eyes widened at the sight of his cock. I noticed that it wasn't yet fully erect. Maybe it was because of the somewhat unusual situation. Usually, Ramon would undress me first amongst many kisses and caresses. By the time he took off his clothes his cock was already rearing to go. But we would soon fix this.

Kneeling on either side of him, we ran our tongues along his shaft which reacted promptly to the stimulation. I managed to plant a kiss on Lola's lips with Ramon's now fully erect member between our mouths.

We escorted Ramon to a chair near the top end of the bed from where he could watch the next part of the proceedings in all comfort. I told Lola to get onto the bed and made her kneel with her legs slightly apart, facing Ramon. Activating the hidden mechanism, I slid the covers of the wall mirror out of the way so that Lola could see herself in the huge mirror in front of her. She could now watch herself and observe Ramon's reaction at the same time. Lola found this very exciting.

Kneeling behind her, I kissed her neck and slid my hand inside her blouse, fondling her breasts and squeezing her nipples. Her face in the mirror showed how much she enjoyed this. I, too, enjoyed looking at the mirror which showed the image of two lusty young women at play, still almost completely dressed.

I undid the buttons which held Lola's blouse in place and let the thin material slide off her shoulders, giving Ramon his first unobstructed view of her delicious breasts and her hard, pink nipples. My hands were now all over her body, stroking, caressing, squeezing. I could feel that Lola's excitement was mounting. I changed position and took one of her nipples into my mouth, letting my tongue dance around it and making Lola moan with desire.

To complete the unwrapping of my present for Ramon, I undid the knot which held her skirt in place, loosened it and then, like someone unveiling a monument or a commemorative plaque, I pulled the piece of cloth to one side.

Ramon's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. With one big leap he was out of his chair and at the side of the bed where he knelt down and buried his face between Lola's thighs. He was like a wild animal, a starving man who was offered his first plate of food after days of fasting.

Even Lola was surprised by the ferocity of his attack. He held on to her hips with both hands and pulled her towards his face so that he could plunge his tongue deeper into her love hole.

I had expected Ramon to be fascinated by Lola's shaved pussy, but his enthusiasm exceeded all expectations. His reaction spoilt my carefully prepared plan. I wanted to give Lola the chance to undress me for Ramon as I had done with her, and then we would give him a display of how much fun two horny women can have on their own.

No way would I get Ramon to return to his chair and watch our little show. He wanted to eat Lola's pussy and he wanted it now!

'Oh well', I thought to myself, 'no harm done. I'll still have plenty of opportunity to play with Lola.'

Nevertheless, I found it necessary to scold Ramon for forgetting his good manners. "No gentleman worthy of the name would stick his tongue into a lady's pussy without at least kissing her first on the mouth or licking her nipples," I admonished.

"I'm sorry," he said between mouthfuls of pussy. "I couldn't help it. I got carried away."

"I forgive you," said Lola who was enjoying Ramon's enthusiasm tremendously.

I got undressed and then helped the two find a more comfortable position. Lola lay on her back and Ramon climbed on top of the bed and buried his head again between her thighs. I decided to concentrate on Lola's upper body, kissing her, first gently, then passionately. Trailing my fingers down her back, over her shoulders, to her breasts and down to her belly, near to where Ramon was driving her crazy.

My mouth followed my fingers, kissing every part of Lola's body I could reach. Her nipples awaited my lips and my tongue eagerly, her back arching up in anticipation. When my mouth came close to her pussy, I managed to persuade Ramon to share this delicacy with me. We ended up lying face to face, taking it in turns to stimulate her. At times our tongues met in Lola's slit. The sensation of two tongues in her pussy was too much for Lola. Her hips bucked, her whole body convulsed and she came with a resounding moan, letting us know how satisfied she was with our team effort.

I could sense that Lola wanted more. She wanted to feel Ramon's hard rod inside her pussy. And Ramon, too, longed to plunge his cock into this smooth, hairless wonder. But something held him back. I felt that he was worried about my reaction if he fucked another woman right in front of my eyes - something that had so far never happened in our relationship.

I wanted to assure him that I had no objections and motioned him between Lola's legs. Positioning his cock so that its head was right at the entrance of Lola's pussy, I declared, "Now let me really introduce you to Lola," and gave him a slap on his backside so that his cock entered her.

Watching his cock slide into Lola's well-oiled hole was one of the most exciting things I'd ever seen. It was the first time I had a chance to watch at close quarters how a cock moved in and out of a pussy. And this being Ramon's wonderful rod inside Lola's luscious shaved plum made it even more exciting.

As Ramon drilled deeper and deeper inside her, I watched Lola's beautiful face, already covered in perspiration. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened as his length stretched her, probably further than she had ever been stretched before. She gasped and moaned as he slid in and out of her in a slow but steady rhythm. I kissed her face, licking the sweat off her forehead. "Enjoy it, he's the best," I whispered into her ear.

So much generosity on my part deserved a reward, I thought. I was highly aroused and my pussy needed some attention. I straddled Lola so that my sex was just above her face. I was already so wet that my juices were literally dripping onto her chin. Lola was too absorbed with what Ramon's cock was doing to her pussy to pay much attention to mine. I ground my crotch into her face, riding myself to a wonderful orgasm and flooding her face with my juices.

Ramon did not remain idle while I was looking after my own pleasure. He fucked Lola in earnest now and brought her to a number of memorable orgasms. Her shouts of appreciation were somewhat muffled by my pussy which I had pressed over her mouth.

Ramon, too, seemed to be in a hurry to reach his climax. It may have been the unusual sensation of having two sex-starved women at his disposal. It may have been the newness of Lola's bald pussy. Whatever it was, his excitement soon reached the point of no return and he started to shoot his load into Lola's pussy. Somehow he must have had his doubts whether it was okay to spurt his seed inside her. He withdrew his still erupting cock and sprayed Lola's belly and thighs with his cum.

I had lifted my pussy off Lola's face to give her room to breathe. Ramon offered her his softening cock, coated with the mixture of his cum and her own juices. Lola didn't hesitate for a second. She took his member into her mouth and licked and sucked it with gusto until it was completely clean.

But the larger part of Ramon's treasure was waiting for me between Lola's legs. I dived between her thighs before anyone else could claim a stake in this delicacy. I was grateful to Ramon for having made a real mess down there. He had filled Lola's pussy to overflowing and spilt his cream all around her entrance, on her belly, between her thighs.

I had tasted Ramon's cum many times before, but this was special. His semen was mixed with Lola's juices and it was deposited in the most appetizing pussy I had ever come across. I knew I was in for a feast and I was determined to make the most of it. Using my tongue I cleaned Lola meticulously. At first I stayed away from the centre of her lust, licking her belly, her inner thighs, the area surrounding her pussy without actually touching it.

Lola was pleased with my clean-up operation but didn't like at all that it took me so long to get to the point. She urged me on, begged, pleaded, cursed me, threatened to cut off all friendly relations if I didn't give her immediate relief. I decided that giving her my pussy to eat would shut her up. I spread my legs and carefully positioned my pussy right in front of her. After all, Lola was our guest, and as such, she was entitled to the best the house had to offer.

She hesitated for a moment and then decided to accept my offering. As she started to plunge her tongue into my pussy, I started to lick hers, cleaning out all the delicious stuff Ramon had deposited there.

I don't know how long we had been licking each other in a sixty-nine position when I felt the by now familiar sensation of cool jelly being applied to my ass. I lifted my ass and pushed against Ramon's cock to make it easier for him to enter me.

Lola, who had been so absorbed with licking my pussy that she had forgotten the world around her, noticed that her favourite delicacy was moving away from her mouth. When she realized the reason for the change, she exclaimed, "Holy Cow! You're not going to stick it in there, are you?"

Neither of us answered. Ramon just kept pushing deeper inside me and I did my best to accommodate him. I kept my mouth glued to Lola's pussy. As Ramon drove deeper and deeper into my rear, my whole body rocked back and forth and my tongue travelled the whole length of Lola's slit with every powerful thrust, like a plough, tilling the fertile pasture of her smooth sex.

The forceful strokes of my tongue excited Lola even more. "Oh yes! Lick me harder, stab me, fuck me with your tongue!" she exclaimed.

Seeing how much she enjoyed the treatment made me double my efforts. I felt my orgasm approach and I wanted her to come with me. I also clenched my muscles around Ramon's cock which was trapped in the prison of my tight rear, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist for very long.

"We're coming!" I shouted into Lola's pussy as I felt another orgasm rip through her. Only seconds later Ramon's cock erupted and filled my ass with his cum.

We remained in this position for a while, motionless, catching our breath. After Ramon withdrew his softening cock from my rear I could feel Lola using my hips as a support to lift herself. Her head moved up between my legs, but she ignored my soaking wet pussy and went straight to my rear hole where Ramon's juice was leaking out of me. Without hesitation she licked and sucked the booty into her mouth.

But she didn't stop there. I gasped. She wouldn't do that, would she? But she did. She used her hands to spread my cheeks apart and then she stuck her tongue into my ass hole as deep as she could manage to lick out Ramon's cum. What a slut! It seemed that I had found my match. Nobody had ever stuck their tongue into my ass. I felt exhilarated to be subjected to such an outrageous act. Just thinking about what she was doing made me come again.

Afterwards Lola and I held each other in a tight embrace, kissing gently and declaring our everlasting love to each other. Ramon returned from the bathroom where he had cleaned himself and watched his two love-doves who were treating each other with so much tenderness. When we noticed him, we pulled him onto the bed, made him lie on his back and licked his cock hard.

In an attack of altruism, I let Lola mount Ramon's cock. It was such a fantastic picture to see his hard rod slide into her smooth plum. I could have watched forever. But rather than remaining idle, I straddled Ramon and offered him my pussy to lick. He gladly accepted and held on to my hips as his tongue darted into my slit. Lola, who had embarked on a tantalizingly slow ride on Ramon's cock grabbed my tits from behind and played with my nipples.

I was amazed how quickly we had learned to understand each other's desires. How each of us sensed what the other two needed and how eager we were to satisfy each other's want. We had become one single body with two pussies, one cock and two pairs of tits. One organism in pursuit of orgasm. And when one of us went over the edge, the other two followed within seconds.

In the end we collapsed onto the bed, exhausted, and fell asleep in a tangle of bodies and limbs.

-----

I woke from the deafening noise of Ramon's alarm clock. It was eight in the morning. The interview with the reporter from Germany had been so important to Ramon that he had set the alarm the previous day, before leaving for the cocktail party. The exciting events of the evening had occupied his mind so much that he forgot to cancel the alarm. I thought it best to pretend I was still asleep.

Ramon switched off the alarm and cursed. Then he looked around him and remembered that he was in bed with two extremely beautiful and sexy women, both of whom were still asleep - at least that's what he thought.

Lola was lying to his right, only partly covered by the bed sheet, her bare bottom very close to his face. He gave it a gentle slap and said, "Wake up, it's time for the interview."

Lola was still in a daze. She didn't quite know where she was, who this guy was who had slapped her bottom, and what he wanted from her. Ramon removed the part of the bed sheet which had covered his rock-hard cock. It never fails to amaze me that he can have a hard-on this early in the morning.

Lola still didn't know what was going on, but when she saw Ramon's gorgeous tool, instinct took over and she started to lick it. She moved around so that she was straddling Ramon's chest and offered him her pussy. Ramon didn't need a second invitation and started licking her slit.

I was watching the two, partly to see if I could learn something new, partly trying to find a way to join in the fun, when the phone rang. As I was the only one whose mouth wasn't occupied, I went to answer it.

It was Wanda, Michel's press secretary. I didn't like Wanda. With her old fashioned clothes and her tight-laced attitudes, she resembled more a prison warden than a secretary. And she also treated people as if she was their overseer. It was beyond me how such a person could promote erotic lingerie. But, on the positive side, she was extremely efficient and reliable. That's probably why people put up with her backward attitudes.

"I'm phoning to remind Mr. Ramon that he has an interview at nine."

"Oh, yes the interview. It's already in full swing."

Wanda didn't know what to say.

"Would you like to listen in for a few minutes?" I asked.

Without waiting for an answer I walked over to the bed. The two had changed position. Ramon was on top, feeding Lola his cock while he was devouring her increasingly wet pussy. With the treatment her honey pot was receiving, Lola would normally shout her orgasm to the four corners of the world, but as she had his huge cock in her mouth, the noise was somewhat stifled.

I held the receiver near her mouth for a few moments, then I said to Wanda, "Did you hear that?"

Wanda replied, "It seems that the reporter from Berlin is a woman." ("You've got that right," I thought to myself.) "But I couldn't understand a word she was saying."

"That's because she's got a big cock in her mouth which makes it kind of difficult to speak clearly. Otherwise she might have said something like 'Oh, what a wonderful feeling it is to have my pussy licked by such a skilful tongue and to suck a big cock at the same time.' You should try it yourself one day. I have to ring off now because I want to join them."

I felt remorse as soon as I had put the phone down. I didn't know what had come over me. Hearing Wanda's voice had spoiled my good mood and I just snapped. I probably would have to apologize to her later on. Maybe I should offer to eat her pussy?

Lola was lying on her back now, with Ramon on top of her fucking her in earnest. Her mouth now free of any obstruction, she voiced her pleasure for everyone to hear. I went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. When I returned they had changed position again. Ramon was on his back now and Lola was riding his cock.

I decided to join them. I went to the spare bedroom where I kept a few personal items I didn't want to leave in my room at the university. Amongst them was a dildo which Roxy had given to me as a present, but I had never used. I strapped on the plastic cock, lubricated it and knelt behind Lola.

She gasped when she felt my jelly-covered finger sliding into her ass. She gasped even louder when I pushed my cock inside. "Oh God! No. This is too much!" she shouted. But it sounded like she wanted to say exactly the opposite: "Yes! Please fuck my ass."

I took my instructions from the latter, unspoken message and pushed the dildo deeper into her ass. At the same time, I pressed my body against her and took her breasts into both hands, rubbing my thumbs over her hardened nipples, kissing her neck and shoulders. I could see from Ramon's face how astonished he was when he felt another cock inside his lover. Together we brought Lola to ever higher levels of ecstasy and made her feel pleasures she hadn't experienced before.

-----

Unfortunately, we didn't have a lot of time to play our love games. There was a fashion show scheduled which none of us wanted to miss, and Lola still wanted to get her interview.

Ramon suggested, "Why don't you think of a few interesting questions and make up my answers from the material that was distributed to the media?"

"I don't think that would do justice to your skills."

I was sure Lola was thinking of skills which had nothing to do with designing sexy underwear. She produced a small tape recorder along with a list of prepared questions from her handbag and went through her questions, discarding some, adding others, while we tucked into our breakfast.

Most of Lola's questions were the usual run-of-the-mill stuff that readers of the fashion pages seem to be interested in, but Ramon, apart from providing the usual answers and explanations which I was already familiar with, found ways of making unique and personal declarations.

So when Lola opened the interview with the question, "What made you decide to design sexy ladies' underwear?" Ramon did not only talk about the deep admiration he felt for the female body, he also managed to include references to Lola's physical attributes, particularly her shaved pussy, and the things we had got up to the previous night and this morning.

"I was fascinated by women ever since I first became aware of the fact that there is a difference. The female body is the most beautiful thing on earth. And I don't think I will ever grow tired of admiring women. For example, when I saw your shaved pussy last night, it was as if I was looking at a naked woman for the first time in my life. It was fantastic. As soon as I saw this beautiful slit I wanted only one thing - two things, actually - I wanted to lick this smooth treasure until it got wet and then I wanted to plunge my cock inside, wanted you to beg for more."

Lola switched off the tape recorder and said to Ramon, "You realize that I'll have to edit this tape before I have it translated. I can't possibly publish an interview where you tell everybody how much you enjoyed fucking me - and how much I loved it."

As soon as Lola had switched the recorder back on, Ramon said with a smirk on his face, "Oh, I forgot to mention: there was another woman in bed with us who also worshiped your smooth pussy, and you enjoyed her attention almost as much as mine - and you paid back in kind every thrill she gave you."

Lola gave him a black look and made an obscene gesture, but carried on with the interview without further interruptions.

"If you like the female body so much, why do you dedicate your life to covering it up?"

"There is a moment, when a woman is no longer dressed but not yet naked, which is pure magic. It holds the promise of immense pleasure and the threat of expulsion from paradise for tasting the forbidden fruit. I see my creations as a feeble attempt to enhance this magic."

Then there was the question whether his creations were turning women into sex objects.

"I think there is only a very small percentage of women who could honestly say they don't like to be admired - and I'm not saying the admirer has to be a man. The effect of sexy lingerie is just as seductive for a female lover. Those flimsy pieces of textile which hint at what lies beneath without revealing it increase the desire, invite seduction and romantic foreplay. The more fragile the clothes are the more tender will the lover be when he removes them, the more the woman will feel that she's being desired. And it's because of this feeling that women all over the world put on seductive underwear."

-----

When it was time to leave, we all went to the hotel where the fashion show was going to take place. Lola was staying at the same hotel - although she hadn't made much use of her accommodation - and used the opportunity to go to her room and change clothes.

While Ramon and I were standing in the lobby, waiting for Lola, Michel came towards us. He was beaming, looking even more jovial than usual. There was obviously some good news he was eager to tell us about. But before he reached us he stopped and looked at me.

"I see you are dressed for the occasion, Jacqueline. You look wonderful! Aren't you worried that someone might rape you?"

I had taken the conversation which I overheard the day before as a hint. The unknown man had commented that I wasn't wearing any underwear, not Ramon's nor anybody else's. I had decided to prove him wrong. This time all I was wearing was underwear designed by Ramon. My outfit consisted of a lacy bra and panty combination with a transparent négligé on top.

I thanked Michel for his kind words and told him that I was just doing my bit to promote Ramon's new brand.

"What a fantastic publicity stunt," Michel exclaimed. "Was this your idea, Ramon, or did Jacqueline think of it?"

I didn't think my attire deserved so much enthusiasm. Clearly, he was talking about something else.

"Publicity stunt?" Ramon asked, looking as puzzled as I was.

"Well, it doesn't matter who thought of it. It was a brilliant idea. The picture is in all the papers. I guess this gives the launch more media coverage than my carefully planned publicity campaign."

"Picture? What picture?" Ramon and I said in unison.

"Don't tell me you haven't seen it. There's a lot of speculation who the nudes are."

"Nudes?"

"Well, not quite nudes, but almost. I recognized Jacqueline, of course, but I've never seen the other one before."

Michel pulled a bunch of newspapers from his briefcase and showed one of them to us. The front page showed a picture of Ramon with two women, one on either side. I realised that this picture had been taken the evening before, when Lola, Ramon and I left the cocktail party. The flashes of the photographers had cut right through the flimsy clothes we had been wearing and the picture showed our tits as if we hadn't been wearing anything. My eyes widened when I saw how naked I looked. Compared with this, I was now fully clothed.

Lola looked only marginally less naked. The caption under the picture read 'Fashion designer Ramon leaves the party to mark the launch of his brand of erotic lingerie accompanied by two potential customers. The two ladies can't wait for the collection to appear in the shops and have already discarded their old-fashioned underwear.'

Other papers printed the same picture with different comments. Those which had the picture on the front page referred readers to a detailed article inside the paper. Some also brought photographs which had been taken when Ramon and I arrived at the hotel. None of them mentioned my name; they just referred to me as Ramon's companion. None of them had any information about who the other woman might be.

Although my name wasn't mentioned, I knew that it would be almost impossible that people in Villiers wouldn't recognize me and bring the picture to my father's attention - if he hadn't seen it himself already. The papers in Villiers were usually a day behind with the news, but they would certainly make the most of the story, when they found out that one of the women in the picture was a local girl.

What it came down to was that I was now officially a slut in my father's book. I had demonstrated that I wasn't taking my studies seriously and consequently, he would cut off any financial support. He might even deny that I was his daughter. As far as the financial aspect was concerned, I wasn't worried. Ramon had insisted that I be included in his contract with Michel because I had served him as an inspiration in the creation of the '_ Vous êtes très jolie _' brand. I would be getting a small percentage for every item sold and that would easily make up any shortfall. I had always known that the break-up with my father was going to happen one day, but I couldn't help feeling sorry when it happened.

While I was reflecting on my family situation, Michel had asked Ramon who the other woman was.

"She's a reporter who came to interview me, and apparently Jacqueline had known her before," Ramon explained.

"And you got her to play the part, just like that?"

"Play what part? There wasn't any acting. We were just leaving together and the photographers took our picture."

"You mean this wasn't laid on for the press? She did actually go with you?"

"Yes. I don't know what's so unusual about that," Ramon said.

I added, "We didn't think of the media. We just did what came natural to us." I saw Lola coming towards us. "Here she comes, you can ask her yourself."

Lola was wearing what looked like a conservative business suit. But as she came closer I could see that her narrow skirt had slits reaching up to her hips on both sides. As she walked, her beautiful long legs attracted everybody's attention. And I was sure she wasn't wearing anything underneath. The blouse which she wore under the formal jacket was thin enough to let her firm breasts with the pink nipples shine through. She looked ravishing.

But Lola also looked agitated. She paid hardly any attention when I introduced her to Michel. "All hell's broken loose," she said. "There were urgent messages on my mobile phone, faxes, messages left with the hotel receptionist, asking me to get in touch with my boss. The first thing he said when I phoned him was, 'You were supposed to conduct an inter_ view _ with the man, not inter_ course _.' Apparently there have been some pictures in the papers ..."

Her flow was interrupted when Michel showed her the front page of the paper I had been looking at just a few moments ago.

Lola was just as surprised by the obvious nudity on the picture as I had been.

"Now I understand. No wonder he drew his conclusions. He was frustrated because everybody's printing a picture of 'his' reporter and he has a reporter on the spot but nothing yet to print."

Turning to Ramon, she said, "Now that everybody knows what happened, I've decided to let them print the interview exactly as it's been recorded - without any cuts. They've also asked me to write a personal account about my encounter with the rising star of ladies' fashion, kind of an eyewitness report, for another magazine specialized in gossip."

I couldn't resist. "Are you sure that 'eye' is the most appropriate body part? Shouldn't it be pussy-witness?"

"Don't you get smart on me, young lady. Or I'll tell everything I saw you do."

"And the things you didn't see but only felt?" I retorted.

-----

This was the first ever fashion show I attended, and it was spectacular. The fact that it was a display of sexy underwear made it even more exciting. The models were beautiful. They moved in exact harmony with the music. The lighting added extra glamour. I was as impressed as the rest of the audience. The large room was crammed full. There weren't enough seats for everybody and some people had to stand with their backs to the wall. At the end Ramon joined the models on the raised platform where they had been parading his creations to receive a standing ovation.

A microphone appeared from somewhere and Ramon thanked the audience for their generous applause. He thanked Michel for having believed in his talent and having provided the financial backing, and the models for having lent life and beauty to his creations.

"There is a young lady who also deserves to receive your applause. She has been a continuous inspiration to me and without her, my collection would be only half as sensual as it turned out. Please give a big hand to Jacqueline."

I had not planned on making a public appearance and wondered whether it had been a good choice to wear only underwear. But there was no way I could ignore Ramon's outstretched hand. I climbed on to the runway to join Ramon and received uproarious applause amidst dozens of flashes from the photographers' cameras. Many people recognized me from the picture in the paper and some wanted to know where the other woman was. But Lola kept her head down and remained quiet in the section allocated to the foreign press.

-----

Ramon had offered to take Lola to the airport but she preferred to take a taxi. She didn't want to cut our celebrations short, she said. The taxi was waiting and the time had come to make our farewells.

Lola said, "Thank you very much, both of you, for a very enjoyable evening." She paused. "That sounds so bloody formal. What I really want to say is, I have never been fucked like that before, I have never tasted such a sweet plum as yours, Jacqueline, and I have never had my pussy eaten with so much fervour as the two of you did. Thank you very much."

"Well, you played no small part in making it a memorable event," I said. "We must do this again some time soon."

"Yes," she responded enthusiastically, "why don't you visit me in Berlin. I don't have such a nice large bed as yours, but we can always do it on the carpet."

"Or in a hotel room," said Ramon, who was also keen on a rematch.

"I'll tell all my female readers to take off their panties and then gift-wrap themselves with Ramon's sexy lingerie before they give themselves to their favourite playmates."

Then she hugged and kissed each of us passionately and left for the airport. Ramon hugged me and said, "Thanks for sharing her with me."

I felt very happy and extremely proud of myself.

Chapter 15

[Compelling Desires]

The successful launch of Ramon's collection was one of the happiest periods of my life. I was pleased to see Ramon get the deserved recognition for his talent and hard work. I was pleased that I had been able to offer him Lola for a memorable night _ á trois _ and I was looking forward to the promised rematch in Berlin.

I'll admit freely that part of my happiness came from basking in Ramon's reflected glory. More pictures of me appeared in the papers, particularly one taken when Ramon had offered his thanks to me and I had joined him on the runway, dressed only in lingerie designed by him. Casual acquaintances at the university and even some people I had never met before approached me when they recognized me. They expressed admiration because of my courage and good looks and wanted to know about my relationship with the now famous fashion designer. Even my roommate Arlette changed her 'I'm not talking to you' stance and started to become friendly again.

These demonstrations of sympathy and approval by friends and complete strangers helped me overcome the bitterness I felt about the expulsion from my parental home. My mother had phoned me secretly - disobeying my father's express prohibition to speak to me - to tell me how upset my father had been about seeing my picture in the media. He had declared that I was no longer his daughter and wasn't allowed to set foot in his house ever again. He was going to remove all traces of my existence and donate the things I had left in my room to a charitable organisation - provided they accepted a slut's possessions. My mother suggested that I come to Villiers while my father was at work and retrieve whatever I wanted to keep.

I refused to return to my former home like a thief in the night and decided to write off as lost whatever had been left there. Although I felt unhappy about this outcome, I also felt relieved that the conflict had come out into the open and I no longer needed to worry about hiding the real me from my father. Comments I received from Sylvie and Mirabelle indicated that not all of Villiers was condemning me. The local papers seemed to find it quite remarkable that a girl from Villiers-sur-Seine had made it onto the front pages of the national press.

In spite of my happiness, there was something gnawing inside me which I couldn't quite explain. It was a desire to raise my devotion to Ramon to a higher level. The feeling was not new, it had been with me almost from the day I met Ramon, but it came back more and more often and with greater urgency: I wanted Ramon to own me, to accept and use me as his possession.

During one of our visits to _ Le Chambre Séparée _ I had steered Ramon to the bondage corner. I told him how curious I was about the various contraptions and implements available and suggested he try out some of them on me. Reluctantly and with the help of a fierce-looking expert he had tied me into a frame where my body was practically doubled up with my legs spread wide and my hands near my ankles.

The position this left me in was similar to that of a person in an old-fashioned pillory. But in this modern version of the stocks - all shiny chrome and black leather - the victim was suspended in mid-air. My bottom was sticking out, inviting to be spanked or whipped. The frame was set inside a series of wheels which allowed the master to move his victim around, even flip her over, and make her bottom and pussy accessible at every possible angle.

I thought this was a wonderful toy and suggested that Ramon should have one installed in his apartment. The bondage expert pointed out that the victim could also be blindfolded and subjected to punishment and abuse without knowing who the aggressor was. All three orifices were freely available for use.

Even though Ramon did not share my enthusiasm for the gadget, the castigator handed him his card 'in case he needed some help with training his slave.'

Ramon did not show any interest in taking up the offer for help, but accepted the card and put it in his pocket. Later, I used his absence to retrieve the card and copy the address and phone number on a slip of paper. On the card it said: 'Marquis de Sade, Consultant in Education and Discipline'. This was obviously not the man's real name, but a blunt hint at the kind of service he offered. I waited a couple of weeks and when Ramon had not taken any initiative, I contacted the 'Marquis' myself and made an appointment.

The address was in a part of Paris I had never been to. I had to ask several times to find the house which had no number or name sign. When I rang the bell, two men let me into a small, dimly-lit room where they conducted a thorough body search to make sure I didn't have any hidden tape recorder, camera or microphone on me. Then they lead me into a larger room where the man I had seen at _ Le Chambre Séparée _ was sitting behind a massive desk. There wasn't any place for me to sit.

The 'Marquis' was not at all pleased when he found out that I had come on my own.

"When you phoned I assumed that you did so on your master's instructions, but now it seems you contacted me on your own whim," he growled.

I explained that my partner didn't actually consider himself my master and hadn't shown any interest in taking ownership of me. I, on the other hand, wanted to be disciplined and I was looking for advice on how to get him to use and punish me.

My desire to submit to a master pleased the man. His manner became slightly more amenable, but he explained to me that it wasn't possible to train a slave on her own. The master had to give permission and specify his exact requirements.

"We train slaves on the specific request of their masters. We also provide opportunities for masters to exchange ideas and experiences. A slave cannot be trained without a master, or without the master's active participation. The master decides how strict the training will be, how much pain the slave will experience, how much abuse and humiliation she will suffer."

This explanation terminated my visit as far as the man was concerned. He called his assistants to accompany me to the door.

I wasn't going to give up so soon. "Can't you at least tell me what's involved in the training? Can't you test me to see if I'm suitable?"

The man looked at me. His eyes seemed to pass straight through me. Was he going to insult me? Was he going to tell me to leave before he lost his temper about my insistence, about my wasting his time?

He sighed. "What your training will involve depends on your master's decision. There's no way I can tell you what he'll want us to do to you."

After a short pause, the man suddenly said, "Take off your clothes, quick!"

The tone of his voice didn't allow any hesitation. Luckily, I wasn't wearing anything under my dress. I just had to undo the zipper in the back and let the dress slide down to the floor. Then I removed my sandals and stood naked in front of him.

"Spread your legs, show me your cunt!"

I did as he had ordered, pulling my pussy lips open to let him have a clear look at my clit and vagina. Without warning he pushed a finger inside me. I couldn't help gasping at this unexpected touch.

"I didn't give you permission to react," he barked. "But at least you're wet. That's a good sign."

This remark pleased me. It felt like getting an A at school.

"Now your ass."

I turned around, leant forward and pulled my cheeks apart with both hands. I tried to relax my hole to show him that my ass was ready and willing. Again, he pushed a finger inside me. I almost lost my balance, but managed to suppress any sound.

"You seem to be a quick learner."

This pleased me even more than his first praise.

"Bend down, hold on to your ankles."

I saw a cane in his hand. There was a swishing noise as the cane moved rapidly through the air. I screamed as it bit into my bottom. He didn't give me any time to recover. A quick succession of blows rained down on my bottom and the back of my thighs. The whole punishment probably took less than a minute, but when he stopped hitting me I was sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face.

"You may stand upright." He handed me paper tissues to dry my tears.

"You have a lot to learn. But you show some promise. The punishment I gave you was only a small foretaste of what you will go through if you decide to persevere with your wish. Think about it carefully. Talk about it with your master. He is the only person to whom you may mention this conversation. If he wants you to be trained as his slave, and if you agree, then come back to me."

My bottom and the back of my thighs hurt when I put my dress back on and left. I was pleased with the man's comments about my suitability and frightened thinking about the pain which might be involved. But the main problem hadn't gone away: I still needed to find a way of convincing Ramon that he wanted to train me as his slave, that I needed the discipline of a firm hand.

Ramon had not reacted to my repeated declarations that I belonged to him. He treated me as an independent woman who had the right to decide what she wanted to do. I expected him to tell me, to order me, but he merely suggested. He never asked me what I got up to during the week. But what may seem to be lack of interest in me was merely the reflection of his deep respect for women, particularly beautiful women.

As far as Ramon was concerned, I was his when we were together, but a free individual when we were apart. He only took control when we made love. But even then I felt that he was constantly checking my reaction, concerned not to do anything that would hurt or otherwise displease me. When he fucked me hard and fast, it was because I begged for it, not because he had decided to use me that way.

I'm sure he would never have forced me against my will to take his cock in my rear - and in a way I was grateful to him for that. I had taken it upon myself to get my ass ready for his big cock. I would have loved it if he had ordered me to do so.

I had decided by myself to appear near-naked at the cocktail party and on other occasions, and only wearing underwear during the fashion show. Maybe he didn't want me to expose myself like this to the public at large? Had I been presumptuous, attracting so much attention to myself on his big event? I would have loved it if he had told me how much or how little he wanted me to wear on these occasions and would have followed his instructions to the letter. I wanted him to lay down the law and punish me mercilessly in case I didn't obey.

I felt that I couldn't handle the freedom he gave me. I was in danger of letting my 'insatiable horniness', as Charlotte had called it, take control, of pursuing my own sexual gratification. Even when my actions had the declared purpose of pleasing Ramon, I knew deep down inside that I was mainly satisfying my own lust.

The 'anal training' sessions with Roxy had given rise to some of the wildest sex I ever experienced. I enjoyed it so much that I accepted the ensuing punishment without much trepidation. And how much of my eagerness to be able to offer Ramon my ass had been driven by the desire to feel three cocks inside me at the same time?

I was in serious danger of getting out of control. I wanted Ramon to put me on a leash, keep me on a short rein. Otherwise my rampant sex drive might make me overstep the mark. I was worried that I might offend or hurt Ramon with my wayward behaviour - if I hadn't already done so. The big problem was to make him understand that I needed him to take control of me.

How could I get Ramon to the point where he'd want to punish me? Should I do something that would make him angry about me? But what? Refuse to have sex with him? Impossible! As soon as I came near him, I wanted nothing more than offer my body to his hands, his mouth, his cock; let him fuck me whichever way he pleased. I wouldn't be able to refuse him anything.

Roxy knew that she would be disciplined whenever she committed a punishable offence. Although it seemed that Michel made up the rules about what was punishable as he went along, punishment usually came after Roxy had sex with a guest or a maid.

Roxy didn't consider herself a slave. She simply accepted the role of the wife in an old-fashioned marriage and Michel exercised his right of sole ownership and sentenced her to whatever castigation he considered appropriate. If that resulted in his wife appearing naked in front of servants or visitors, so be it. And Roxy enjoyed exposing herself and loved the wild sex that usually followed a punishment.

Should I tell Ramon about my sexual adventures, my nights with Caroline, for example? If Michel punished Roxy - and me - whenever I had sex with her, wouldn't Ramon have reason to punish me - and possibly Caroline - for the passionate sex I enjoyed in her bed?

What if I confessed that I had been unfaithful to him, that I had had sex with another woman without his knowledge or approval? My guess was that he would probably forgive me. Or say that I was an independent person, that my desire to try out different things was only natural, and as he didn't have a pussy I could lick, it was logical that I would find a woman who was willing to oblige.

What if someone else denounced me and told him that I needed to be disciplined, otherwise I would get out of hand?

Who could this someone else be? Could I get Michel to have a word with Ramon, from man to man, from practicing disciplinarian to not yet practicing castigator? I was worried that Ramon would regard such advice as unwanted interference by Michel. Ramon might say that he prefers to cure me with love and understanding rather than by spanking my bare bottom.

What if the denunciation came from a woman? Would Caroline, my fellow offender, be willing to confess to Ramon? And possibly risk to be punished as well? I remembered that Caroline had told me about playing 'slave for a day' games with Billy. This was a lot less than what I wanted for myself, but she might be able to give me some advice.

Ramon had clearly enjoyed the threesome with Lola. Should I serve him by bringing him other women he could fuck? Caroline would be a possible candidate. I was sure that Ramon would enjoy making love to this beautiful woman with the never-ending legs. I was also convinced that Caroline would jump at the opportunity to experience for herself what it's like to be fucked by Ramon. Should I arrange another threesome? I was even willing to let Ramon fuck Caroline on his own if it should turn out that that was what he wanted.

But was Caroline keen enough on such an encounter to risk being punished for our escapades? My idea was to let her tell Ramon about our weekly get-togethers, maybe also denounce me for my other trespasses. And let her declare that I needed firm control for my own good. It seemed risky but possible. I decided to talk to Caroline as soon as I had a chance.

-----

My weekly visits to Caroline's apartment, usually on Wednesdays, had become a permanent feature of my timetable. We would enjoy a light meal together and then feast our eyes, hands and mouths on each other's body.

Caroline had embarked on an active sex life, just as she had said she would during our first night together, but she always kept Wednesday night free for me. I had managed to arrange my schedule so that I didn't have any commitments on Thursday morning. More often than not, I would laze a little longer in bed after Caroline left for work; then I would shower and enjoy the breakfast Caroline left ready for me in the kitchen.

Caroline knew about my relationship with Ramon, of course. The poster on which I was wearing lingerie designed by him had been the reason for our first encounter. I had told Caroline how much I adored him, how his touch made me tingle all over, how much I enjoyed it when he made love to me. But I had never gone into any details about the kind of things Ramon and I got up to when we were together.

Caroline had turned into one of Ramon's most faithful customers. She was constantly scouring the shops for his creations and most weeks she would welcome me wearing her latest purchase. I was in the enviable position of first admiring this most beautiful of women in her sexy attire and then being allowed to remove the ethereal garments to reveal her curvaceous body.

-----

Our evening together had only just started. We had undressed each other without haste, the way gourmets approach a meal they know they are going to enjoy. Caroline's gentle hands had caressed my breasts ever so lightly, brushing over my nipples. She had kissed my lips; her tongue had invaded my mouth while her hands had roamed over my neck, my back, my bottom.

I thought the time was right to present my dilemma and a possible solution to Caroline. I started by asking her casually whether she would like to meet Ramon. Her answer was emphatic. "I thought you'd never ask."

Caroline had seen the famous picture of Ramon leaving the launch party framed between two semi-nudes, and had commented on his good looks. She had also asked who the other women on the photo was and I had told her a little about Lola and what the three of us got up to the night that picture had been taken. Quite possibly, Caroline was already hoping for a similar experience, but if that thought hadn't yet invaded her brain, I was going to make sure that it would turn into an obsession before the night was over.

Explaining to her what I wanted, what I felt I needed, turned out to be more difficult than I had expected.

"What do you mean, 'be his slave'? This is the twenty-first century. Slavery belongs in the dark ages. Luckily it has been abolished a long time ago - at least officially.

"What do you mean 'share you with whoever he wants to'? Do want him to be your pimp?"

She clearly thought I had taken leave of my senses.

However, she could relate to my wish to let Ramon do with me what he wants, because that urge had been present in her relationship with Billy. I could demonstrate to her that my desire was just an extension of this concept. If Ramon could do whatever he wants with me, then he was my owner. If he was my owner, then I was his slave and he could share me with others if this pleased him.

Caroline shook her head. "I never thought you were the submissive type. That's not how you come across to me. I always thought of you as an independent, liberated woman who does pretty much what she wants - modern rather than medieval."

"What makes you think I'm independent, liberated, modern rather than medieval?" I asked, making a point of repeating the words she had just used.

"Well, let's take us for example. Does Ramon know and approve of our weekly get-together?"

"That's exactly the point. He doesn't know and he never asks what I get up to when I'm not with him. He seems to think what I do when I'm not with him is none of his business. He makes it too easy to betray his trust. I'm worried that having too much freedom may lead me astray."

I wanted to make sure Caroline understood what exactly I expected from Ramon. "It doesn't have to be that way. I have a friend who gets a good spanking whenever she has sex with another woman," I explained.

Caroline grew apprehensive. "You mean you want him to punish you for seeing me? Wouldn't that spell the end of or weekly get-together?"

"Not necessarily. My friend gets punished regularly, but it doesn't stop her doing it," I said with a defiant smile.

"How do you know all this? Has she told you?" Caroline wanted to know.

"Not only did she tell me, I saw it happening. In fact, Ramon was there when I witnessed her punishment for the first time."

"For the first time? You mean you've seen it more than once?"

"I have indeed, and I got spanked as well for my part in her offences."

"And the other times Ramon was not present?" Caroline sounded a bit like a detective unravelling a murder mystery.

I told her the story about my birthday present to Ramon: how I had asked Roxy for advice, how she had put me through her 'anal training' course, how I had licked her pussy in return and how Michel had punished both of us for our transgressions - but I was careful not to mention any names. I also talked about Marie's involvement in my training, my visit to the sex shop and the events at Ramon's birthday party.

My account left Caroline open-mouthed, not knowing what to say.

Finally, I told her how I had 'paid' for our visit to _ Le Chambre Séparée _ by letting Michel spank and belt my bottom.

"It seems that my friend had been well-behaved that day, because she was fully dressed and wasn't due to receive any punishment. But she undressed in sympathy with me and held me tight when her husband marked my bottom with his belt, making sure that I wouldn't try to wriggle away and expose the tender parts of my body to his fury.

"Later, when I lay on the carpeted floor, sobbing uncontrollably, when the heat had moved from my bottom to my pussy and I begged the husband to fuck me, my friend had guided his cock into my sopping wet pussy and kissed my tears away as her husband pounded into me, giving me instant relief."

This story left Caroline even more aghast. "God, you're a real slut," she said eventually.

I didn't like the way she pronounced this word. It hurt a lot more than when my father used it.

"Do you realize what you've done? How could you get another man to fuck you behind Ramon's back? It doesn't matter whether that man's wife was present or not. What matters is that you have betrayed Ramon's trust. You say you consider yourself Ramon's property and yet you lick, suck and fuck everything that crosses your path."

I was astonished how forcefully she expressed her opinion.

"Don't get me wrong. I don't want to sound like a moralist. Hell, during the last six months I've probably slept with more men than you've had in your entire life. But in my case it's always clear that I'm only after a one-night stand. What you did is morally wrong because it goes against the fabric of your relationship, something which should be based on mutual trust and respect."

Caroline continued, "I can see now that you need someone to collar and shackle you."

"That's what I was trying to tell you from the beginning! I told Ramon many times that I want to belong to him," I explained. "I want him to treat me like his possession, like his slave, but he doesn't take any notice of my desire.

"Maybe, if somebody tells him what I've done, he'll punish me for it. And once he accepts that he has the right to punish me, he'll also agree that he has the right to decide what I may and may not do. Maybe, if somebody explains to him that I need it for my own good, he'll take note."

"And you think that 'somebody' should be me?"

I nodded, hoping she would agree.

Caroline went into thinking mode. When she had examined all aspects of my proposal she said, "I don't feel comfortable with this. Picture this: we meet, you introduce me to Ramon and I say, as casually as possible, 'By the way, I have been sleeping with your girlfriend once a week for the last couple of months.' That doesn't seem a likely scenario.

"And if Ramon uses the same logic as your friend's husband I'd get spanked as well for my part in this story. Thanks, but no, thanks. There has to be a better way of getting the message through to him. Maybe we could arrange for him to find out by accident?"

Caroline turned to me. "Listen, my brain isn't functioning very well right now, because my pussy has been waiting for a visit from your tongue for almost an hour. I can think much better after a 'Jacqueline's special'."

She rolled onto her back and spread her legs, leaving no doubt what she expected from me.

I couldn't possibly ignore her request and deny myself the pleasure of tasting her delicious pussy. I put my tongue to work and soon her entire body responded to my touch. She had been waiting far too long for this treat and tried to make up for lost time, climaxing only minutes after I had started to lick her in earnest. But one orgasm wasn't enough to get her brain cells activated. She wanted more and I promptly delivered.

After Caroline had recovered from my assault on her pussy, she declared, "I've had a brilliant idea!" Then she explained her plan to get the message that I needed tighter control through to Ramon without anybody having to confess or denounce me. What she found best about her plan was that she would come out of it smelling of roses, completely innocent, a victim of my deviousness.

I listened carefully to her idea. It seemed risky but possible. What left me feeling a little uneasy was that I was going to carry all the guilt on my shoulders, but if I was honest I had to admit that this was a fair reflection of the truth.

The plan having been discussed in detail and agreed on, I thought it was now time for me to receive some attention.

We had been rolling around on the bed in a tight embrace while we discussed Caroline's strategy, each one taking the top position when she spoke. As soon as I voiced my request Caroline got on top of me, her moist pussy rubbing against mine. Her breasts swayed tantalizingly close to my mouth but I was unable to reach them because she had my arms pinned down onto the bed, raised above my head. There was a devilish glint in her eyes as she asked, "Would you like to find out what it's like to be a sex slave?"

I knew that saying yes would mean delivering myself into Caroline's hands, unconditionally, to be completely at her mercy. But how could I possibly chicken out? Hadn't I implored her to help me become Ramon's slave?

"Yes, I want to be your slave," I said, not knowing what this meant.

As she tied me spread-eagled to the four bedposts, Caroline explained that a large part of the slave games she had played with Billy had been about getting the other person to do exactly what one wanted. The slave was ordered to pleasure the master without consideration for his or her own satisfaction. But as I had already satisfied her lust many times over, she wasn't going to use me this way. She was going to let me experience some of the things Billy used to do to her.

I heard Caroline rummage through her drawers until she found what she was looking for. When the item came into my field of vision, I knew instinctively what it was. Something I had read about many times but had never seen in real life: a pair of nipple clamps, linked by a thin metal chain. I stopped breathing as she fixed the frightening and at the same time innocent-looking contraptions to my nipples.

There wasn't much pain as the clamps firmed around my tender flesh, just the feeling of a tight grip. The discomfort increased, however, as time went on.

A gaggle of vibrators descended upon my pussy and the surrounding area. Caroline used them to take me to a wonderful state of arousal, just short of reaching an orgasm. But rather than pushing me over the edge, she left me hanging there. Vibrators danced along my slit, darted inside my pussy, teased my clit, peeked into my ass in a seemingly never-ending succession of assaults. Whenever I arched my hips towards the vibrator to achieve a more intense contact, the chain attached to the nipple clamps tightened and increased the pain in my poor, tortured nipples.

I begged Caroline to let me come, but I could see from her face how much she enjoyed my ordeal and that she had no intention of ending my agony anytime soon. Every time a vibrator entered my pussy, I tried to grab it, hold on to it, but they always slipped away, leaving me yearning for a deeper penetration, a firmer touch.

I had already resigned myself to the thought that my torment would last for a lot longer, when Caroline suddenly stopped, switched off all the vibrators and started to put them away.

"Oh, no!" I cried. "You can't stop now. Not without letting me come. Come back with those vibrators, you rotten bitch." My protests turned into a scream when she pulled on the chain linking the nipple clamps and tore them off with a quick jerk.

My nipples were on fire. It seems that they had been deprived of blood supply which was now rushing back with a vengeance, filling the tiny blood-vessels to bursting. It felt like a thousand needles had been thrust into my nipples, all at once. They felt raw; they seemed swollen, about to explode.

The feeling made me think of Caroline's nipples. I had always admired her porous nipples which seemed to expand in size when she was aroused and were extremely sensitive to the slightest touch. Was this the result of her husband torturing her like this? Would my nipples become like hers if she used the clamps on me more often?

A large feather had appeared from somewhere and Caroline trailed it over my upper body. It was an electrifying sensation, strange but very exciting. When she passed the feather over my nipples, barely touching them, my body seemed to lift off the bed, my arms and legs tearing on my restraints. I erupted in an explosive orgasm that left me drained of energy.

Caroline untied me and wrapped me gently in her arms. My nipples felt as if they had been sandpapered; they ached when they made contact with her skin.

"You're a dangerous lunatic," I said. "You ought to be locked up. You nearly killed me."

"If you tell me in all honesty that you didn't enjoy this, I promise that I'll never do it again."

I decided to keep my mouth shut and my options open.

"This is only a part of what Billy used to do to me. Sometimes he would put a clamp on my clit. It was fantastic. The sensation was so overwhelming, I used to pass out when he stroked my clit with the feather afterwards."

This gave me something to look forward to as we fell asleep, locked in a tender embrace.

Chapter 16

[Confessions]

The restaurant was empty. All of France was at home, watching the national soccer team play Greece for a place in the semi-finals. The soccer fans would probably dine a little later tonight. Right now, we had the restaurant to ourselves.

As expected, Ramon had agreed to my suggestion to try the Korean barbecue restaurant which had opened recently in the neighbourhood. The restaurant had been Caroline's idea; I knew as little about Korean food as Ramon. Just like Caroline had told me, each table was located in its own little booth. Bead curtains at the entrance to the dimly-lit stalls added to the sense of privacy. Circular, gas-fired grills, looking like perforated iron domes, were set into the low tables. Guests were encouraged to remove their shoes before they accommodated themselves on the cushions on either side of the table.

The explanations on the menu were not very informative and the waitress, dressed in the traditional costume of her country, although eager to help, had only a limited command of the French language. In the end we left it up to her to choose the dishes for us. We only specified that we wanted a meal for two people with a healthy appetite.

As soon as we had placed our order, I made my excuses and left our booth in search of the toilet. I had only walked two steps when I bumped into Caroline.

"Jacqueline!" she shrieked, loud enough to be heard in the entire restaurant. "You're in Paris! Didn't you say you were going to spend the weekend with your parents?"

I mumbled something about a change of plan.

"What a coincidence," Caroline observed, "The two of us in the same restaurant, each one at her own table. Why don't you come and join me?"

"Sorry, Caroline, I can't. I'm not here on my own."

"Oh, I see," she exclaimed. "You brought a colleague from the university to keep you company. Is she pretty?"

Without waiting for an answer she poked her head through the bead curtain to see who was in there. She withdrew her head immediately, saying, "Sorry, wrong booth."

Turning to me, she whispered, much louder than necessary, "There's a man in there! Didn't you tell me you weren't into men?"

Her acting skills surprised me. I had not expected her to play her part so convincingly.

"Jacqueline," came Ramon's voice from inside the booth, "Why don't you invite your friend to join us for dinner? There's always room for another person at our table." It sounded more like an order than an invitation.

Caroline winked at me as I lead her into the booth. I returned to my place and Caroline sat next to me, facing Ramon diagonally across the table. Their hands barely touched when I did the introductions. They greeted each other with the cool politeness that is normally reserved for strangers and enemies.

"Have you ordered yet, Mademoiselle?" Ramon inquired.

Caroline said she had only just arrived and Ramon called the waitress. Caroline asked, "Are you having the bulgogi?" We had no idea what we were going to eat, but the waitress confirmed that we were, indeed, going to have the bulgogi.

"In that case," Caroline told the waitress, "I'll have the same they have ordered. Just bring an extra portion of everything."

As soon as the waitress had left, Ramon turned towards Caroline. "Excuse me for being nosey, Mademoiselle, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. It seems that you know Jacqueline quite well."

"Oh, yes," Caroline said emphatically. "We've met regularly ever since she took me to _ Le Chambre Séparée _."

I could see Ramon flinch when Caroline mentioned the prime adult entertainment venue. He probably had already suspected that this wasn't a tea-and-biscuits friendship, but now he was certain.

"When was that?" he asked.

"October eighth of last year," Caroline answered. "And how long have you known her, Monsieur?"

"I've been dating Jacqueline since the fifth of July, that's almost a year ago."

I was stunned. These two people remembered the exact day when they first met me. And neither of them had to think hard to come up with the respective date. It dripped off their tongues without hesitation, like they might remember their mothers' birthday or the date of the storming of the Bastille. Did this mean I mattered to these two people, that my presence actually made a difference?

"Dating?" Caroline asked. "Does that mean you are ...," she hesitated for a moment, "... intimate?"

"Yes, it does," Ramon confirmed. "How about you?"

"Most certainly."

Caroline looked at me. "I can't tell you how mad I am at you, Jacqueline. You told me you weren't interested in men and gave me this story about having to visit your parents every weekend. And now it turns out that you've had a relationship even before we met. And it looks like your boyfriend didn't know about me either. It appears that you've been cheating on both of us. You ought to have your bottom thrashed until it turns purple!"

Obviously furious with me, Caroline turned to Ramon. "Will you spank her, Monsieur, or will you allow me to do it?"

"Seeing that my rights are of longer standing, I will make sure she'll get the punishment she deserves. I'm not a big fan of spanking or other forms of physical punishment, though. I believe there are better, more efficient means."

"May I be present when it happens, Monsieur?"

"That's part of my plan," Ramon promised. "By the way, there is no need to keep calling me 'Monsieur'. My name is Ramon."

"Caroline," Caroline said and held out her hand. As they shook hands this time, I could sense an electric spark, the exchange of erotic energy between them. They held the handshake for much longer than necessary, their eyes locked into each other, as if they wanted to erase their first, hostile, handshake.

"Ramon," Caroline repeated. She seemed to be thinking aloud. "That's not a very common name. You wouldn't be Ramon, the fashion designer?"

When Ramon confirmed that he was indeed the fashion designer, Caroline was ecstatic. "How exciting! I'm wearing one of your creations at this very moment."

Caroline unbuttoned her blouse and revealed a magnificent lacy bra. If the garment was intended to conceal the beauty of her full breasts, then it failed miserably to accomplish its task. The stiffness of her nipples betrayed Caroline's excitement.

When the waitress arrived carrying a tray laden with a multitude of small dishes, Caroline buttoned her blouse hastily. I could tell from Ramon's face that he had enjoyed Caroline's little show of exhibitionism and was sorry that she cut it short.

The waitress showed us how we could control the temperature of the grill and demonstrated how to cook the food to our liking. Caroline assured her that she was an old hand at Korean food and would show us the ropes.

"Well," Ramon said, "Let's enjoy our meal first. Then, I suggest, we all go to my apartment. There I will make love to my most beautiful customer, and afterwards I'll decide what measures to take to get this juvenile delinquent straightened out."

Caroline didn't say a word. She simply lowered her eyelids a little and bowed her head in agreement. I was sure that the wetness of her pussy was already seeping through her panties.

Ramon turned to me. "I'm just as mad at you as your friend, Jacqueline. Since I met you for the first time, I haven't touched any other woman. I felt I owed you this much respect. I want you to know that it hurt me deeply to find out that you did not find it necessary to exercise the same restraint. Tonight, you will watch me make love to your friend. This will be part of your punishment."

I ate my meal in silence, speaking only when either Ramon or Caroline addressed me, looking down on my plate, not daring to lift my head. The two, however, kept a lively conversation going, exchanging information about themselves, praising the quality of the food, talking about their favourite restaurants, music they liked, books they had read. They behaved exactly like two people on their first date.

I had been on an emotional roller coaster ever since Ramon invited Caroline to join us. There were so many conflicting messages, I didn't know what to expect. Ramon had spoken of his rights. Did this mean he had finally accepted his ownership of me?

The two had been talking about me in my presence without addressing me directly, something I used to hate as a child. It had always made me angry when adults passed judgement about me over my head: 'Jacqueline is a good pupil but she's a little too quiet. She needs to mix more with her classmates.' Now Ramon had commented on me like he was talking about a badly behaved child.

I noticed that Ramon hadn't asked Caroline if she wanted to go to bed with him, he had just told us he was going to make love to her. This was very similar to what happened when he met me the first time. Was he thinking of dumping me and putting Caroline in my place? But he had called me a 'juvenile delinquent'. That would indicate that he put my failings down to my immaturity. He had also talked about getting me straightened out. If he planned to dump me then there was no need to straighten me out. I took his comment as I sign that he planned to continue our relationship.

Caroline was playing her role magnificently. The way she had faked surprise when Ramon revealed his identity was worthy of an Oscar nomination. I had to admit that she deserved her prize, a night with Ramon. But what did he mean when he said there were more efficient means of punishment than spanking? What did he have in store for me?

Only once did their conversation return to me, or rather to the punishment I was going to receive. Caroline asked, "Why don't you approve of spanking as a form of punishment?"

"Our body has very sophisticated mechanisms to avoid or reduce pain. When a part of the body is beaten repeatedly over a long period, that part becomes insensitive to pain. Sometimes the body just learns to ignore the pain, sometimes the skin actually thickens. The calluses on labourer's hands are an example of this. The skin of Jacqueline's bottom - and I'm sure yours too - is as smooth and soft as that of sun-ripened peach. I don't want it to become like the rind of a lemon. That would be a crime against female beauty.

"That doesn't mean I would never spank Jacqueline, or let her feel the bite of a whip. I just don't consider spanking the first and most effective option.

"Jacqueline's bottom is not responsible for her sins - her mind is. She's allowed the desire for sexual pleasure to dominate her. Satisfying her lust has become more important than respecting the people who care for her. We have to re-educate her mind, teach her that she is paying too high a price, that sex without affection isn't worth disappointing those who love her."

On the way to the apartment I was relegated to the backseat while Caroline sat next to Ramon in the front. I noticed how eager she was to display her beautiful legs, but, just as on my first ride with Ramon, he didn't use the opportunity to feel her up.

As soon as we arrived in Ramon's apartment, he said, "Take of your clothes, Jacqueline."

I followed Ramon's instruction without hesitation. He brought a wastepaper basket from his studio and told me to put my clothes into it.

"This basket will stay here, in the entrance hall. From now on, you will remove all your clothes as soon as you arrive and only put them back on when you leave. You will remain naked as long as you are here. Only under special circumstances will you be permitted to cover yourself."

Ramon lead Caroline into the sitting room and told her to make herself at home while he was 'taking care' of me. He got a straight-backed chair without armrests from the kitchen and carried it to the raised platform. There he told me to sit down on the chair, facing the bed. From a bag in his wardrobe he produced several pieces of rope and tied my arms behind my back and then fastened them to the chair back. Then he made me spread my legs, pulled them back and tied each ankle to one of the hind legs of the chair. This left me in a position where I was unable to move and my breasts and pussy were pushed forward.

Ramon made sure I was immobilized, but took care not to interrupt the flow of blood to my hands and feet. I did not offer any resistance to his tying me up. How could I? He had finally started to give me orders and had talked about punishing me. This was what I had wanted for such a long time! Even though, I couldn't help feeling apprehensive about what he was planning to do to me. Ramon said, "I love you, Jacqueline. I'm doing this for your own good," and gave me a kiss on the mouth.

This demonstration of affection was much too short, much too fleeting. I wanted to follow his lips as they moved away from me but the ties kept me back. The ropes cutting into my wrists and arms as I tried to move forward brought it home to me that this wasn't a game of make-believe. I was tied up for real.

Having dealt with me, Ramon returned to the living area and apologized to Caroline for having left her on her own. I couldn't see them from where I was tied up, but I could hear every word they spoke. Ramon offered Caroline a drink but she declared she only wanted to drink the kisses from his lips. Nevertheless, she accepted a glass of Champagne to celebrate their lucky encounter. Caroline said, "Don't be too harsh on Jacqueline. If it wasn't for her, we might never have met."

There was a long silence - the kind of silence I associated with a tight embrace and a long passionate kiss - then they both came up the stairs towards the bed. They were both still fully dressed, only the top buttons of Caroline's blouse and Ramon's shirt were undone. It made me reflect on the fact that I had hardly ever made it up these stairs with any item of clothing still in place. I wondered why Ramon hadn't completely undressed Caroline before carrying her up the stairs. I soon realized what the reason was: he wanted me to watch them undress each other.

That was exactly what they did. They made a show of removing each other's clothes amidst showers of kisses and caresses. When Caroline was down to her underwear, Ramon stepped back and exclaimed, "This is frightening! I didn't know you when I designed this set, yet it looks as if it had been made especially for you."

Caroline blushed. "That's just a lucky coincidence. After all, women's bodies aren't that different from one another."

I had to admit that Caroline looked exceptionally sexy in her underwear. But then she always did. She probably knew that her body was just made to bring out the best in Ramon's creations - and Ramon's creations were made to enhance the beauty of her sensual body. That's why she had such a large collection of sexy lingerie and couldn't stop looking at herself in the mirror. My only regret was that today it wouldn't be me who would peel these lacy nothings off her.

When Caroline was completely naked, she helped Ramon shed his clothes and they started to caress each other in earnest. I heard Caroline gasp in anticipation when she saw Ramon's impressive cock, rock hard and ready for action.

To watch these two beautiful people make love was a magnificent spectacle. I saw Ramon's gentle but determined hands, which I had felt so many times on my body, caress Caroline. I saw her offering her proud, stiff nipples to his mouth and watched him accept the offer. I saw her long, slender legs wrap around his hips as he thrust his cock into her wet hole.

Ramon was absolutely spot on when he decided what the most cruel form of punishment for me would be. Oh, how I wanted to join the two on the bed, if only to lie next to Caroline and comfort her as I listened to her moans! How I wished that it were me lying on that bed, that it were my nipples being sucked, that it were my pussy being fucked. I would have accepted any role in their love play without hesitation. But I was condemned to remaining tied to the chair, unable to touch them or even myself.

I would have gladly accepted any other punishment, pain or humiliation. Nothing could be worse than being forced to watch the scenes which were unfolding before my eyes without anybody touching me, without being able to touch myself. The way I was tied up didn't even allow me to squeeze my thighs together to get some form of relief for my steaming hot pussy. I could feel my juices seep out of me, evidence of a desire that would not be satisfied.

Up till now, when I fantasized about being tied up, I always imagined it would happen to render me defenceless against attacks. Ironically, when it really happened, the purpose of the restraints was to make it impossible for me to pleasure myself.

Of course, nobody forced me to watch them. I could have closed my eyes and tried to erase what was happening in front of me from my mind. But how could I ignore the moans of desire, the gasps of surprise, the cries of approval? Even without seeing them, there was no way that my mind could think of anything but those two people making love in front of me.

Ramon was determined to make their pleasure and my torture last. Like on my first night with him, he fucked Caroline in every imaginable position. He licked her pussy, let her ride his cock, but he didn't come until Caroline was completely exhausted and begged him to come inside her.

-----

When I woke up I was still tied to the chair. My head was slumped forward, resting on my chest, my neck and limbs were aching from having been in the same position for a long time. The sunlight coming through the large window told me that the new day had started some time ago.

What woke me was the fact that Caroline had sprung back into action. She had opened her eyes dreamily and spotted Ramon's huge early-morning erection right in front of her. Seeing his tool and deciding to give him a blowjob were two steps that followed each other logically. She winked at me as she fed on the huge cock, taking it as deep as possible into her mouth, licking its head. Ramon was soon awake and retaliated, burying his head between Caroline's thighs. The morning silence was soon interrupted by Caroline's moans and shouts.

When Ramon's cock erupted, Caroline directed the stream of his cum against her face and breasts so that in the end her face and upper body were covered with splashes of Ramon's semen. As I watched them, I felt my excitement rise. Looking down between my legs, I could see that yesterday's juices had dried and formed a crust on my pussy and the seat of the chair. New juices were mixing with the remainder of the previous night's output.

Caroline passed me on the way to the bathroom, flashing her cum-splattered tits and face right in front of me. I would have loved to lick Ramon's semen off her, but she wouldn't even give me that small satisfaction. It was all going to go down the drain.

As Caroline was splashing around in the bathtub, Ramon appeared with a business card in one hand, trailing the telephone on its long extension cord in the other. I couldn't think of any reason why he would bring the telephone into the bedroom, except that he wanted me to listen. He looked at me briefly and dialled a number.

"Marquis de Sade? Good morning, Sir. I hope I haven't chosen an inconvenient time to contact you. My name is Ramon. We met some time ago at _ Le Chambre Séparée _ and you gave me your card, saying I could contact you if I needed any advice on how to discipline my girlfriend."

Ramon paused for a moment, apparently he had been interrupted by the man on the other end of the line.

"Slave? Well no, I wouldn't exactly call her my slave."

There was another moment of silence while Ramon listened to the Marquis. "Okay, let's not get hung up on words, let's say she is my slave."

Apparently the 'Marquis' asked Ramon another question. Ramon looked at me and said, "Yes, she is in the same room and can hear me."

There was another pause. Then Ramon said, "If you wish. Hang on a moment," and left the room, carrying the telephone with him.

I could hear Ramon talk in his private bedroom and sometimes pause to listen, but I could not make out what he was saying. I felt an enormous satisfaction that he had taken the step to call the 'Marquis'. Everything I had longed for seemed to be happening, but somehow it didn't quite happen the way I had imagined. When Michel punished Roxy, he spanked her, but afterwards he fucked her like an animal. And this wild sex made the pain worthwhile for Roxy. My punishment so far consisted of getting me excited but denying me any form of satisfaction.

After his phone call, Ramon went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Caroline joined him there after her bath. I could hear the two of them talk, but understood only a part of what they were saying. Particularly Ramon kept his voice down. Caroline's voice came through clearer, particularly when she got excited.

"You're going to interrogate her? You mean like the Spanish Inquisition? How exciting! Can I watch?" I heard her say.

That bitch seemed to derive pleasure from my predicament! With friends like this, who needs enemies? But I retracted my judgement of her when I heard her plead with Ramon to be lenient, to show his greatness by forgiving me. This time I could hear most of Ramon's reply. It wasn't a question of forgiving, he had done that a long time ago, it was a question of helping me.

So there would be an interrogation? The Spanish Inquisition? I didn't think Ramon was capable of physical violence against a defenceless female. And in any case, the night I spent tied up, unable to satisfy myself, had already been more torture than I was able to take. I was ready to tell him whatever he wanted to know, to confess everything without him laying a finger on me.

The two finished their breakfast amidst laughter and kisses. Then they joined me in the bedroom and sat down on the bed facing me. Caroline was now wearing one of Ramon's flannel shirts. How beautiful she looked! She hadn't bothered closing any of the buttons which left the shirt hang half open down her front. Her pussy was on display and her breasts were barely covered. Looking at her reminded me of the many hours I had spent making love to this ravishing creature.

Ramon, who had put on his kimono, addressed me. "It seems that I haven't been paying enough attention to your needs. I did not understand your cry for attention and therefore I carry a large part of the blame for what you did. Caroline told me a little about the things the two of you got up to, but I want to hear it from your own lips."

I knew this was going to be a long and difficult confession. The scheme that Caroline and I had devised did not allow her to denounce me of any crimes other than those involving herself. As far as Ramon was concerned, she hadn't even known of his existence until yesterday. It was left up to me to come clean about my other escapades.

I started by talking about my roommate Arlette. My report of our 'schoolgirl sex' did not upset Ramon, he found it quite natural that these things happen between two young women sharing a room. Next I talked about Claude, Arlette's boyfriend who had a crush on Caroline, and how I had agreed to serve as bait to attract Caroline into his net.

This part of my story was new to Caroline and she promptly called me a 'deceiving little bitch' for having played such a trick on her. I continued my story, talking about the evening at _ Le Chambre Séparée _, how I had misinterpreted Caroline's behaviour and left the night club deeply frustrated.

I was tempted to skip the episode with the beggar, but decided that I didn't want to start this new phase in our relationship with another batch of lies and half-truths. Ramon shook his head when I told him how I had paid the vagrant for eating my pussy. I concluded the report, telling Ramon how Caroline had contacted me to explain her behaviour, how we had felt a mutual attraction for each other and how we started an affair which consisted of weekly encounters for 'sex and salads' in Caroline's apartment.

"There's just one thing I don't understand," Ramon finally said. "Why didn't you tell me about this when it happened? Didn't you trust me enough? Did you think I wouldn't understand?"

"I thought you'd get upset if I told you I had sex with someone else, and I didn't want to hurt you. Also, I felt guilty about my insatiable appetite for sex. I didn't want you to get a bad opinion of me."

"But it's exactly because you're insatiable that I like you so much!" Ramon laughed. "Don't you know that?"

Ramon pondered for a moment. "There's something else I don't understand. How did you get into _ Le Chambre Séparée _ at such short notice?"

"I asked Michel to let us use his VIP box."

"Michel? But you hardly know him!"

I realized that the time had come to confess some more misdemeanours, including the one which had shocked Caroline so much that she found it appropriate to call me a slut. But rather than letting Ramon extract the truth piece by piece asking questions, I decided to tell him everything.

"I know him better than you think, but that's a long story," I started my narration. I talked about my desire to make my rear available to Ramon, my decision to ask Roxy for advice, her anal training course and my subsequent punishment.

"You let Michel spank your bare bottom?" Ramon interrupted my flow.

"Spank and belt," I confirmed. "He already spanked me once, when we went there together, remember? So it wasn't all that new to me."

"And you felt that he knew your bare bottom so well that you could ask him for a favour?"

There was some irritation in Ramon's voice. I felt inclined to stop my confession right there and omit the worst part. But my desire to clear my conscience once and for all made me say, "Yes, but he charged for it."

"He charged for it? How?"

I could see the apprehension in Ramon's face. Seeing how much this was going to hurt him made it even more difficult for me.

"I had to agree to let him spank me. One hundred swats with his hand and another hundred with his belt."

Ramon was aghast. "One hundred with his belt! Didn't that hurt?"

"It did. But it also turned me on. In the end I was so hot, I begged him to fuck me. And he did."

Ramon looked like he had been struck by lightning. Caroline put her arm around his shoulders to comfort him.

"Don't you know that Michel is my business partner? Of course, you do. How could you make him fuck you? How can I ever face him again on an equal footing, after I know that he's fucked my girlfriend?"

"You could fuck Roxy. I'm sure she'd enjoy it."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew this had been the wrong answer. If Ramon hadn't been angry before, now he was.

"Why? To match your foolishness? I'm not attracted to her. At least not enough to want to sleep with her. I don't just stick my cock into any woman just because I'm horny! With you, it seems that any cock will do when you're in heat."

There was a long silence. "Your problem is much bigger than I had imagined," Ramon said eventually. "It will take a lot of hard work to get you back on the right track."

Ramon got up from the bed and said that he had to go out to buy a few things. In the meantime Caroline would look after me. He gave her strict instructions not to allow me to touch myself. I was to be denied any sexual satisfaction until further notice.

After Ramon had left, Caroline went into the kitchen to get my breakfast. She spoon-fed me some fruit, gave me coffee to drink and cut everything else into small pieces which she put one by one into my mouth. She ignored my suggestion to untie me, at least one hand, to save her some work. Whenever something dropped and landed on my breasts, she licked it off me. Maybe she considered this a friendly gesture, but for me it was sheer hell. It increased my excitement without giving me any hope for relief. Possibly, this was exactly what she wanted to achieve.

One piece of croissant dropped down all the way and landed on one of my thighs. After she had lapped it up, Caroline exclaimed, "Shii, Jacqueline, your pussy smells of rotten fish."

That was the most embarrassing thing anybody had ever said to me in my entire life! I could feel myself blush. I have always paid great attention to my personal hygiene, particular my pussy. But as I had been leaking juices since the previous night and hadn't had an opportunity to clean myself, she was probably right. I didn't want Ramon to notice the repulsive state of my body, and begged Caroline to let me have a bath.

Caroline hesitated. She could understand that I wanted to wash, but she was under strict orders not to let me touch myself. She made me promise that I wouldn't use the opportunity for getting myself off. It wasn't easy for me to make this promise, but I intended to keep my word. Caroline finally agreed but said she would keep my hands tied together and would take care of washing my intimate parts so that I wouldn't be tempted to do more than just clean myself.

When she untied me, I noticed that my limbs, particularly my legs had gone completely numb. Caroline had to massage my legs before I was able to get up from the chair and stand on my own feet. She left my hands tied together behind my back when she lead me to the bathroom.

We did not talk much during all this time. Although Ramon hadn't said anything about this aspect, I felt that part of my punishment was that I had to remain silent and speak only when I was spoken to. I only broke this rule when I begged Caroline to untie me or to give me a chance to satisfy my lust.

At one point, Caroline asked me, "Are you happy now?"

"Happy, yes, but also very frightened," I replied. "Ramon seemed very upset. What do you think he's going to do to me?"

"I don't know," Caroline replied. And after a while she said, "Well, I don't know everything and I'm not allowed to tell you what I know. But I know that Ramon loves you, and so do I. We're not going to hurt you."

I noticed that she had said 'we'. Did she consider herself part-owner of me? Was she going to play an active role in my punishment? Thinking about it, I didn't find this possibility all that surprising. She had on occasions betrayed a dominant streak, more than Ramon ever had. She probably enjoyed seeing me suffer when I had to watch the two of them make love without being able to satisfy myself.

Caroline agreed to let me use the toilet first. She kept a close watch to make sure I didn't try to do anything other than taking care of my necessities. I felt like a prisoner in a high security ward, but, I thought, even they enjoy some privacy when they use the toilet. With my hands tied behind my back I was barely able to wipe myself, but Caroline just said, "Don't worry, it will all come out under the shower."

Caroline took off Ramon's shirt as she lead me into the booth. She briefly untied my hands, only to tie them to the water pipe which fed the shower, raised high above my head. Caroline covered my whole body with a rich, soapy lather and then cleaned me with a large, soft sponge. She was particularly careful when she passed the sponge between my legs, not giving me any chance to satisfy my urge. Her soft touch on my skin was delight and torture at the same time. I begged her to rub me just a little harder, to make me climax, but she was determined to obey Ramon's instructions, no matter what compensation I offered her.

There was more torture when she lead me out of the shower booth and dried me thoroughly with fluffy towels. The soft material rubbing against my skin made me swoon with desire but all pleas for relief remained unanswered. When I was dry, Caroline took me back to the chair and tied me to it, exactly like I had been tied up before.

Chapter 17

[My Life as a Cunt]

Ramon returned carrying a number of bags; some of them seemed quite heavy. "Has she eaten?" he asked Caroline.

"Like a prisoner on death row," Caroline answered. She always had had a strange sense of humour.

"Has she used the toilet?"

"Yes. She's well-fed, cleaned and dried."

Ramon bent over me and kissed my lips. "I love you, Jacqueline," he said tenderly.

He sat down on the bed in front of me and looked into my eyes. I could tell that it was not easy for him to say what he was about to say.

"When I saw you for the first time in that disco in Villiers, I knew that I wanted you. I wanted you for myself. I did not want to share you with anybody else. I was jealous of all the boys who danced with you and tried to feel you up, slipping their hands into your blouse, under your skirt. Watching you, I concluded that you had an enormous appetite for sex and that you were looking for adventure. You seemed to be keen on experiencing something new, different from the run-of-the-mill sex those boys had to offer. That's when I decided to conquer you.

"I felt like a teenager on his first date. I wanted to please you, impress you, make you forget that there were other men in this world. I wanted to be the one and only man for you. But I overdid it. I hurt you. I had to take you to a doctor to check how much damage I had done. You can't imagine how relieved I was when she found that you were basically okay. I hoped to God that you'd forgive me, that my overwhelming passion wouldn't push you away. I was overjoyed when you agreed to see me again.

"I wanted to talk to you about the love I felt for you, but you didn't admit that word. You said it had been overused, become meaningless. I agree that a lot of people say 'I love you' without meaning it, but does that mean I can't talk about my true feelings? What should I do? Should I stop loving you because the words to declare one's love have been misused? I won't stop wearing trousers, just because there are a lot of idiots wearing them.

"My problem is that I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy, but I'm trying to hide it. Having grown up in Argentina probably doesn't help. I'm the kind of man who worships a woman, particularly one as beautiful as you. A man who will do everything to please her, but who is also extremely possessive. In your case, I didn't want you to return to Villiers, ever. I wanted to lock you into my apartment and never let you go.

"But this kind of attitude is considered seriously uncool these days. I wanted to be cool. I gave you all the freedom and independence you needed - at least that's what I thought. I wanted you to choose me out of your own free will, not because you were afraid of my jealousy. It wasn't easy, but my agony was rewarded when you kept coming back, when you agreed to spend the weekends with me. The weekends were heaven on earth for me, but the rest of the week was sheer hell. When you moved to Paris, I insisted on letting you live your own, independent life, even though the Neanderthal macho in me wanted to lock you up, keep all other men from seeing your beauty.

"I never asked what you got up to during the week, because I was worried I might not like what I'd hear. I didn't want to nourish my jealousy. I didn't want you to know how the thought of you meeting and getting to like another man tortured me.

"When you started to talk about wanting to belong to me, I was shocked. Your idea of belonging to someone went much further than my most possessive impulses. And when you said I could let other men use you, I concluded that you didn't mean it, you couldn't possibly understand what you were suggesting. I stage-managed the gang bang with Rui and Pablo because I assumed you would hate such indiscriminate sex, such senseless fucking. I wanted to give you a chance to realize that this dream in which you were used by many men was really a nightmare. I expected you to tell them - us - to stop, to leave you in peace, to respect your dignity.

"But you seemed to enjoy being used like an object by three men. Or maybe you accepted what we did to you out of some sense of obligation towards me. I don't know if I'll ever solve this puzzle.

"What I know for sure is that the experience didn't put you off. You continued to say that you wanted to belong to me, that you wanted me to own you like a slave. The idea never appealed to me. My freedom is very important to me and I couldn't understand that anybody would want to give up their freedom out of their own free will. Sometimes, I had the impression that you would be much better served by the Neanderthal macho in me, the one I am trying to suppress.

"It appears that you haven't been very serious about this yourself. You want to be my slave on the weekend and do as you damn well please the rest of the time. Slaves don't go around having sex with other people, at least not without the approval of their master. Slaves don't keep their trespasses secret to avoid their master's disapproval.

"Since I met you, I've only once made love to another woman. That was when you introduced me to Lola. Going to bed with you and Lola at the same time was the happiest experience of my life. Not only because Lola is an exceptionally beautiful and sexy woman, but also because I could see how much the two of you enjoyed each other's company and I could feel what a thrill it was for you to watch me make love to her.

"By some lucky coincidence, I have met Caroline, the woman with whom you maintained an intimate relationship for months. Caroline is a wonderful, warm, sensual woman who has agreed to help me get you back on the right track. I hope that one day the three of us will find the kind of happiness we experienced when Lola shared our bed.

"I understand now that your wish to be my slave was a cry for help, that you were afraid to lose control and wanted me to take responsibility for you. Since I ignored your pleas I'm as much to blame for what happened as you are. But I don't want to talk about blame, I want to talk about putting things right. I want to talk about the purification process that will help you recover your dignity and win back my love and trust.

"Caroline and I have talked about what to do with you. We have decided to accept you as our mutual slave, and have already discussed some ideas on how to tame you. I have also contacted an expert who calls himself 'Marquis de Sade' - I understand you have already talked to him."

Apparently, the 'Marquis' had not found it necessary to keep quiet about my visit. I suppose his confidentiality only applied to his 'Master' clients, not to potential slaves.

"You have allowed your pussy to take control of your life. Your urge to experience sexual pleasures dominates your mind and makes you hurt those who love you most. You may argue that some of the things you did had the ultimate purpose to serve me, but if you are honest you will admit that the true reason behind your actions was the desire to experience as many different forms of sex as possible.

"You have become your pussy's servant, or, to put it more bluntly, you have reduced yourself to a cunt. To reflect this, you will be called 'Cunt' from now on. You will tell everybody who asks for your name, 'My name is Cunt' or if you prefer, 'I'm a cunt'. And as we are on the subject of names: from now on, you will address me as 'Master' and Caroline as 'Mistress'. You will obey any order Caroline or I give you."

In all the time I had known Ramon, he had never talked this much. His speech showed me how much my behaviour had disappointed him. But it also made it clear that he wasn't putting all the blame on me. He hadn't given me up as a lost case. Instead he wanted to help me to get my insatiable appetite for sex under control. And the hint that he and Caroline may let me share their bed at some time in the future gave me hope, a target I could aim for.

While Ramon was talking to me, Caroline had been busy unpacking the bags he had brought home. I could hear the noise of furniture being moved around in the studio, but had no idea what exactly she was doing. After his talk Ramon untied me and lead me to the adjoining space. There, I saw that Caroline had moved Ramon's drawing table out of the way to make room for a large plastic sheet she had spread out on the floor. A few cushions had been put on the floor and were also covered by the sheet.

Ramon told me to lie on the sheet and arranged the cushions so that my bottom and thighs rested on them. Then the two tied my hands to legs of the table which had been moved out of the way. The ropes allowed me some freedom of movement, but I wasn't able to touch any part of my body. Ramon also fixed a spreader bar between my legs, just above my knees. This bar did not allow me to close my legs or move them further apart.

I had no idea what all these preparations were for. They were obviously aiming to get my pussy into a certain position, but it didn't seem likely that Ramon was going to fuck me with the spreader bar fixed between my legs. I came to the conclusion that they were going to shave my pussy. This idea was reinforced when Caroline applied a clear liquid - probably just plain water - to my pussy and the surrounding area, using a soft brush. The touch of the brush on my pussy lips reawakened my desire. With difficulties, I raised my hips to intensify the contact, but it all happened too frustratingly quickly.

I saw Ramon arrive with a large plastic bowl. But the white paste in the bowl did not look like shaving foam and felt much heavier when the first dollop landed on my skin. Was this cement? Were they going to close my pussy to keep me from offering it to everybody? I panicked. "No, please," I cried as I struggled against my ties. "Don't make me give up sex for the rest of my life!"

"Keep quiet, Cunt, nobody's going to do you any harm" Ramon barked. "If you don't stay still we'll have to do the whole thing again. It will only make your ordeal last longer. We're going to take a plaster cast of your cunt. This will be used to produce a life-size effigy which you will hang on the wall of your room."

Ramon's explanation reassured me somewhat and I decided to remain calm and let him proceed without interference. I could feel the cool paste on my skin, like a very fine mud. Some of it seeped inside me and I wondered if they really would be able to free the passage once the plaster had dried.

When he was sure he had enough of me covered with plaster to produce a usable cast, Ramon told me that I had to remain motionless for two hours to allow the plaster to dry completely.

Ramon and Caroline left me lying on the floor on my own. I could hear them talk and sometimes laugh. I assumed that they were lying on the large bed, but it didn't sound like they were making love. They were probably just fondling each other while they whispered sweet nothings into each other's ears. I would have loved to be with them, sharing in their caresses and declarations of love. But my role had changed drastically. I was their slave now - by my own request.

I had begged Ramon to make me suffer and asked Caroline to help me convince him that that was what I wanted. I expected to get satisfaction from suffering. But the two had decided that the best way of making me suffer was to deny me any satisfaction.

After some time had passed Ramon came to check whether the plaster had dried. I heard him make a phone call and a little later a man arrived to remove the plaster. He grinned when he saw me tied up on the floor. "That's going to be a masterpiece," he said to Ramon. "I'd love to take a cast of her entire body."

"Maybe another time," Ramon answered. "For now, I just want a sculpture of her cunt."

The man removed the hardened plaster very slowly, taking great care not to break the mould. Some of my pubic hair had got trapped in the plaster and I winced as he pulled it out with the cast.

As soon as the man had left, Caroline appeared, naked and hugged Ramon. "From what Jacqueline told us yesterday, I gather that you like sticking your cock into young ladies' asses." She allowed Ramon to kiss her fleetingly. "How do you like this one?" she asked as she turned around and bent down to display her ass to him. She had already applied copious amounts of jelly to her hole and was ready for penetration.

Ramon hugged her from behind and fondled her breasts. "What about her? Shall we leave her here?"

"No. Let's take her back to the chair so she can watch."

They removed the spreader bar, lifted me up from the floor and walked me back to the chair, where Ramon tied me up as he had done the previous evening. I spent the rest of the day and evening tied to the chair, watching my masters make love. What an exciting sight it was to see Caroline take Ramon's full length in her ass! My pussy creamed and screamed for attention, but I knew that it wasn't going to get any.

Some time the next day - I had lost the notion of time, but I remember that it was after my breakfast and bath - the man who had taken the plaster cast returned with a box under his arm. "Ah, the model herself," he said when he saw me sitting there, tied to the chair.

"Her name is Cunt," Ramon replied.

The man showed Ramon the finished sculpture and both Ramon and Caroline nodded approvingly.

The man got another, smaller box from his jacket. "And here, as you requested, is the pendant. I made it in stainless steel, as specified."

He took a pendant on a silver chain from the box. The pendant was about the size of a one-euro coin, large enough not to go unnoticed. Ramon looked at it briefly and then handed it to Caroline who inspected it carefully.

"Excellent," Ramon eventually said. "That's exactly what I wanted." He thanked the man as he lead him to the door.

"My pleasure," the man said with a wink. "If you need anything else, just give me a call."

Ramon approached me and showed me the sculpture. It was set inside a glass box and left no doubt that it was the faithful representation of a pussy. I was amazed how clearly discernible everything was. I could even identify the curls of pubic hair covering my mound. The pussy lips were slightly parted and the inner lips were visible. One could say, this was a pussy waiting to be fucked.

"This is your cunt, Cunt," he said as he put the medallion around my neck. I could see that it contained a reduced-size representation of the same pussy, set in relief.

"From now on, you will wear this tag at all times. You may only take it off when you take a bath and when you go to sleep. You will hang this sculpture on the wall of your room or place it somewhere else where it is clearly visible. When people ask you about the sculpture or the pendant you will tell them that this is your cunt. You will explain to them that the purpose of these representations is to remind you and others that you're nothing but a cunt. You will reward those who have taken the trouble to show interest in you by either sucking their cock or eating their pussy until they climax.

"They will be astonished about the offer, reluctant to accept. You will insist. The words you will use are 'Sir - or Madam - my oral service is an offering from my master. Please do not refuse or my master will punish me.' You will report daily by phone how many cocks you've sucked and how many pussies you've eaten. You will also report how many people have refused your service.

"I have set a target for the number of oral services you have to perform before your purification goes on to its next stage. You will only know this number when you have reached it. However, you should be aware that for each refusal the number increases by ten. Disobeying our orders, particularly masturbating without permission, will also result in an increase of your target.

"Throughout your purification you will not expose your cunt, your ass or your tits to anybody other than your master and mistress."

-----

The first one to ask about the sculpture was - not surprisingly - Arlette. She returned shortly after I had arrived in our room from a weekend excursion with her latest boyfriend. When I told her that she was entitled to have her pussy licked by me she said, "Thanks, I've had enough excitement over the last two days. Maybe another time."

I insisted. I told her why I couldn't take no for an answer.

"Your master? Is this some new game he invented? Tired of unwrapping his girlie-present, is he? Well, alright then, I don't want to be responsible for your getting punished."

I wanted to make this a memorable event for her. I wanted her to come back and ask for more. It would help me to reach my unknown target. It would be better to lick her in the privacy of our room, rather than satisfying complete strangers. It seems that I achieved what I wanted: not only did she ask for more, almost on a daily basis, always wondering how long her good fortune would last, she also spread the word amongst the large group of female students she knew.

When I went to attend the lectures on my schedule the next day, the unusual pendant with the clearly identifiable motif attracted a lot of attention. Initially, I found that male students were less inclined to ask me about the medallion. But when the few who did ask mentioned the reward they had received for their interest to the others, the number of male students approaching me increased. I managed to find an unused storage room on the lower ground floor where I serviced most of the men. My female customers were more particular about where they wanted to be serviced, and most of them requested that I pleasure them in their rooms.

When the appointed time for phoning through the first day's score arrived, I had licked eighteen pussies and sucked twelve cocks. But there had also been two refusals. Two girls had mistaken the effigy of my pussy as the emblem of some esoteric sect dedicated to female fertility and asked me about it. When I told them the real significance and told them about the reward they had earned themselves, they took flight. They disappeared so quickly, I didn't even have a chance to reiterate my offer. Losing these two meant that, although I had spent most of the day sucking dicks and licking pussies, I had only reduced my unknown target by ten.

-----

"And how many times did you frig yourself off last night?"

Caroline had answered the phone and taken down my progress report. Now she stated my offence matter-of-factly, as if she had been present. How did she know? Well, she knew because she knows me. She knew I didn't have the iron willpower to refrain from making myself come. Not after having spent the whole weekend watching her and Ramon get their rocks off. I had indeed fingered myself into oblivion.

"Five times," I said, feeling like I had been caught with my hands in the cookie jar.

"That adds fifty to your target," Caroline said coldly. "Your score after the first day is target plus forty."

Target plus forty! This way I had no hope of ever reaching the target, regardless of what it was. I couldn't afford to disobey my masters. If they didn't want me to satisfy myself then I would have to learn to exercise control. Ramon had talked about breaking my rebellious spirit. This was one way of getting me to rein in my lust. And I would have to do whatever possible to avoid any further refusals.

Over the next days, sucking cocks and eating pussies became part of my daily routine. The number of men which asked about my pendant increased whereas the number of women remained fairly constant. Those men I had already serviced came back regularly for their daily blowjob, but they also passed the information about this compulsive cock-sucker to others, many of whom thought at first that this was some kind of hoax. At times there were queues forming outside the storage room where I performed my lewd act; I became worried that somebody might start to ask questions about the strange goings-on on the lower ground floor.

As the daily numbers increased and I started to make some progress towards the unknown target - I reached target minus thirty on the third day - I started to feel uneasy about what I was doing. During the first couple of days, I had found it exciting to suck off complete strangers - men I had never met before and I wouldn't recognize if I met them again. It allowed me to delve into the 'slut' part of my personality, to perform the most sordid acts without remorse. At times I almost considered this task a reward rather than a punishment.

But the novelty wore off very quickly. I soon realized that for those people I was just a mouth which brought them to a climax and swallowed their semen. Or a tongue which licked them until they climaxed. My mouth had turned into a receptacle for cum, my tongue into an instrument for inducing orgasm.

I felt filthy, cheap, disgusting, humiliated. I felt no attraction for those people and performing a sexual act on them did not give me any satisfaction. I started to realize why Ramon had called it 'purification'. While my body - specifically my mouth - was inundated with other people's body fluids, my mind managed to rise above the morass and I started to realize that there was no gratification in this indiscriminate casual sex.

I also started to realize that nobody forced me to do what I did. The only reason to carry on was the hope that it would help me to win back Ramon's love and trust.

Ramon was clearly pleased when I told him what I had learned, but he gave no indication that this would change his orders in any way or reduce the target he had set me.

One thing that worried me was the approaching summer break. Most of the students would leave, either to see their parents or to travel to some sunny shore. It would drastically reduce the number of people asking me about my pendant. My own routine would also change. I would no longer spend most of my time within the confines of the university as I presently did. I assumed that people I met casually outside the university were less likely to ask about my unusual piece of jewellery, and I was apprehensive about how those who did ask would react when I offered to suck their cocks or eat their pussies. I feared that the number of refusals might go up.

A few days before end of term, when I phoned giving my progress report, Ramon told me to submit the following day's results in person, at the apartment. I didn't know what significance this order had, but hoped it was a positive sign. In any case, I was pleased about the opportunity to see him again. It had been more than three weeks since my purification began.

The wastepaper basket in the entrance hall reminded me of the rule to take off all clothes. I briefly wondered whether this included removing the pendant but decided to keep it on as a confirmation that I was following the instruction to wear it at all times. While I was pondering, Caroline's voice came from the kitchen.

"You're early, darling. Dinner won't be ready for another twenty minutes. And don't come into the kitchen or it will never get ready."

"It's not Ramon, it's me."

Caroline came out of the kitchen, a small knife in her hand, wearing only a T-shirt and nothing else. Her beautiful breasts swung freely under the thin textile and her pussy peaked below the hem of the T-shirt. How beautiful she looked! Seeing her made me feel happy. I felt like I hadn't set eyes on her for a very long time. It suddenly occurred to me that today was Wednesday, the day we used to get together for 'sex and salads'. It all seemed such a long time ago!

Caroline had a surprised look on her face. But she also appeared to be pleased to see me. She even forgot about our respective roles.

"Hi, Jacqueline, how are you?"

"My name is Cunt," I reminded her. "Ramon told me to report today's numbers in person. I'm sorry if I came at an inconvenient time."

"Oh yes, I forgot." Caroline let her eyes roam over my naked body. She seemed to remember that she was my mistress and I was her slave; that she could order me to do whatever she wanted and I would have to fulfil her desire. Her eyes caught the little silver chain with the pendant hanging around my neck.

"That's an interesting piece of jewellery you're wearing," she finally said. "Where did you get it?"

"It's my cunt. My master gave it to me, to wear at all times, to remind me and others that I'm nothing but a cunt."

The well-worn explanation took on a new significance. Maybe for the first time it sounded genuine. The next step would be to offer the questioner my oral service. But Caroline was my mistress. Could I dare to offer to lick her pussy?

"Thank you for your kind interest in this humble cunt, Madam. As a small reward, may I offer to pleasure you with my mouth?"

"I'd like that very much," Caroline replied with a smile. "I've been missing your golden tongue."

Caroline disposed of the knife in her hand before she wrapped me in her arms and covered my face with kisses. Then she lifted me up and carried me through the sitting area, up the stairs to the raised platform where she dropped me unceremoniously onto the bed. Within seconds her T-shirt lay discarded on the floor and she had joined me on the bed. This wasn't exactly what I had imagined a mistress-slave relationship to be like.

"I want your mouth all over my body, but particularly down there."

I didn't need to follow her pointing finger; I knew exactly where 'down there' was. The fact that I had spent the last three weeks or so licking dozens of pussies and sucking even more cocks was completely forgotten. My mouth lusted for this woman's body as if it hadn't touched another person for months. I had to force myself to slow down. My tongue wanted to plunge straight into the centre of her sex, but my brain told it to start slow and gently.

I kissed the nape of her neck, let my tongue play with her earlobes, then make its way gradually down to her full breasts. Her nipples stood to attention, awaiting my eager lips, my tongue, my teeth. Oh, how I enjoyed the taste of these delicious morsels, how pleased I was to hear Caroline shout her approval. By the time I reached her sex it was dripping wet - as was my own - and Caroline's head was rocking uncontrollably from side to side. She came as my tongue made the first contact with her clit. I had intended to present her with many more orgasms, but my performance was cut short when Ramon announced that dinner was ready - and that he was starving.

Neither of us had heard Ramon come into the apartment. One brief look at the two naked women on the bed told him that if he wanted dinner he would have to prepare it himself. He finished what Caroline had started and then called her to join him. He barely acknowledged my presence.

"May I bring my slave to have dinner with us?" Caroline asked, still breathing heavily, as she put on her T-shirt.

"You may. But remember, the place for dogs and slaves is under the table."

Caroline turned to me. "That reminds me. I bought you a little something," she said before she disappeared.

I hadn't thought that it was part of a mistress's role to buy presents for her slave, but any doubts were soon dispersed when she showed me the 'little something' she had bought for me: a dog collar and a leash.

"To make you feel less naked," she said as she put the red leather collar around my neck. She lead me to the floor-to-ceiling mirror so I could see myself.

"It looks pretty, doesn't it." I had to admit that it did indeed look very attractive. At a cursory look it could be mistaken for a choker, but it suggested a certain restraint, an element of bondage. If anything, it emphasised my nakedness rather than diminishing it.

"I've asked your master and he's agreed that you can wear it even when you're supposed to be naked. We'll keep it near your basket in the entrance hall so you can put it on when you arrive." She attached the leash to the collar and lead me to the dining area where I crouched under the table. She hadn't actually ordered me to wear the collar but I was sure that from now on I would put it on whenever I visited the apartment, as a sign of my obedience.

Throughout the meal, Caroline fed me small pieces of food which I would lap up eagerly. At first she just put her hand under the table for me to get the food. Then she had the idea of inserting the morsels between her pussy lips and letting me retrieve them from there. This turned my meal a lot more exciting than eating from a boring plate.

I guess that Caroline, too, found the meal which took place under the table much more interesting than the one which happened on top of it. It seems that the sensation of my mouth on her pussy made her a little careless about what she put down there. When she fed me a chunk of meat that was heavily seasoned with chilli, she shrieked. "Ai, that burns! Get it out of me, quick!"

I did my best to remove all traces of the meat and any sauce that had been clinging to it from her pussy. I could taste the heat of the spices in my mouth and imagined how it must have stung the tender flesh of her pussy. The experience made her take greater care when she selected what she would place in her slit for me, but she didn't stop. The reward for her good deed was too tempting.

When Ramon and Caroline had finished their meal, Caroline disappeared into the kitchen. I expected that Ramon would finally ask me about my progress report. When he did not mention it, I decided to bring up the subject. He cut me off in mid sentence and said, "That can wait."

"There's something else I wanted to ask you. What is that strange pendant you're wearing?"

My heart almost stood still. Did he just want to test me, check that I was following his instructions to the letter, or did he really want me to suck his cock?

I gave him the explanation I had been instructed to give and then offered to suck his cock, stressing that I would be thrilled if he accepted this little token of my gratitude.

I could hear my heart beat loud as I waited for his answer. Would he refuse, just to make my life more miserable? I was overjoyed when he dropped his trousers as a sign of his acceptance. This was the best thing to happen to me for a long time, it was even better than having been allowed to lick Caroline's pussy.

Oh, what a pleasure it was to firm my lips around his shaft, to feel him grow and get hard in my mouth, to hear him moan as a result of my efforts. Never before had I worshipped a cock as much as I did that evening. I pulled out all the stops as I licked, sucked, blew this beautiful instrument. Ramon's attempt to appear cool and unaffected stood no chance. Soon he was moaning, asking for more; his hands held onto my head to make sure I wouldn't let go of his throbbing cock as he pushed it deeper and deeper into my mouth.

I got more satisfaction from this rod in my mouth than from all the cocks I had sucked over the last three weeks put together. My master wanted me to suck his cock. It pleased him to see me gag as he thrust his tool into my throat. It pleased him to flood my mouth with his semen. What else could a humble slave wish for?

To be honest, I wished for a lot more. But I knew that the hurt I had caused him was still too fresh to expect any more from him. I wanted him to plunge his cock into my pussy, penetrate my ass, but I knew that it would take time and obedience for me to earn such favours.

Eventually, after he had wiped his softening cock on my face, leaving traces of his cum and my saliva on my cheeks, my chin, and my forehead, and forbidding me to remove those traces until I got home, Ramon told me why he hadn't been interested in today's numbers.

"You reached your target yesterday," he told me. "That's why I called you here. The first part of your purification is over. You don't need to wear the pendant any longer and you can hide the sculpture of your cunt. If anybody continues to ask about the pendant, just ask 'what pendant?' as if it never existed. The second phase starts tomorrow. Today is a rest day."

He handed me a slip of paper with an address and told me to be there at 6 pm the following day.

"You may not see me when you get there. In that case just wait. If you do see me, do not approach me, do not interrupt what I'm doing. I will come to meet you."

Ramon gave me very detailed instructions on what to wear. Then he told me to go home and enjoy my rest day.

-----

I woke up in the middle of the night, my pussy soaking wet and my hand buried deep in my crotch. Fragments of a dream I just had were still floating through my mind. In the dream I had been lying on a rough wooden floor, naked, my upper arms and thighs pinned down by metal cuffs which were fastened to the floorboards. I was unable to move. Between my spread legs stood a large dog, an Alsatian, wearing the dog collar Caroline had given me.

I had woken up when the dog in my dream started to lick my pussy. It seems that in my sleep I had been fingering myself to a very satisfying orgasm. The large, soft tongue I had imagined sliding along my pussy lips was in fact my own hand and the wetness didn't come from the dog's tongue but from my own juices.

I was dazed. For a while I lay still without moving. Obviously, my re-encounter with Caroline and Ramon and the fact that both of them had allowed me to pleasure them orally, had raised my lust level which had been somewhat subdued recently. And this increased sexual energy had found its outlet in my dream.

But why had I dreamt of a dog? Surely the fact that Caroline had made me wear a dog collar wasn't enough reason to make me fantasize about being licked by a dog? Had my pent-up lust, the result of almost four weeks of enforced abstinence, become so strong that I got turned on by thinking about such a perverted act? Even my free spirit which did not know any sexual taboos could not accept the idea of having sex with animals. Had I turned into a pervert?

I calmed myself by reminding me that I hadn't actually let any dog near my pussy. I had just dreamt about it, and I couldn't be held responsible for my dreams. I had no control over them.

What should I do now? I had made myself come during my sleep. That was a punishable offence, wasn't it? Ramon had declared the day a rest day between two phases of my purification, but he hadn't stated that I was allowed to satisfy myself. On the other hand, there was no penalty fixed anymore for disobeying his orders. It wouldn't increase my target by ten, because that phase had been completed; I had already exceeded my target. Ramon would have to set a new penalty if he found out. I decided to risk it and give my pussy the satisfaction it longed for.

As I let my fingers roam all over my pussy, I thought of Ramon. I recalled the sensation of him fucking my pussy, my ass, him sucking my nipples, licking my pussy. I thought of Caroline, of Lola, of Sylvie and Mirabelle, of Pablo and Rui, of Charlotte, even of the beggar whose name I didn't know. I also tried to remember the people I had satisfied during the first phase of my purification, but they were just pussies or cocks without faces, without names. I did not feel any remorse as I visualised scenes of mindless sex. Maybe it was true. Maybe I really was just a cunt that wanted nothing more than be fucked.

-----

When I woke up the next morning, Arlette was already up and about. I wasn't in a hurry to get up; it was Thursday, the day when I had nothing scheduled during the morning. Without looking at me, Arlette said, "I may have asked you this before, but I'm still intrigued about the significance of that pendant you're wearing."

Arlette had been asking me the same question, almost every day, usually first thing in the morning.

"What pendant?" I asked.

"The one around your neck, dear."

"I'm not wearing any."

Arlette looked at me and noticed that, in fact, the chain with the pendant around my neck was no longer there. "Alright, I rephrase my question: What's the meaning of this sculpture over your desk."

"What sculpture?"

My question made her check. She didn't see the sculpture over my desk, nor anywhere else in the room.

"What happened? You're no longer his slave? You're no longer a cunt?" There was some disappointment coming through in her voice.

"I'm still his slave. I'm still a cunt." It made me think of the conclusion I had reached during the night as I was masturbating. "It's just that phase one of my training terminated yesterday."

"Yesterday! You wouldn't want to grant an old friend and roommate a small extension?" Arlette lay back on her bed and spread her legs suggestively.

I told her that I wasn't authorized to grant any extensions.

"That's a real pity," she said, still sounding a little disappointed. "Just as I was getting used to my early morning orgasm."

After a while Arlette picked up the conversation. "Now I understand! It seems that you celebrated the end of phase one in style last night. You sounded like you had several men hidden under your bed sheet."

I blushed without really knowing why, but didn't offer any explanation.

"So, after phase one comes phase two, right? When does it start and what charitable acts are you going to perform next?"

"It starts tonight, but I don't know what it involves. I'll let you know as soon as I find out - if you're interested, that is."

"Yes, please! I'm dying to hear the next episode of 'The life of a slave'. But unfortunately that will have to wait some time. I'm off to the _ Côte d'azur _ this afternoon."

Chapter 18

[Used and Abused]

The address Ramon had given me turned out to be a sports centre. I had been thinking about what the second phase might entail and had been nervous all day. In the end I arrived there well before the appointed hour which gave me a chance to have a look around.

I recognized Ramon's car amongst the small number of vehicles parked outside. There were remarkably few cars, considering the size of the complex. When I entered the place, I realized why there were so few cars. Most of the facilities had been temporarily closed down for renovation. The squash court, the gym and the indoor swimming pool all showed signs of the workmen having been in there, stripping walls, removing equipment.

The sounds coming from behind a door marked as 'Main Hall' indicated that there were people in there, probably engaged in some kind of game. I opened the door just a little to allow me to peek inside without being seen. A five-a-side soccer match was in progress. I managed to spot Ramon amongst the players. I remembered that he had told me not to interrupt him. I closed the door quietly and waited in the corridor, somewhere between the main hall and the men's changing room.

Shortly after the final whistle, the players came out of the main hall and went past me into the men's changing room. Some of them were drenched in sweat, others looked still quite fresh. Some looked downtrodden, others were talking cheerfully about their victory. Most of the men were in Ramon's age range - late twenties to early thirties - but there were a few who seemed barely twenty years old.

Particularly these younger men looked at me with undisguised interest. My attire was conservative by my own standards. The dress I was wearing disguised the shape of my body - but it was quite short. It seems that my bare thighs attracted the men's attention. They probably would have been even more interested had they known that I wasn't wearing any panties.

Ramon was the last one to emerge from the main hall. I could tell from his face that his team had not won the match. He seemed to be deep in thought, maybe trying to figure out what went wrong, when he noticed me.

"Hi, Jacqueline, what are you doing here?"

"My name is Cunt, Sir, and I'm here because you told me so."

"Oh yes, how could I forget?" Ramon said, still sounding as if his mind was somewhere else. "Come with me."

Ramon opened the door to the changing room and lead me inside. It was a large L-shaped room. The long part of the L had lockers and benches along the left wall and a large number of showers on the right. In the smaller part of the L, there were several wash basins with mirrors. In this part I also noticed a billiards table which looked completely out of place. I assumed that it had been moved in here while the refurbishing work was under way.

Most of the men were showering, a few had already finished their shower and were in the process of drying themselves or getting dressed.

"What's this woman doing in here?" one of them shouted. This made everybody else look in my direction.

"This isn't a woman, it's a cunt," Ramon replied.

He lead me to the billiards table and made me bend forward so that the top of my body and my arms rested on it while my feet were still on the floor. He made me spread my legs and lifted my dress so that my bottom and pussy were exposed to anyone who cared to look.

Ramon told me to look straight ahead and not to turn around, no matter what happened.

"Anybody want some cunt? It's free. Come and get it," he shouted to the men in the room.

I could hear some mumbling behind me. Someone said, "Is this some kind of a sick joke?" probably doubting that Ramon was serious about his invitation. Others were inclined to believe their luck. "Now that's what I call generosity!" one of them shouted. The voices came closer. Several hands touched my bottom. "That's a nice piece of ass," someone said. Then a hand slipped between the crack of my bottom and to my pussy. "Gosh, she's really looking forward to this. Her cunt is sopping wet," the man exclaimed.

My pussy was in fact dripping wet. The thought that Ramon had handed me over to these men, to do with me what they wanted, really turned me on. The hands on my bottom and pussy had aroused me even more. I was waiting eagerly to be fucked - something that hadn't happened to me for almost a month.

The man who had touched my pussy was getting ready to put his cock where his hand had been. I could feel the head of his dick pry my pussy lips apart, when someone else shouted, "Hang on a moment! I think the winning team has the right to go first."

There was a heated discussion about this claim.

"Nobody told us there was going to be this kind of reward. Otherwise we'd have played with much more determination," someone argued.

"Say what you want, you've lost the match. And losers come last," another one retorted.

In the end, the losing team conceded reluctantly that the winners had the right to use me first.

"Winner number one going in," the first man announced as he thrust his cock all the way into my pussy. I cried out in pain. I was wet, but this sudden, violent attack hurt nonetheless. This man was fucking me for his satisfaction and his satisfaction alone. He didn't care whether I loved or hated this treatment. And it was particularly this disregard for my feelings that turned me on. I wanted to be used like a cheap whore.

The man was probably putting on an especially virile performance to show the others what a fantastic stud he was. He held my hips in an iron grip and drove his cock into my pussy with long, forceful strokes. With every thrust my legs were squeezed against the edge of the table. His strokes became more urgent as he spasmed and deposited his seed deep inside my pussy. His orgasm triggered mine and I let out a deep moan as my juices mixed with his.

As soon as he vacated my pussy, another man took his place. "Winner number two going in," he declared. If anything, the second man was even more violent than the first one. With each thrust he withdrew his cock completely and then slammed it back into my pussy, causing me to scream in agony. My pussy lips were sore from the persistent onslaught and my vagina felt raw. "Leave something for the rest of us," one man shouted as he heard me scream.

If the second man made me suffer like this already, how would I feel after the two teams were through with me? "You wanted it rough, didn't you?" I told myself. "You wanted a dose of pain with your pleasure. There's no point in complaining now that it hurts."

Fortunately, none of the men was interested in long, drawn-out sex. They wanted to jerk off, and using me for this purpose was much more rewarding than using their own hands. It only took a few minutes for each man to fill me with his spunk. They no longer announced whether they were a winner or a loser. As soon as one man was finished, another one took his place without giving me any rest. My cries turned into a continuous wail.

I had made it a habit to keep track of the number of cocks I sucked and the number of pussies I licked. The same way, I counted the number of men who fucked me. I stopped counting after I reached eight. Somehow I figured that, with two teams of five and Ramon not participating in my gang rape, number nine would be the last one. But it didn't stop. There were more men than I had expected and some of them probably came back for a second helping. They all filled my pussy with their cum until it overflowed. The jism seeping out of me ran down my thighs.

"Jeez, this cunt is filthy!" my next attacker exclaimed. "How can anybody fuck something like this? I'm going to use the other hole."

My tortured pussy had become used to the continuous abuse of their frenzied attacks. It still hurt, but the pain had turned into a dull background sensation that seemed to be part of my orgasms. When the new attacker rammed his cock into my unprepared rear, my screams reverberated through the sports centre. He slammed into me relentlessly, praising the exquisite tightness of my ass. Each thrust into my wounded hole made me scream anew. With a mighty grunt the man released his semen into my rectum.

My noisy reaction attracted other men to my rear hole, now slightly lubricated by the first man's cum. They added to my discomfort, fucking my ass and shooting their load into my rear hole, until this orifice was also oozing gunge. One man returned to my pussy, but when he came he pulled out and sprayed my bottom and the back of my dress with his cum.

"What did you do that for, dickhead? Look at the mess you've made," the others complained.

The man who had been next in line to fuck me balked. "Christ, this ass is slimy. I'm not going to stick my cock in there." Others, too, lost interest in me. They called the state of my pussy and ass 'sickening', 'repulsive' and 'disgusting'. I could hear the men return to their lockers to get dressed. Some had another shower. Then the place turned as quiet as a cemetery. The only audible sound was my own sobbing.

I lay still, letting my tears flow freely without holding back. Those tears were not just caused by the physical pain I felt. Those men hadn't just hurt my pussy and my ass, they had hurt my pride. Their actions had shown clearly that they had no interest in me as a human being, as a woman. For them I was just a warm-blooded object with two holes. They had used and abused me mercilessly and when they had got me into a state where I was too dirty for their liking, they had dropped me like a hot potato.

When Ramon had said I was nothing but a cunt, it was clear from his voice that this was a desperate attempt to break the spell that indiscriminate sex held over me. He thought that by confronting me with what my obsession was doing to me, I would change. Those people hadn't actually called me a cunt - I realized none of them had bothered to say a word to me - they had simply treated me like one. Their actions had been more forceful than words could be.

Once more it became clear to me that I wouldn't attain any satisfaction from submitting myself to mindless sex with complete strangers. Even the most rigorous master cared for his slave, but these people didn't give a damn about me.

"They've gone, you can get up now." That was Ramon's voice. I shuddered at the thought that he had been present all the time, watching what those people had done to me. I felt his hands on my shoulders, helping me to pull my upper body upright. My whole body hurt, particularly the parts my tormentors had ravished. My legs were barely able to support my weight.

Ramon took me into his arms, filthy as I was. He kissed my tear-streaked face. "Go home, Jacqueline, have a rest. Call me when you have recovered, when you're ready for the final phase."

I wanted to clean myself, take a shower, but Ramon insisted that I should leave immediately. I walked with difficulties. My ass and pussy ached with every step. I could feel the men's cum trickle out of my holes, running down my thighs. The smell of the spunk was on my body and my dress. I couldn't possibly take a bus or hail a taxi in a state like this. It would be a long and lonely walk. I had to pause frequently to gather strength. After what seemed like an eternity, I reached the comfort of my room. I was glad that Arlette had already left. I showered and then slumped onto my bed. I would have loved to have a bathtub where I could soak my punished body in a soothing bath. But at least I still had a supply of the ointment the gynaecologist had prescribed me some time ago.

-----

My sleep came in fits and starts. There was a recurrent dream which woke me frequently. In my dream I lay slumped on the billiards table with cum oozing out of my pussy and rear hole. But the table wasn't in the sports centre; it was in the open air, on a street, a public square, in a park - it seems that the location changed with each version of the dream.

People were passing and looking at me. Most of them remained anonymous, but some I recognized. There was my father, who said, "This slut is not my daughter." Ramon looked at me, saying, "You're nothing but a cunt." Caroline repeated her exclamation, "God, you're a real slut." Others, whose face I did not see called me 'filthy cunt', 'slimy ass', 'repulsive', 'disgusting' and 'sickening'. I got up and had another shower to make sure I was completely clean.

But there were also some positive comments. Ramon said, "_ Vous êtes très jolie _ , " and, in another scene, "I love you, Jacqueline." Through a haze I heard Caroline say, "I've been missing your golden tongue." Marie, Roxy's maid, joined the group, declaring, "It will be a pleasure to fuck you, Mademoiselle."

Every time I woke, I tried to understand the meaning of my dream, but soon I drifted off into sleep again. When the day broke, I had had very little rest. I was dead tired and my body was aching all over. Every move of my legs sent bolts of pain through my raw pussy and ass. I didn't have the courage to leave my bed. I lay there, trying to make sense of the events of the last twenty-four hours - and particularly the feelings I had experienced and was still experiencing.

My pussy and ass did not belong to me. If it pleased my master to let others use them whichever way they wanted, then I should be happy to give him that pleasure. But this explanation didn't fit what really happened. Ramon hadn't handed me over to the soccer players for his gratification. He did it to teach me a lesson. He wanted me to understand that letting my pussy take control of my life would get me into trouble, would lead to pain, injury and humiliation.

I had felt the pain; I was not immune to the abuse my poor body had suffered. My screams of anguish had been real and involuntary. My tears had not been faked. But in spite of the pain this had been a sexually gratifying experience. I had climaxed every time one of the men filled me with his spunk, my pussy had creamed from the rough treatment it experienced. The initial shock over the rough, inhuman treatment had made me deny that I experienced pleasure. But now I had to admit to myself that I actually enjoyed being treated like this. The pain would pass, my injuries would heal, but the memory of an evening of wild, satisfying sex would remain.

This was the part which Ramon did not understand: That I needed pain and suffering to experience complete fulfilment. With very few exceptions, the most intense pleasure, the most fulfilling sex had always been accompanied with pain, discomfort, humiliation. It had made me go beyond the limits of what I considered possible, bearable. Telling me that I was just a cunt would only result in my affirmation, 'Yes, I am, and I need to be treated like one.'

I had this theory that my desire to mix a measure of pain into my pleasure was the result of my father's influence. Although I had rejected his condemnation of anything to do with sex on a conscious level, maybe I felt subconsciously that I was committing a terrible crime when I enjoyed myself. I had developed this urge to suffer pain or humiliation whenever I indulged my insatiable appetite for sex. And like an alcoholic needing larger and larger quantities of hard liquor, I seemed to need more and more pain to compensate for the increasing lewdness of my actions, and I seemed to thrive on being humiliated in the process.

-----

Caroline seemed to understand this desire instinctively. I remembered an episode which happened long before I had talked to her about my ambition to become Ramon's slave. That day she had literally dragged me into her bedroom as soon as I arrived at her apartment. She had flipped me onto her bed, straddled me, pinned down my arms with her knees and pushed her pussy into my face. I could see and smell that she had been fucked only a short while ago. Remainders of cum were clinging to her skin and pubic hair. I would soon find out that there was more inside her vagina.

"Lick," she ordered, "I've kept some for you." I wasn't shocked - as most other women would have been - by her demand to perform this unspeakable act of lasciviousness. I was pleased about the opportunity to add another experience to the growing list of obscenities I had committed. I licked her pussy, sucked the unknown man's semen out of her and left her meticulously clean and extremely satisfied.

Later she told me that the stranger had been a sales rep who arrived at the office just as she was about to leave. He wanted to interest her boss in some new, enhanced products which his employer had to offer.

"My boss had already left. Normally I would have just told the man to come back the next day, preferably after making an appointment, but he looked gorgeous. Just looking at him made me tingle all over. And it seems that I had the same effect on him, because his cock rose visibly inside his trousers.

"I took him into my boss's office and told him to have a seat. I locked the door so that nobody would surprise us. Then I simply undid his belt, opened his fly, pushed my panties to the side and rode his wonderful cock until he came. I kissed him to stifle the noise he produced when he shot his cum into me. It all happened so quickly, the poor guy probably didn't know what had hit him. You could say this was a 'wham, bam, thank you mister' kind of a fuck. He wanted to invite me for dinner, for a drink, for a chat, but I told him I had to go. 'Come back tomorrow,' I told him with a wink, 'maybe you'll get lucky', then I hurried home to share his blessing with you."

The dog collar Caroline had given me as a present only two days ago seemed comparably insignificant, but I took it as an outward sign that she had accepted ownership of me. I was pleased about this. I knew her well enough to realize that she would be a demanding mistress; I knew that I could expect merciless torture and devastating orgasms. I was looking forward to her putting me through my paces.

Ramon seemed to be more reluctant to assume ownership of me. Sure, he had embarked on this 'purification process'. He had subjected me to the abuse and humiliation of the first two phases and announced that the third, final phase was still to come. But wasn't all of this done with the intention of 'curing' me of this 'mad desire' to be his slave? Did he have any intention to discipline me, to use me, as Caroline probably would?

Ramon had talked about the threesome with Lola and said he wanted to achieve the same kind of happiness with Caroline and me. That declaration pleased me no end. The night with Lola had been one of the few memorable occasions when I had achieved complete satisfaction without pain. I was willing to do whatever Ramon asked from me to experience this sensation again.

I wondered if there was going to be a repetition of the previous night's events. I imagined a slightly different scenario: Ramon would parade me naked in front of the two teams before the match so that the players had a clear idea what reward awaited the winning team. I would watch the match, locked up naked in a cage, and the winning team would be given the key to the cage. They would take me to the more comfortable setting of a hotel room where they would have not only my pussy and ass, but also my mouth and tits at their disposal. Whenever they found that I was too filthy they could send me to the bathroom to clean myself before they continued.

As I pictured the scenes in my mind, my hand slid down between my legs, but the intense pain told me that I was in no condition to enjoy myself, not even from my own hands. I had to smile and shake my head about the kind of pervert I had become, craving for more sex before I had recovered from the previous night's exertion.

Or was all this just a product of my rebellious spirit? Was I denying that I had learned my lesson, simply to oppose any attempt to put the brakes on my sex drive? What kind of a slave was I then? One who decided what her master should or should not do?

This last thought made me realize what a strange concept I had of my life as a slave. Wasn't it the slave's role to follow her master's orders, to do as she was told, and to be grateful to her master for allowing her to live in his shadow? I still had a lot to learn, and I would have to work hard to keep my rebellious spirit under control.

I decided that I would follow all of Ramon's instructions to the letter, and that I would be grateful to him for what he decided, no matter what it was. That decision finally gave me the peace of mind for a deep, restoring sleep.

Chapter 19

[The 'Marquis de Sade']

"Put on these clothes whenever you're ready," Ramon said as he handed me a tracksuit and a pair of trainers. "We're going for a ride, and then you'll go for a walk," he added.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," I replied and put on the clothes he'd given me. It seemed to be a 'one-size-fits-all' model which was hanging on my body like it belonged to someone else and made me look completely unremarkable. It was in stark contrast to all the other clothes he had given me so far, which had all been designed to show off my figure to best effect. Besides, I would feel very hot if I'd have to walk any distance in these clothes. I would have preferred to wear shorts and a T-shirt.

Ramon must have read my thoughts. "These clothes are just for the journey," he explained.

I had called him the day before and told him that I was ready to start the next phase of my purification. He had told me to come to the apartment the next morning and advised me to have a hearty breakfast before I left. He had also instructed me to inform the people at the University that I would be away for some time.

He hadn't given me any details then and he wasn't offering any explanation now.

I'm not in the habit of paying much attention when I'm in the car with Ramon. I trust him and always feel he knows where he's going. But this time I looked out for landmarks that I knew, places I recognized, to have an idea where he was taking me. Not because I trusted him less, simply because I was curious about the destination of our journey.

Soon after leaving Paris we turned off the main highway and entered a narrow road with little traffic. The scenery turned rural with villages where chickens were freely crossing the road without much concern for the oncoming car. I remember that I was surprised to find this kind of tranquillity less than an hour from Paris. After we had passed the last village, the road became narrower and wound gradually uphill through a forest. Eventually it turned into a single lane road with occasional passing bays. After a while, Ramon pulled into a lay-by and told me, "Here we are."

He pointed to a sign saying '_ Eglise Ste. Jacqueline _' with an arrow pointing to a footpath leading slightly uphill into the forest. I couldn't see any building or anything else that would indicate the existence of a church in this forest. The footpath made a right turn after a while. From the gap between the trees I could guess where it might continue but couldn't actually see it.

"In the olden days, sinners used to come to the church of Sainte Jacqueline to ask for forgiveness for their sins. It was particularly popular with women guilty of the sin of wantonness. They used to make the whole way to the church on their knees. I don't think that will be necessary, but you should make the pilgrimage on your bare feet and dressed in the sinner's garb. It's okay to change here, nobody will see you."

Ramon handed me a bundle made of rough sack-cloth. There were two parts, a skirt and something that might be described as a shirt. I took off the tracksuit and trainers and handed them to Ramon. Then I put on the clothes Ramon had called 'sinner's garb'.

The skirt was held up by a piece of string which was threaded through the top, but no matter how I tied it, the skirt wouldn't stay in place. It kept sliding over my hips, and I had to hold it in place to keep it from falling down to my ankles.

Ramon knows exactly what size I wear. He knows my body better than anybody else, possibly including myself. He has designed several garments which fit me like a glove, without ever using a tape measure. If he gave me a skirt like this to wear, then he either intended it to fall, or he wanted to create the discomfort of having to hold it up.

The other garment, the one that vaguely resembled a shirt, was really a piece of sack with two holes on the side through which I could stick my arms. The openings on either end of the sack were the same size. This meant that the shirt kept slipping down my shoulders, revealing a good part of my breasts and threatening to slide all the way down. Walking with these clothes would be very awkward. I would need one hand to hold my skirt in place and another one to keep the shirt from sliding all the way down. I was sure that this awkwardness was exactly what Ramon intended.

"The building has been abandoned for some time and has fallen into a state of neglect. However, the monks from a nearby monastery have recently started to restore the church. It's possible that you'll meet some of them. If you do, make sure you don't fall foul of their strict moral principles. They don't take kindly to women who try to corrupt them, make them break their vow of purity. They have been known to castigate temptresses who were guilty of unchaste behaviour severely. There are also some unconfirmed rumours that some monks did not resist the temptation and raped immoral women before they punished them."

Ramon kissed me and wished me success on my mission. "One final word: Once you have started your pilgrimage, don't turn back. You won't find me here if you return this way."

The path was covered with fallen leaves and needles and felt quite pleasant under my feet. But beneath the soft cover of the leaves lay sharp stones, thorny branches and spiky plants, all waiting to pierce my bare feet. I picked my way slowly forward, testing the ground with each step before I put my full weight on the probing foot. The rough material of the 'sinner's garb' felt uncomfortable on my skin, particularly my nipples felt sore as the cloth rubbed against them with every step I took.

The skirt didn't help my quick progress either. Being a straight sack, as narrow at the hem as it was at the waist, it only allowed me to move forward by small steps. I decided to tear a slit in the side of the skirt so that I could make larger steps. As the devil would have it, the rough material tore all the way to the waist. This gave my movements more freedom, but it also meant that with each step my entire leg became visible.

This made me think about Ramon's warning not to expose myself to the monks should I meet any. Should I take it as an instruction to behave like a chaste pilgrim, or should I understand it as a hint that there was a chance of being raped and punished for it afterwards - if I were to provoke or anger the holy men. Did he expect me to step out of line as a sign that I was ready to start the third phase of my purification process?

As I made my way along the path, a gentle climb up the hill, all my attention was focused on where I put my feet and on keeping my clothes from falling. I was so absorbed by these tasks that I didn't notice the group of buildings I was approaching. They were set on a clearing in the middle of the woods, the largest one being the church of Sainte Jacqueline. Nor did I notice the figure which was leaning against a tree near the path.

By the time I noticed the monk - at least that's what the figure looked like - I was already quite close to him. He had his back to me; his eyes were glued to the book he was reading and he seemed unaware of my presence. He was dressed in a dark brown habit. The hood covering his head didn't allow me to see the colour of his hair. I remembered that Ramon had told me I wouldn't find him at the start of the path if I returned that way. Could it be that he had come around the hill and was now waiting for me, dressed up as a monk? I was pretty sure that this was the case. And what a fine monk Ramon made!

The sudden, close presence of this monk excited me. I wanted to make myself noticed. And I wanted to give him a good look at my charms and a reason to punish me. I rested my right foot on a boulder which lay in the path, bringing my entire leg out into the open. I also let the shirt slip until my breasts were almost completely exposed. Then I cleared my throat to catch his attention.

He didn't react. I would have to call out to him to make him notice me. But how do you address a monk? Father? No, that was for priests, which isn't exactly the same thing. Your Holiness? No, that was reserved for the pope. Merciful brother? I knew that there were merciful sisters, but were there merciful brothers as well? I wasn't sure. In the end I decided that a simple 'Sir' would have to do.

"Good morning, Sir. Excuse me for bothering you. Does this path lead to the _ Eglise Sainte Jacqueline _?"

When he turned around, I realized that it wasn't Ramon! He was visibly surprised by what he saw, almost as surprised as I was to be confronted with a complete stranger. Was this a real monk?

The expression of surprise on the monk's face soon gave way to one of anger. "Have you no shame, woman? How dare you approach a man of the cloth in such unchaste attire. You deserve to be castigated for your shamelessness, and I'll see to it that you'll never forget the punishment you'll receive."

Without giving me a chance to say anything in my defence, he grabbed my right arm and dragged me behind him. He pulled me away from the path, across the forest, towards a small stone building which was set in the shadow of the church. I found it difficult to keep up with his pace but he just pulled my arm even harder, apparently in a great hurry to get to where he wanted to take me.

My feet hurt as he rushed me across the forest and I was no longer able to pay attention to where I was stepping. My clothes were sliding down even further; my breasts now completely uncovered, my skirt in danger of slipping down below my hips. I used my free hand to hold the skirt in place, not so much out of modesty, but for fear that I would stumble and fall if it were to slip down any further.

As we entered the building, I could see several beds, a few chairs and a table, all very simple, made of roughly-hewn wood. These were obviously the monks' living quarters. My captor threw me onto one of the beds and ripped off what was left of my clothes. When he pulled his cowl over his head, I could see that he was not only angry but also very aroused. I wondered why a man who possessed such a fine specimen had decided to take the vow of celibacy. Should I simply spread my legs and invite him in? Or should I resist to give him the sweet taste of victory?

I didn't have time to reach a conclusion. He forced my thighs apart and dropped to his knees between my legs, ready to commit a mortal sin.

-----

"Brother Antoine! What in heaven's name are you doing?"

Neither my abductor nor I had noticed the two monks arrive at the scene of the near-rape. Brother Antoine froze. He had been close, so close! His disappointment was palpable. It would be almost impossible to finish what he had started. The disappointment mixed with his embarrassment as he covered himself quickly and then tried to justify his action to the other two monks.

"I was about to punish this temptress for accosting me dressed in indecent attire, for making me think impure thoughts, for trying to seduce me."

"It looks like she nearly succeeded," one of the monks remarked dryly.

"What kind of a punishment is this? You can't chastise a sinner by becoming a sinner yourself," the other one added.

As I listened to their discussion about the most appropriate action to take, I wondered if I had by chance stumbled on a group of real friars and had nearly caused the moral corruption of one of them. Maybe I should have taken Ramon's warning literally and not interpreted it as some kind of veiled hint.

Brother Antoine was the youngest of the three and seemed to need some guidance from his older brethren, particularly in moral matters. They advised him to offer his thanks to the blessed virgin as it had surely been her influence which made them arrive at the lodgings just in time to prevent a catastrophe.

As far as I and my punishment were concerned, they decided that I should be brought before the abbot who would decree what my punishment should be. One of the monks - the one the others had called Brother Pierre - told me to get up from the bed and cover myself.

My clothes were in shreds. They hadn't been very robust to start with and Brother Antoine's impatience had put an end to their useful lives. The monks were unmoved when I showed them the tattered rags that I had retrieved from the floor. That was none of their concern; I had brought my nakedness upon myself, now I would have to endure it.

The three monks escorted me out of their quarters, across a badly neglected lawn full of thistles, along a gravel path and through a side entrance into the church. Each of the older monks held on to one of my arms to make sure I wouldn't escape and Brother Antoine walked ahead. The thistles scratched my ankles and the coarse gravel hurt my feet, but the monks had little concern for my comfort. On the way we passed a group of monks who were working on the restoration of the church. They stopped whatever they were doing and stood silently as the procession passed.

Inside the church my captors took me into a small anteroom which was located in the side nave, beneath the clock tower. Brother Pierre stayed with me while the other two went to inform the abbot. They returned after a short absence, reporting that their superior wanted to see us in his chamber.

My sense of reality took another turn when I came face to face with the abbot. It was the man who had called himself 'Marquis de Sade' when I met him the first time! My mind went into a spin. What did this mean? Did he lead a double life, sometimes member of a religious order, sometimes 'Consultant in Education and Discipline'? Or was this whole order a sham, something which Ramon had set-up with the help of the 'Marquis' as part of my purification? I didn't think this possible. The monks seemed so real, such devout followers of their faith - at least two of them!

The abbot didn't give any indication that he recognized me. "What happened to her clothes?" he asked his disciples.

"They tore as she fell, trying to escape," Brother Pierre replied without batting an eyelid.

"Well, I'll be damned," I thought to myself. "Isn't lying considered a sin anymore?"

The monks told the abbot how they had found me loitering half naked in the vicinity of the church in search of men I could seduce. They spared Brother Antoine any further embarrassment by omitting the fact that he had fallen for my guile, taken me to their quarters and would have raped me but for the quick intervention of his brethren.

When the abbot finally turned to me, his interrogation was brief. I informed him that I had come up the path on bare feet, dressed in the sinner's garb to beg for forgiveness, but he just called me a liar. As far as he was concerned, the devil had taken possession of my body and the only way I could be saved was to exorcise the demon without delay. He told me that there would be a service in veneration of Sainte Jacqueline, the patron saint of the church, later that day. He would use this opportunity to perform the rite. In the meantime, I was to be kept as his ward. He charged Brother Antoine with the task of making sure I wouldn't escape.

When he had finished his admonitions, the abbot revealed a streak of compassion. "Are you hungry?" he asked me.

When I nodded he ordered Brother Antoine to also look after my bodily needs.

"And cold," I added. The stone floor of the church was cold, there was hardly any sun shining inside. I had started to shiver.

The Abbot looked at me with a wry smile and ordered Brother Antoine to also provide a blanket for me.

Brother Antoine locked me into the anteroom while he went to get some food for me. He returned with a large earthen bowl, filled with a thick, steaming soup, and a chunk of bread.

"You forgot the blanket," I said after thanking him for the soup.

"First the soup," he answered.

"But I'm freezing," I exclaimed, pointing to the goose-pimples which had formed on my skin and letting my teeth chatter to reinforce my point.

"If you promise that you won't try to escape, I'll take you to the inner patio, behind the sacristy. It's quite warm in the sun."

I promised. He was in no hurry to get the blanket for me. It seemed that he wanted to enjoy looking at my naked body for as long as possible. He watched me closely as I wolfed down the soup and tore pieces off the bread. I let him watch, making sure he had a good view of my charms, while I took a closer look at him. His curly blond hair framed a handsome face. I had already been able to see that his body was slim, not quite athletic but without too much excess fat. I guessed that he was only a few years older than me. He wouldn't have any problems finding willing sex partners if he were to look for them in the outside world.

Watching this young monk as he tried to reconcile his desire with his faith made me reflect on the strangeness of my situation. This was crazy. The monk sitting there, unable to take his eyes off me, was no fake. His desire and his agony were real. But how did this fit into the purification process which Ramon had brought me here for? If the monks were real what was the 'Marquis' doing here? They respected and obeyed him. Was he a leading member of this order? Was he a religious fanatic who also offered his services to would-be masters? My list of unanswered questions was growing longer by the minute.

When I had finished my meal, I stretched out on the stone bench to enjoy the sunshine. I was oblivious to the torment which the display of my naked body must have caused my warden. All he had to do was bring me the promised blanked and I would cover myself. But he preferred to suffer as he ogled the forbidden fruit.

"Have you witnessed many exorcisms?" I tried to get an idea of what was awaiting me.

"None so far," came his honest answer.

"Do you know what they are going to do to me?"

He didn't. His answers were vague and evasive. The only thing he kept repeating was that it wouldn't be very pleasant for me. I concluded that his knowledge of exorcisms - like mine - was limited to certain Hollywood films.

The blanket never arrived. After I had lazed in the sun for a while, the other two monks came to get me ready for the rite. Unlike Brother Antoine, they didn't trust me and held on to my arms as they frogmarched me back into the church.

There was an empty space in the central nave between the first pew and the steps leading up to the altar. Four ornamental brass posts were fixed to the floor, each one in one corner of an imaginary rectangle. My guess as to what the purpose of these posts might be was confirmed as the monks lead me into the middle of this rectangle and ordered me to lie down on the floor. They quickly tied my arms and legs to the four posts so that I was lying spread-eagled and more exposed than ever before on the church floor.

"The floor of the cathedral is hard and cold".

These words flashed suddenly through my mind. They came from Caroline's horror trip, the first time I met her, when she had mixed 'uppers' with alcohol. She had never been able to explain what made her say this particular sentence. I had told her what images these words had evoked in me, but nobody else knew about my fantasy. Was this mere coincidence or was my being tied up on the hard and cold floor of this church in any way connected with what I had confided to her?

Caroline had also talked about being pressed down onto the stones by someone's weight and I had told her what desire that had awakened in me. Was there going to be someone pressing me down onto the stones with his weight? Some more entries for my list of unanswered questions.

When they had finished tying me up and checked that I couldn't free myself, the monks left me on my own and busied themselves with other chores.

For the first time I noticed the huge stained-glass window behind the altar, the main source of natural light. It was so large and right in the middle of my field of vision that I couldn't possibly miss it. The artwork depicted a scene which I had come to know as 'St. George and the Dragon', a heroic knight on a horse, thrusting his sword deep into the heart of a fierce-looking dragon.

In the version right in front of me, the dragon slayer was a woman - Sainte Jacqueline, I assumed. I could tell that it was a woman by her long, flowing hair and by her bare breasts. To be precise, the right breast was covered by her raised arm, but the left was clearly visible. I was amazed to find an image of a bare-breasted woman inside a catholic church. It just didn't combine with the image of the chaste woman the church was postulating.

There was something even stranger about this portrait. At the place where Sainte Jacqueline's left nipple would have been, a small hole had been cut into the glass. Whereas the light shining through the rest of the window had the quality of a hazy luminosity, this little hole let a ray of unfiltered sunlight fall into the church. The ray hit the floor not far from my left foot. I observed that, with time, the position where the ray hit the floor changed. Or, to put it more precisely, as the earth continued its daily rotation, the angle at which the sunlight shone through the hole changed. To the casual observer, it looked as if the sun was moving across the church floor. And I already had a clear idea where the ray would end up.

This little gimmick surprised me even more than the bare-breasted saint. Our ancestors possessed detailed knowledge about the movement of the sun, the earth and other planets long before Christianity was invented. They left behind a number of monuments - Stonehenge is a prime example - which were based on the position of the sun at sunrise on one particular day of the year. Those monuments are considered pagan temples, dedicated to the worship of the sun god or some other deity.

Christianity, the catholic church in particular, had discouraged astronomy and related sciences. For a long time, its system of beliefs included planet earth as the static centre of the universe. Anybody who dared to voice a different view had been persecuted. Had I discovered elements of a sun cult within this ancient church, or was this another inexplicable coincidence?

My thoughts about pagans past and present were interrupted by the sound of a fanfare. Doors on either side of me opened and a number of monks bearing torches filed into the church. As they lined up on my left and right sides, I counted a total of twelve monks, six on each side. There was another blast of the trumpets. This time eight women, all dressed in the sinner's garb entered the church and placed themselves between the monks and me. They were carrying large, white, as yet unlit candles. As I had expected, the single ray of sunlight coming through the hole in the window was now shining straight on my sex.

"Light the flame of purification on the heat of this satanic cunt!"

I recognized the Marquis' voice but I couldn't make out where his order came from. The women approached me and with the help of a magnifying glass and a concave mirror lit one of their candles on the sunray, right between my legs. Then they passed the flame to the other candles. When all candles were lit the women returned to their original positions.

The trumpets sounded for a third time. I still hadn't figured out where the sound was coming from. There was some movement in the shadow behind the altar. As the figure came down the altar steps, I recognized the Marquis/abbot, dressed in a black, flowing robe, so long it swept the floor behind him. When he reached me, he opened his robe and let it fall to the floor. My eyes widened. He stood there naked, his penis fully erect. It was thinner than Ramon's cock but visibly longer. It wouldn't be easy for me to accommodate the full length of this rod. The Marquis dropped to his knees between my legs, ready to penetrate me.

"Stop!"

The female voice echoed through the church. The Marquis stopped dead in his tracks. The command had been expressed so forcefully, so uncompromisingly, it didn't allow any dissent, didn't leave any room for negotiation. This was the second time in one day that someone was about to fuck me and was stopped at the last second. I wasn't sure whether I should feel pleased or annoyed about this.

I turned my head in the direction the voice had come from and was presented with a magnificent sight. There was Caroline, dressed exactly the way mistresses are usually portrayed in magazines. She looked like she had stepped off the pages of a black-and-white comic strip. But stereotype or not, she looked ravishing. I could imagine dozens of men and women crawling at her feet, begging her to punish them.

She wore a short black bodice which - I guessed - was laced tightly at the back. The quarter cups pushed her breasts up and made them look even fuller and rounder than usual. Her areolas and nipples had been darkened with kohl or some other kind of make-up. The straps attached to her bodice held up black fishnet stockings. It looked as if she had dyed her pubic hair, because her triangle looked much darker than her natural colour. Stiletto heels completed her outfit. Her skin looked paler than usual, almost alabaster. It was a magnificent display of black-and-white contrasts.

In her right hand she held a whip with several lashes. 'So this is what a cat o' nine tails looks like', I thought to myself. I had heard about this implement, seen pictures and wondered what it might feel like, but this was the first time I came across it in real life.

Caroline punished the stone floor with her whip, sending clouds of dust into the air as she walked towards the Marquis who hadn't moved since she had commanded him to stop.

Then something unbelievable happened. Caroline whipped the Marquis. First his back, his ass, then she aimed at his cock. He managed to reduce the impact of her fury by bending forward to protect his pride and joy. But her onslaught was relentless. She called him an impostor and defiler of virgins. The Marquis lay on the floor next to me, rolled into a ball like a hedgehog to protect himself. Caroline called him a wimp and a coward. She put one foot on his rear, the stiletto heel right at the entrance to his hole. "Turn around or I'll step on you," she warned him.

The Marquis had no choice. Who knows what the pointed heel might have done to his ass. He turned around, exposing his front to Caroline's attack. The whip rained down on his chest, his thighs and particularly his cock. When Caroline was finished, the Marquis was rolling on the floor, whimpering, begging for mercy. Caroline was breathing heavily from the exertion; sweat was running down between her breasts, along her thighs, down her back.

I couldn't believe that this was happening. The man who had brought me to tears in less than a minute when his cane bit into my tender bottom was lying on the floor sobbing, his body covered with marks from the whipping Caroline had inflicted on him.

Much later Caroline would tell me that this had been the compensation for the treatment she had suffered from the hands of the Marquis' henchmen when she first visited his office to discuss my 'case' with him. The reception committee had made her take off all her clothes, in spite of her protests that she was my mistress, not a slave. Probably because she was such a stunning female, they had subjected her vagina and rectum to an especially detailed inspection to make sure nothing was hidden inside these orifices.

When Caroline finally came face to face with the Marquis, she made him retrieve her clothes from his helpers. She considered his apologies much too puny for the treatment she had suffered. She made it clear that she had enough money and influence to have his operation closed down for good unless he agreed to a compensation - not in money but in humiliation. Grumbling, the Marquis had accepted her conditions and the whipping had been included into the choreography of my exorcism ceremony.

At the time I saw Caroline give the Marquis a thorough thrashing, I was completely unaware of this background to this extraordinary event. I didn't know what on earth was going on.

Having despatched my attacker, Caroline stood astride my immobilized body. When she let the tips of the nine leashes rest on my breasts and then trailed them slowly along my naked body, across my belly and my pussy, to my thighs, I assumed that the time had come for me to feel the bite of her whip. My chances of protecting myself were even smaller than the Marquis'.

But the whip never hit me. I saw Caroline rub the handle of the whip along her pussy lips and then push it inside. Her hand gripped the leather-coated stick firmly and pushed it in and out of her pussy. Picking up speed she gave off little moans to accompany the deepening thrusts. Her movements grew faster, her moans louder; her body jerked and I could tell that she had brought herself to a climax.

"Lick," Caroline ordered as she thrust the whip-handle into my face. I opened my mouth willingly. The masculine shape and taste of the leather-coated shaft combined perfectly with the exquisite coating of her juices. I licked and sucked as if my life depended on it. Not only because I didn't dare disobey her order after what I had seen her do to the Marquis, but also because it was an extremely arousing sensation to lick my mistress' juices off this smooth rod.

As I licked every trace of Caroline's juices from the whip handle, I coated it with my own saliva. Hopefully she didn't expect me to return a dry whip to her. I wondered if she would use the handle to do to me what she had done to herself, when she made a signal with her free hand. There was another fanfare.

As Caroline stepped aside, I could see another figure coming out of the shadow behind the altar. My heart pounded hard. I felt that I knew who this figure was, but I had been wrong before, so I decided to keep my hopes in check until I was sure.

The figure was clad in a long black cloak, just like the Marquis had been. His face was hidden in the shadow of a large hood. As he came closer I was sure it was Ramon, my Master. Words couldn't describe how pleased I was that he had come to see me, naked, tied, lying on the floor of this strange church. Caroline now turned into the high-priestess of the ceremony. She took the cloak off Ramon's shoulders. There he stood in his full naked glory. His cock was swaying gently in front of him. How masterly he looked! Caroline went down on her knees and took his member into her mouth. She was as impressive as a servant as she had been as a mistress.

When Caroline was satisfied that Ramon was ready to fuck me, she let him kneel between my legs and guided his rock hard cock into my pussy. I was in seventh heaven. Yes, his weight was pressing me down onto the stones. With every powerful thrust my backside slid up and down the rough stone floor. I would probably be bruised and sore by the time he was finished with me. But what was that in comparison with the joy I felt? My master was finally fucking me! And all the monks and sinners looking on could see how much he enjoyed it!

Ramon took me like an owner uses his possession. He fucked me hard and without consideration for my comfort. And it was exactly this treatment which turned me on even more. When his cock erupted inside me, the flow of his hot cum didn't want to stop. And if that wasn't enough, as he came, he shouted into my ear, "I love you, Jacqueline! I'll take you back as soon as you're ready." Everything I had longed for had come true. Ramon was my master and Caroline my mistress. My orgasms, like my satisfaction, seemed to know no end.

-----

"Drive out the evil spirit from the body of this possessed woman by the heat of your sacred flames."

I was lying on the floor, recovering my breath and savouring the aftershocks of this wonderful experience, when I heard the Marquis' voice. He seemed to be back in action after the thrashing he'd received from Caroline. I hadn't even noticed him getting up but looking around me I realized that he was no longer cowering on the floor near me.

Following the Marquis' order, the women dressed in sinner's garb formed a circle around me. A strange chant in a language which I did not recognize came from somewhere, I guessed the far end of the church. The women, holding the lit candles in their hands, danced to the rhythm of the chant. At first they moved in a circle around me, then they formed a figure of eight across my stretched out body. As they stepped or jumped over me, some of the liquid wax of their candles spilt over and dripped on me. Luckily the wax had a long way to fall until it hit me and had already cooled down a little by the time it landed on my skin. Nevertheless, I felt a distinct sting whenever it made contact.

Initially, I assumed that the spilling happened by accident, in the heat of the moment, but I soon realized that the women were dripping the wax intentionally. At first the wax fell on my midriff as they crossed over me. Then they aimed for my chest. They were determined to coat my breasts with wax and I was worried about what the hot liquid would do to my tender nipples. Unfortunately, the prospect also turned me on and, instead of retreating, my nipples hardened and stood up proudly to the wax raining down. I let out shrieks of pain whenever one of the women scored a bull's eye and the hot liquid hit one of my nipples.

When my breasts were one big wax-splattered mess, the candle-bearers turned their attention to the lower part of my body. Moving trance-like to the rhythm of the strange chant, they tilted their candles, sending showers of liquid wax down onto my pussy. One of the women stood between my spread legs and aimed directly at my exposed sex. I strained against my bonds, writhing and twisting, but I was too restricted in my movements to avoid the cascades of wax flowing from the ceremonial candles.

Once more I realized my ability to experience pleasure when others would simply feel pain. My arousal rose whenever I felt the stinging wax hit my pussy. I screamed when my tormentors scalded my sensitive flesh, but I also enjoyed the sensation of being so defenceless against their attacks. In the end I urged them on to punish me more, to increase my suffering and my pleasure. When they finally stopped, leaving me exhausted, my whole pubic region was covered with slowly hardening wax.

The ceremony was over. Just like the other sinners, I would be taken to a cell where I would be kept for as long as it took to free me from the influence of my sinful mind. I watched as the monks put the other women in chains, one by one. When it was my turn I knew what to expect. The only difference was that I would be wearing nothing but the chains while my fellow prisoners were dressed in the sinner's garb.

One heavy iron chain was fixed to my legs with the help of heavy cuffs. Another, shorter chain was attached to my wrists in front of me, giving my hands limited freedom of movement. Then an iron collar was fitted around my neck. The short chain hanging from this collar was attached to the chain which shackled my hands, restricting them even more. Later, I would find out that the collar could also be used to tie my hands behind my back. Luckily, the cuffs and collar were lined with leather to prevent chafing or more serious injuries to ankles, wrists and neck. The foot chain was long enough to allow me to walk, but its weight and the noise it made as it dragged across the stone floor made any thought of escaping seem futile.

When all women, including myself, had been put in chains, the monks lead us along the aisle to the left of the altar. At the push of a lever, a stone plate in the floor moved to the side and gave way to a staircase leading down. Two monks went ahead, and then told the prisoners to follow them. Below the church floor, where I had expected a small crypt, there was a maze of corridors with a large number of doors leading to individual cells and some other rooms. Each woman was locked into one of these cells on her own. As before, I was the last one to be dealt with.

The only piece of furniture in the cell was a simple bed. Along the walls and on the ceiling of my cell I saw a large number of hooks, rings and chains and some other contraptions which I didn't quite understand, but I was sure that they had a use in restraining and disciplining the prisoners. By some magic, the floor and the air below were not as cold as in the church above. The walls and floor of my cell looked as if they had been recently redone.

The monk who locked me up removed my collar and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall, but left the other chains in place. The collar would be put back on whenever they took me away from my cell. There wasn't any need to keep me in chains; the locked cell door was sturdy enough to withstand any attempt to escape. I could only guess that the decision to make me wear those heavy chains all the time was to remind me of my condition as a prisoner.

I realized that I was now completely in the hands of these mysterious monks and their leader, the 'Marquis de Sade'. I was sure that my being kept here had been arranged with Ramon as part of my 'purification', but nobody had confirmed that this was the case. I didn't know how long I would be imprisoned here, or what they were going to do to me. I decided to take things as they came and tried to get some rest while I had the chance.

Chapter 20

[Memories of Sainte Jacqueline]

I have successfully passed all the phases of my purification and slave training. As promised, my Master has accepted me back as soon as I was released from the prison beneath the _ Eglise Sainte Jacqueline _. My life is back to normal - as far as a relationship consisting of a Master, a Mistress and a slave can be called normal. It is normal in the sense that my Master has returned to using all three of my orifices and my Mistress allows me to pleasure her with my tongue.

How long was I held captive in the cellar of that strange church, in this dark place which looked sinister enough to be called a dungeon? I can't say for sure. It could have been two, maybe three weeks. One of the most disturbing aspects of my imprisonment was that I lost any notion of time. Being kept below ground, I was unable to observe the cycle of the sun. I never knew whether it was morning or evening, noon or midnight. Only occasionally did I get a chance to see the daylight; not often enough to have an idea of the passing of time.

Life at Sainte Jacqueline did not follow a regular pattern which would allow me to count the days. Yes, there were certain activities which were repeated frequently, like meals, but even there the length of the intervals between meals seemed to vary significantly. The meals, regardless of whether they were given to me in my cell or whether I took them in the refectory with the other women who were held there, consisted of a thick soup and chunky slices of bread. The ingredients and flavour of the soup varied, but there wasn't any meal which could be identified as breakfast, as the start of a new day.

When I spoke of 'my cell' before, this may create the impression that there was one place where I stayed throughout my slave training. That was not the case. The women who came there did not bring any personal belongings with them and there was nothing which would make a particular cell 'my' cell. Whenever the monks took me back to be locked up, they put me into the first unoccupied cell they found. The cells were similar in size and all contained one bed as the only item of furniture, but not all of them were in the same state of preservation.

The further one went along the corridor, the worse the cells got. In the worst cells the ceiling was gradually disintegrating and it was not uncommon for some debris to rain down onto the woman resting on the bed. The people who had been in these cells before had taken advantage of the brittle mortar and removed one or two bricks from the cell walls to allow conversations between adjoining cells. Some women reported that they had seen rats and spiders in those decaying cells, but luckily I was never disturbed by either of those animals.

Apart from meeting the other prisoners at mealtimes, we were also brought together for our bath. There wasn't any fixed time for washing ourselves. It seemed like we were taken to the shower room at the whim of the Marquis or some monk in charge. Sometimes there would be only a few hours between baths, on other occasions it seemed like several days passed before we were given permission to clean ourselves. The explanation one of my fellow prisoners gave me was that, whenever one of us became 'unclean' all of us were herded together to be cleansed.

The large, tiled hall where the bath took place had a number of showers in a row along one wall. Before our bath we were unchained and had to remove our clothes - which wasn't necessary in my case. The showers, however, were only turned on for a short while, just long enough to allow us to wet our bodies. We were allowed a few minutes to lather ourselves with the soap that had been given to us, before one monk hosed us down with a powerful jet of cold water. The first time the full force of the water hit me, I almost lost my balance. Later, I started to enjoy the treatment. I positioned myself to let the full jet hit my breasts, my bottom and my pussy.

Sometimes, when the bath coincided with daytime, we were lead out onto the patio afterwards, with our shackles back in place, to dry in the sunshine. I remembered Arlette and her seamless suntan; how I had envied her for her uniform colour, how I had been waiting for the summer holidays so that I would get an opportunity to achieve the same uninterrupted suntan. Now it seemed that I would spend my summer break in this training camp for would-be slaves. I decided that this was the best opportunity I could hope for and tried to get maximum exposure to the sun. I thought about how surprised Arlette would be when I'd meet her after the holidays and she'd see me all tanned. I only didn't know how I would explain the white patches the iron cuffs were leaving around my ankles and wrists.

Eating, taking a bath and basking in the sun did not take up a great deal of time. A large part of the remainder was taken up by the interrogation and discipline sessions with the Marquis. The rest of the time I spent in my cell, usually lying on the bed trying to get some sleep.

Sleep did not come easily in this underground world. Just as I rarely saw the daylight, I never experienced the darkness of night in any of the cells I was taken to. A torch was fitted to the wall of each inhabited cell, keeping it lit around the clock. The monks checked frequently and replaced the torch when necessary.

But this was only one obstacle. The heavy chains didn't make it easy either. They did not restrict my movements excessively, but they felt heavy and uncomfortable, particularly when they rested on my body, and any shift of position in bed became difficult. It took me a while to find a reasonably comfortable position for sleeping: lying on my belly with my arms stretched out above my head and my legs slightly spread, almost as if I had been tied spread-eagled to the bed.

Another factor which kept me from sleeping were the noises which resounded through the vaults of the basement. There were the sounds of women being woken up harshly to be taken to the Marquis, the sound of chains dragging along the floor as the victims were lead through the corridor, the sounds of whippings and canings, the screams of the tortured women and later their quiet sobs when they had been returned to their cells. Thinking of these sounds, I trembled in my bones the first few times the monks arrived to take me to the Marquis. Some time later, I found out that these sounds came frequently from a tape which had been recorded and was played on the Marquis' request to keep us living in fear.

On the day of my arrival it was particularly difficult to find sleep. So many things had happened to me in the space of one day! And the fact that I had been locked up in this cell meant that more things would be happening - I just didn't know what they were. To add to my excitement, my Master had declared that he would take me back as soon as I was ready. I was determined to endure whatever necessary to reach the point where I was 'ready' - without really knowing what that meant - as soon as possible.

Amongst the other prisoners I became known as 'the naked girl', because I was the only one who wasn't allowed to wear any clothes. All the others wore the shirt and skirt made of sackcloth, except at bath-time and during interrogation and punishment. It occurred to me that their clothes were much better fitting than mine had ever been.

At times, the Marquis decided to emphasise my nakedness even more by fitting me with a device he called a 'cunt-opener'. This consisted of four padded clamps which could be attached to a butt-plug by thin silver chains. The clamps were put on my pussy lips, two on each side. Two of the chains passed around my hips; the lower two passed between my legs to my rear, where they were pulled taut and hooked to the butt-plug which was pushed into my rear. This left my pussy lips pulled wide open with every intimate detail on display. It also left me highly aroused and, to my embarrassment, dripping wet. Walking with this cunt-opener was extremely difficult. I had to take cautious, small steps to avoid serious pain. Sitting down was out of the question.

The Marquis seemed to get a kick out of fitting the cunt-opener just before we would be called for a meal. I would have to eat my meal standing up, displaying my wide open, dripping wet pussy to my fellow prisoners as I ate. One of them commented, "Your Master must love you very much, if he has you treated like this."

Just like me, the other women had been brought to this place by their male companions in order to be trained as slaves. Some of them declared this fact proudly and stated that they wanted to learn how to be good, obedient slaves. Those were the ones who referred to their partners as 'Master'. Others were reluctant to admit the reason for their presence openly. At times they would wonder aloud whatever had made them agree to undergo this training and they often expressed doubts that they really wanted to submit to their boyfriends or husbands so completely and unconditionally.

The Marquis had quickly recovered his authority after the humiliation he suffered at the hands of my Mistress. He rarely wore the abbot's habit; most of the time he appeared in civilian clothes. But he continued to embellish his orders and pronouncements with references to the devil, evil spirits, the virgin Mary and the need to attain purity. I couldn't understand that the monks didn't see through this mumbo-jumbo. From his actions it was clear that he wasn't in the least interested in purity - on the contrary. Or were his helpers not real monks and just acted the part to create some kind of an illusion? I never reached a conclusion on this question.

The first time the Marquis called for me was still on the day of my arrival - or was it already the morning of the next day? A monk I hadn't met before came to my cell and ordered me to get up. When I didn't follow his order quickly enough, he pulled me up and dragged me behind him along the corridor. My body was still partly covered by the hardened wax the other women had poured on me. Some of it started to flake away as I moved, but the wax was completely incrusted in my pubic hair and it would take some time for the last trace to disappear.

The vault where the Marquis was waiting was similar to the other compartments in this basement, except that it was much larger and contained a number of contraptions along with a massive desk. I did not understand how many of these gadgets worked, but there was no doubt about their ultimate purpose: to help in disciplining the trainee slaves. Together with the large number of ropes, chains and other implements attached to the walls and hanging from the ceiling, these devices gave the whole vault the air of a torture chamber.

Meeting this man so soon after he had been humiliated by my Mistress made me wonder whether he would take revenge on me. As I checked his face to see what mood he was in, he became visibly angry.

"How dare you look at me? Don't you know that slaves are not allowed to look at their superior's face. Look down at the floor at once!"

"I'm sorry," I said, realizing that I had been guilty of a gross offence.

"I'm sorry, what?" the Marquis barked.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I said, recognizing a second offence in less than two minutes.

"Fetch Yolande," the Marquis ordered the monk who had brought me.

While he was waiting for Yolande to be summoned, the Marquis made me kneel on a low, padded bench; he unlocked the chain which linked my wrists in front of me, refastened it behind my back and attached it to my collar.

When the monk returned, followed by a woman whom I assumed to be Yolande, the two men removed her chains, made her strip naked and then tied her to one of the contraptions I had seen but not quite understood. It looked like a large tree trunk, inclined at an angle of 45 degrees. The woman had to place her knees on a wooden board at either side of the trunk and spread her legs wide to straddle the large wooden pole. As her upper body was tied to the trunk her ample breasts were squashed against the wood.

Without any prior warning, the Marquis took a cane and hit the woman's bottom repeatedly with fierce energy. The woman cried out as the cane hit her backside, but did not seem to suffer a lot. Her ordeal wasn't over when the caning stopped. The Marquis took a short whip and hit her back until it was covered with red stripes. The cane marks on the woman's bottom also started to swell.

I had watched the scene with astonishment. As the Marquis turned towards me I quickly lowered my eyes and concentrated on a spot on the floor right in front of me.

"Your Master has put restrictions on the punishment you may receive. I'm not permitted to spank you or use the cane or whip to discipline you. However, letting your offences go unpunished would undermine my authority. I have therefore decided to punish this wench in your place. Whenever you step out of line, she'll be castigated. I have already punished her for your first two offences. If you disobey the rules again, she'll suffer the consequences."

This declaration upset me more than any threat to punish me severely for any offence I'd commit. I didn't want anybody else to suffer because I did something wrong. I thought of arguing, discussing, pleading with the Marquis to punish me in spite of my Master's prohibition, but that would constitute another break of the rules - slaves only speak when they're given permission - and would result in even more punishment for poor Yolande. Instead I took great care to answer all the Marquis' questions to his satisfaction, obey all rules and demonstrate complete obedience. But even so, my whipping girl had to endure another caning and a further round of lashes with the whip. Yolande didn't hide her pain, but didn't utter any sound apart from her involuntary cries and sobs.

When my first session with the Marquis was over, he ordered me to watch as he brutally fucked Yolande's ass. Yolande screamed as her attacker's cock pierced her unprepared ass, but took the abuse without further complaints. He explained that this wasn't a punishment for anything I had done wrong, but, as she had already been brought from her cell, he had decided to give her a special treat. At the time, I considered this an expression of his cynical character, but later I found out that Yolande did in fact consider it a special favour to have her ass fucked.

After Yolande had been lead away, sobbing, with the Marquis' cum dribbling from her rear hole, I considered the moment right to broach the subject of my punishment with the Marquis.

"I don't want to be different from the other slaves. It won't help me learn to be obedient if I don't get punished when I don't live up to your expectations. If I cannot be spanked, whipped or caned, I'm sure you can think of other ways of disciplining me."

I realized that I was giving him carte blanche, permission to do with me whatever he wanted. But then, the fact I was here meant that my Master had already given him that permission.

The Marquis did not react. I had expected an outburst of anger about my insolence, but he just seemed to ignore my plea. When the monk returned to take me back to my cell, the Marquis finally reacted. "Wait," he said to the monk, "Bring back Yolande."

I didn't know whether that was a good or a bad sign. My fears were confirmed when my fellow prisoner was strapped once more onto the punishment device and subjected to another caning.

"This was the punishment for your presumptuousness, for talking without permission," the Marquis told me. "Here is your chance to redeem some of the pain you have caused her: Lick her feet clean."

I was eager to follow his order and to show that woman how sorry I was for being the cause of her suffering. Perhaps too eager. As I moved forward to touch Yolande's feet with my mouth, I fell over. With my hands chained behind my back, I wasn't able to break my fall. I fell flat on my face, or rather it was my breasts which took most of the impact. I moaned as I hit the ground, but I quickly struggled back onto my knees and started to clean Yolande's feet with my tongue. Like all prisoners, she wasn't allowed any footwear and as a consequence a crust of dirt had formed on her feet. I didn't mind. I had come here to learn to be a slave and this was my first chance. Maybe in future my Mistress or my Master would order me to perform this service for them.

I bathed Yolande's feet with my saliva and removed the wet dirt with my tongue.

"I have considered your plea and I will think of ways to punish you," the Marquis informed me as I was licking. "But this won't change my decision as far as Yolande is concerned. Whenever you disobey the rules, she'll pay for it."

The Marquis probably knew very well that seeing someone else suffer as a result of my actions would have a much bigger impact on me than if I were simply punished myself. I would try to be a perfect slave so that poor Yolande wouldn't be castigated through my fault.

-----

I met Yolande again when I joined the other women for a meal some time later. They were sitting around the large wooden table in the refectory. As it happened, a place next to Yolande was free and I promptly occupied it. At first I didn't know whether it was okay to speak to her, but when I saw the other women engaging freely in conversation, I told her how much it had upset me to see her punished for my offences.

"Don't worry 'bout it," she said, "That's what I'm here for. I want to learn to accept rough treatment without complaint. But compared to my husband the Marquis is a gentleman."

Her statement surprised me. A far as I was concerned, the Marquis was the most sadistic human being I had ever come across. If she called him a gentleman, then her husband had to be a real monster. I asked her what her husband had done to her to deserve such a judgement.

"I'm not allowed to talk about it. Not to anybody. Let's just say, I didn't mind what the Marquis did to me and it wouldn't bother me if he did it again right now. It all helps me to accept pain as part of my life."

"But if your husband is such an animal, why don't you just ditch him."

This time it was her turn to be surprised. "Well, I don't know what exactly your arrangement is, but I assume there is someone who brought you here for a purpose. Would you just ditch him because you don't like the way he treats you or how they treat you here? I guess the answer is no. I guess you'd say you love him too much. In any case, that's my reason."

When I told her that I had a Mistress as well as a Master and that, yes, I loved them too much to object to my treatment, Yolande became very compassionate. "That must be terrible," she said. "I guess they try to outdo each other, each one abusing you more than the next."

"So far, I have only very little experience," I admitted. "I don't know what it's going to be like when I'm finished here, but I wouldn't call it terrible, not in the least. I think it's going to be wonderful. I don't mind what they'll do to me or if they're going to compete with each other. All I know is that I love it when I get punished and abused."

After this conversation, Yolande and I became close friends, as far as friendship was possible in this kind of place.

The other women treated me with suspicion. It had somehow become known that I wouldn't be subjected to the same punishment they received. They didn't think that the fact I had to stay naked at all times compensated for this privilege. They considered me a bibelot, a pet slave, someone whose Master wasn't really serious about discipline. The more sceptical ones assumed that I had struck a deal with the Marquis, that I was spying on them and would report their trespasses to him in exchange for lenient treatment.

There was a constant flux of women arriving and leaving. Inmates who reached the end of their training disappeared and new trainee slaves took their places. There were never fewer than seven or more than ten women in the group. The newcomers treated me the same way they treated the other women; with awe and respect. And when Yolande reported about the punishment I was receiving, nobody doubted that I was genuinely committed to becoming a slave.

Yolande became a constant presence during my sessions with the Marquis. Although she had assured me that she didn't mind being castigated, I did my best to obey all the rules and followed the Marquis' orders without hesitation. But the Marquis saw it as his right - or duty? - to punish us and he did so with or without reason. Yolande was tied to a variety of implements and had every imaginable part of her body whipped, caned or otherwise tormented. Even though I received my own punishment, I couldn't stop thinking that I was the cause of her suffering. I felt dismayed to hear her scream and sob, always wishing I could complete my training soon so the Marquis would no longer have a reason to castigate her.

There was one particular form of punishment which caught my attention. Yolande was tied onto two large wooden beams which crossed each other to form an X. The Marquis walked around the contraption and whenever he felt like it, he would whip her with a cat o' nine tails; her breasts, her belly, her thighs and eventually her pussy. Yolande screamed when the lashes hit her tender sex, but she assured me later that this was just an involuntary reaction. The pain wasn't worse than any of the other whippings she received.

What fascinated me about this scene was that the crossed wooden beams were exactly like those I had seen in a picture in Charlotte's collection of magazines. Yolande wasn't exactly the young, fragile girl on that picture, but seeing her punished that way reminded me how I had wanted to be in that girl's place. Now I wanted to be in Yolande's place, I wanted to experience the feeling of the lashes raining down on my breasts and on my pussy. But the rules were that I could not be whipped and I knew there was no point in begging, or even in disobeying the Marquis in the hope that he would lose his temper and whip me.

My own punishment consisted of being tied up in the most uncomfortable positions the Marquis could think of. One way was to make me lie face down on his desk, tie my wrists to my ankles and than hoist me up so that I was suspended belly down. Then the Marquis would tie another rope around my waist and pass the end between my bottom cheeks and between my legs. He would hold the end of that second rope in his hand while he sat at his desk and conducted his 'lesson' with me dangling from the ceiling like some badly constructed model airplane. Whenever he considered it appropriate he would pull on the rope which passed between my legs. It would cut deep into my groin and make me swing like a pendulum in the air. Whenever my body swung away from him, the Marquis would jerk again on the rope, this time crushing it against my ass and pussy. The sudden, violent sensation never failed to make me cry out in pain.

This was one of his more gentle forms of playing with me. One of the more cruel forms was to suspend me by my wrists from a pulley that was attached to the ceiling and then fix a thick, coarse rope to two hooks on the ceiling, one some distance in front of me, the other one some way behind me, so that it passed between my legs. When I was pulled up all the way to the ceiling, that tackle would swing loosely between my knees. At his whim he would suddenly let me drop. The rope between my legs would break my fall abruptly, cutting deep into my pussy, crushing my clit and punishing my ass. The pain this caused was almost unbearable. It felt like I was being cut into two parts by the rope. The Marquis would pull me up again and later, when I least expected it, send me crashing down once more.

Initially I tried to stifle my screams, I wanted to show that, as an obedient slave, I was taking my suffering without complaints. But the Marquis considered this an act of defiance. He enjoyed hearing his victims' screams as a measure of his power and skill. He got infuriated when a victim refused to voice her pain. As soon as I realized this, I gave free expression to my suffering - and there was no need to fake any pain I didn't feel. My screams were particularly desperate when the Marquis used his rope tricks after I had been wearing the cunt-opener for some time. The coarse rope cutting into my highly sensitive pussy caused an excruciating pain which made me squeal like a stuck pig.

On these occasions, the Marquis would thank me cynically for having challenged him to find a way of punishing me. He was delighted with the 'rope tricks' he had invented and told me that I had become his favourite plaything.

-----

The purpose of the 'lessons' was to teach me how a slave was expected to behave, feel and think. It wasn't simply a case of telling me, but of conditioning me so that the desired reactions would happen as a spontaneous response. My behaviour had become close to perfect, but the Marquis was convinced that my mind still harboured thoughts which had no place in the world of slavedom. He suspected that I still felt I knew best what was right for me, that I still pursued my own pleasures rather than those of my Masters, that I still had my own ideas about what was and what wasn't right for me to do.

During my first session, while I was kneeling on the padded bench, the monk who had brought me grabbed my breasts from behind and played with my nipples which promptly hardened. After the Marquis had watched the scene long enough he told the monk to stop and then asked me what I felt.

"I feel aroused, Sir, but also ashamed."

"Why do you feel ashamed?" he wanted to know.

"Because my lust can be aroused so easily, Sir. I feel that I should only get excited when my Master touches me."

"The only reason a true slave feels pleasure is because she pleases her Master," the Marquis lectured me. "Your Master has delivered you into my hands, therefore whatever pleases me, pleases your Master. And if it pleases me to let this monk play with your tits, then you have reason to feel pleasure. Your pleasure does not depend on how you feel about what happens to your body, but on how your Master feels about it. If it pleases your Master to have you stand in a corner and ignore you, then you will feel happy that your Master has gone to the trouble of making you stand in a corner. If it pleases your Master to let some stranger whip your cunt, then you will be delighted to have your cunt whipped.

"Quite clearly you think that you're something special, better than the rest. You consider it a waste of your physical assets to let you simply stand in a corner. You feel entitled to being used in a more satisfying way - more satisfying to you, not to your Master. This idea that you have the right to be treated in a certain way stands in the way of you ever becoming an obedient slave. You have to free yourself from vanity, arrogance and pride.

"You consider yourself very important, whereas a slave's prime characteristic is humility. You need to understand that you are insignificant to your Master and to everybody else."

The Marquis was right as far as my vanity and pride were concerned. I was proud of my body and the pleasures it could give to others and I made sure that I always looked my most attractive. I did not think that appreciating one's own qualities amounted to being arrogant. I did not consider myself better than the other prisoners and would have been pleased to submit to their desires if the opportunity arose. But I definitely couldn't bring myself to indulge in this insignificance business. If I was that insignificant to my Master, then why had he sent me here? Wasn't my Master paying the Marquis' probably quite sizable fee so that I would be of service to him in the future?

After all, my Master had often told me how much he enjoyed my company, how good I made him feel. My Mistress, amongst other women, had told me that I had a golden tongue. I took that as a sign of appreciation. I wasn't insignificant to those people. I had a place in their lives. Yes, my place was that of a slave, someone who obeys and follows orders, someone who had duties but no rights. I could accept this, but insignificance? No.

Of course, I couldn't tell the Marquis that I disagreed with his point of view. Slaves aren't supposed to have an opinion. As far as he was concerned they weren't even supposed to think on their own.

The Marquis would return frequently to the subject of my insignificance. He would give me sentences to repeat, like 'I'm as insignificant as a breadcrumb which dropped onto my Master's lap' or ' I'm as insignificant as a speck of dandruff on my Master's collar'. He would insist that I repeat them over and over like a litany while he tightened the rope he had fastened between my legs or stretched me on the rack. He also told me to meditate about my insignificance and come up with similar sentences of my own. If my sentences did not reflect the right degree of humility, if I did not produce enough of them, or if my tone of voice was not humble enough, Yolande would be whipped.

In his quest to humiliate me, the Marquis used a number of methods. After each lesson he ordered me to clean Yolande's feet with my tongue to show that I was not only his slave but her servant as well. He also made me lick his sperm off her body and out of her pussy or ass whenever he had used her to satisfy his lust. More and more often I had to parade my wide open pussy in front of the other women at meal time. When he didn't fit me with the cunt-opener, my meal was served in a bowl on the floor of the refectory and I had to eat on all fours, like a dog.

He expected that this treatment would lower my self-esteem and would break my rebellious spirit. I did not consider any of this worthy of deep reflection. It was what I expected my future to be like. When I thanked the Marquis on these occasions for preparing me so thoroughly for life as a slave, I really meant it. It wasn't an attempt to please him so that he would be less severe with me.

Seeing that I put up with this humiliation without batting an eyelid, the Marquis thought up another scheme to make me feel disgust for myself. One day, a monk arrived in my cell with a large jug of water and ordered me to drink it all. He watched impatiently as I drank the liquid, one glass after another until the jug was empty. As soon as I had finished, the monk left but came back after a few minutes with another jug and insisted that I drink the second one as well. Then he left without saying a word.

I felt bloated and wondered what the reason behind this strange request was. Some time later, when I already felt the urge to relieve myself, the monk returned and took me to the Marquis' cabinet. On the way we met Yolande who was escorted by another monk. I found out later that she had also been given two jugs of water to drink.

The 'torture chamber' was crowded. To my surprise I saw that all the other women had been assembled there. They were chained to each other, forming a circle. Some of them were also chained to the wall. There was a monk standing behind each prisoner.

My guardian lead me to the centre of the circle where a large plastic sheet had been placed on the floor. I was ordered to lie on that sheet and Yolande was placed on top of me in a sixty-nine position. The monks tied us securely so that we were unable to move our heads away from each other's pussy. Then the Marquis ordered us to lick each other.

I hadn't experienced any sex in the traditional sense since my Master had fucked me the day I arrived at Sainte Jacqueline, as part of my 'exorcism'. The touch of my fellow sufferer's tongue soon had me swoon with delight. As I relaxed my muscles to allow her tongue to slip further along my slit, it became increasingly difficult to hold back all the liquid inside me. I decided to concentrate on licking Yolande's pussy. 'One good deed deserves another', I thought. I could hear how much my efforts pleased Yolande, but her approaching orgasm caused her to open the floodgates and she showered my mouth, my face, my hair with her urine.

This was what the Marquis had intended when he made us drink an unusually large amount of water. He wanted to humiliate me by being pissed on in front of the assembled prisoners and monks, and having to swallow Yolande's urine. He expected that I would loathe myself after such an undignified experience. It had exactly the opposite effect from what the Marquis had intended. It turned me on. I climaxed and, like Yolande, was no longer able to hold back my urine. Yolande, lying on top of me, was in a more favourable position. The ties gave her enough freedom to move her head to the side if she wanted to avoid contact with the urine that was welling out of me.

But the Marquis wouldn't allow it. I could feel his whip thrashing down on Yolande's back. "Drink her piss, you disgusting slut!" he shouted. "Both of you! I want you to sate yourself on each other's piss."

Turning to the others he crowed, "Look at these filthy bitches, drinking each other's piss. What Master would want such despicable creatures as slaves? Just look at these disgusting pigs, wallowing in their own excrements!"

Most people wouldn't dream of drinking someone else's urine or even getting into contact with it. It wasn't something I had ever thought of as a way to spice up my sex life. The idea of someone pissing all over my face, and a great deal of it running into my mouth had never attracted me. I still don't think there is anything particularly sexy about urine. But when I found myself in this situation where the Marquis ordered us to drink each other's piss, when I felt his whip hit Yolande's back just in case we were considering disobeying him, I felt aroused by the command. I decided to indulge in this perverse pleasure and opened my mouth wide to receive the stream of warm liquid squirting from Yolande's pussy.

When the flow from Yolande's pussy had ceased, I resumed licking her and brought her to another satisfying orgasm. I was pleased to notice that she was following my example and was working her tongue deep inside my slit. We paid no attention to the Marquis' pontifications as he talked contemptuously about us, calling us scum, piss-guzzling whores, the lowest of the low.

In the end he called the monks, one at a time, to step forward and empty their bladders over the two already piss-drenched women. As I felt the liquid splatter on my body and face I wondered whether the monks too had been given an extra ration of water to drink.

I considered this treatment and the Marquis' verbal abuse part of being a slave. Slaves couldn't expect fair, even-handed treatment. But I didn't take any of it to heart. Deep down inside I knew that I had handled the situation he had put me in very well. I felt that my behaviour deserved respect; I was proud of coping so well with even the most extreme demands.

-----

I had two reasons to obey the Marquis and do whatever I could to please him. The first was to protect Yolande from his brutal attacks, although he had often enough demonstrated that exemplary behaviour did not protect either of us. He didn't need any justification for punishing any of his slaves.

The second reason was that I wanted to return to my Masters as soon as possible. I wasn't exactly desperate to get away from Sainte Jacqueline because of the treatment I suffered at the Marquis' hands; I was simply eager to start my life as my Master's and my Mistress's slave.

When Yolande left - slaves who had reached the end of their training would disappear suddenly, without prior announcement - the Marquis did not appoint another woman as my whipping girl. Maybe he thought I was getting enough punishment of my own, maybe he just changed his tactics.

Often, when I was called to his chamber, the Marquis would simply tie me up and suspend me from the ceiling while he dealt with another woman as part of her regular training session. This way I got to witness the kind of punishment he handed out when he had free choice and no restrictions were imposed. I saw women throw themselves at his feet, begging for mercy, imploring him to spare them any further punishment. I also saw that the Marquis enjoyed the power he wielded over those women, but he never gave in to their pleas. On the contrary, those who begged for mercy were certain to incur the Marquis's wrath and would be subjected to the most brutal treatment he was capable of.

I thought about what would happen to those women after they were returned to their Masters. They would be trembling in their bones, eager to satisfy every wish of their Masters, living in fear that they might be sent back for another turn at Sainte Jacqueline. I thought about how little this had in common with my idea of submission. I was looking forward to fulfilling my Masters' every wish; not out of fear, but because I loved them. For the Marquis, a slave's mission was to please her Master, whether this happened out of love or fear didn't matter to him.

No matter how cruelly he'd tie me up, how awkwardly he'd suspend me, how much he'd punish my pussy with his coarse ropes, how long he'd keep my pussy lips pulled apart so that they hardly ever closed, even when I wasn't wearing the cunt-opener, it would have never occurred to me to beg the Marquis for mercy. My Master had brought me here to have me trained as a slave. How could I expect the Marquis to do anything but the complete job on me?

I never managed to develop any positive feelings in relation to the Marquis. But just as I needed to lace my pleasure with pain in order to reach maximum fulfilment, just as I needed someone to submit to, there had to be some people who got a kick out of administering this pain, of dominating and humiliating others.

I accepted that there was a need for people like the Marquis. The only disagreement I had with his behaviour was that he did not care whether his victims accepted his treatment or were horrified by it. In fact, to plead for mercy was to ensure that one would experience the full brutality the Marquis was capable of. Because of this character trait I had to admit that he had chosen his name well. And these women did not want pain, I was sure. Why did he not simply refuse to take them on? Why did he not point out that they weren't really suitable and would never make good slaves - slaves who wanted to suffer to achieve pleasure?

I concluded that the Marquis and I were really made for each other - a slave who did not feel any affection for her torturer and a Master who was never fully satisfied by the behaviour of his slave.

Chapter 21

[The Whipping]

One day, the Marquis had me brought to his torture chamber, where, to my surprise and delight, I saw my Master and Mistress. They had come to collect me. The Marquis himself thought that my rebellious spirit had not been completely broken yet, but my Master was more than satisfied with my progress and had decided that I was ready to assume my role as his slave.

My Mistress had brought some clothes for me to wear, including my dog collar. As I was getting dressed, the Marquis remarked, "It's a pity you're leaving now. You're going to miss the harvest festival in a few day's time."

"We're going to do our own version of Thanksgiving," he explained for everybody's benefit. "I have already sent the monks to the farmers in the surrounding villages. They will acquire the biggest carrots and parsnips, the fattest cucumbers and the plumpest corn-cobs they can find for our celebration."

Knowing the Marquis, I was sure he didn't procure those vegetables for their nutritional value. They were not intended for the slaves' mouths but for their other orifices. The thought of what he might do with them tempted me. But if the choice was to stay until the harvest festival or return to my Master and Mistress right away, there was no contest - I wanted to be theirs as soon as possible.

My Master wanted to know if my stay at Sainte Jacqueline had achieved its purpose. I assured him that I would be an obedient slave and would not look for any pleasures other than to please my Master and my Mistress.

"Is there anything that you would have liked to happen which didn't occur?"

That seemed a strange question. Did he want me to evaluate the Marquis' performance? I hated the smug bastard, but that was understandable. Most slaves wanted him to go to hell.

"That's not for me to say, Master," I said after some hesitation.

The fact that I didn't answer with a straight 'no' made him suspicious. "You have permission to speak. What is it, you think was missing from your training?"

I hesitated. I knew that he had decided I should not be spanked, caned or whipped. I also knew that the Marquis had not agreed with this decision and had obeyed it only reluctantly. I did not want to take sides with the Marquis against my Master. But my Mistress encouraged me once more to say what was on my mind.

"I think I need to be flogged to be a better slave, Mistress. I know that my Master doesn't approve of it, but maybe it would help me if I could experience it just once."

"Are you sure you really want this?" My Mistress asked.

"Yes, Mistress, I'm sure."

"So you want the Marquis to whip you while we watch?"

"No. I want my Master and Mistress to whip me until I faint."

"Until you faint? Isn't that a bit too much? Where did you get that idea from?"

"I watched the Marquis do it to another woman," I answered. "Only this once! Please, Mistress! Please, Master!" I sounded like a spoilt child begging for a sweet.

They had asked. They had insisted I tell them. There was no point in asking and then ignoring my wish. They agreed to satisfy my request, but I could see that it was with some trepidation. What disturbed them was that they were supposed to whip me, and that they would have to continue until I'd pass out. They were shocked by the ferocity of my desire to be hurt.

I knew exactly where and how I wanted to be flogged. At this stage I was familiar with most of the gadgets in this hall of horrors. There were two large iron rings hanging from the ceiling, which were normally used to suspend a victim. But they could also be lowered enough so that I was still standing firmly on the floor while I held on to them. My wrists could be tied to those rings to keep me from falling in case I let go of them.

Another two rings on the floor could be used to hold my legs in position, slightly spread, but not too wide, to allow me to get a firm footing. I would be standing in the middle of the room, forming a large X, accessible from all sides. As instruments for my flogging I selected a long horsewhip for my Mistress and a cat o' nine tails for my Master.

I took off my clothes but kept the dog collar on. As the Marquis tied me up according to my specifications, I gave my castigators instructions on what I wanted them to do. I was so excited, I completely forgot that I was the slave and they were my Masters.

"I want that long horsewhip to wrap around my body, from the back to the front. I want it to punish my tits when you whip my back and my cunt when you thrash my ass. And I want to feel that cat o' nine tails on my tits and between my thighs. I want it to bite my cunt without mercy."

My Masters were visibly shocked by my hunger for pain, my desire to let the most vulnerable parts of my body be punished. My Mistress made a hesitant start. The whip hit my back and wrapped around to my front, but stayed a long way below my breasts. It stung nevertheless.

"Higher," I shouted, ignoring the pain. "And harder."

The second attempt was better, but still too weak to make an impact. I had to encourage my Mistress a few more times until the lashes had the desired force and direction. I cried out in pain when the tip of the whipcord grazed my nipple.

My Mistress stopped immediately. "Are you hurt?" she asked with concern in her voice.

"No," I said with tears in my eyes. "That's part of the deal. Carry on - and harder."

Realizing that I was determined to carry this plan through to the bitter end, my Mistress resumed whipping me. After the whip had left its marks on my breasts she moved her attention to my bottom. At first the whip licked my thighs as it wrapped around my hips, but on my insistence, it found its intended target. I momentarily lost my foothold when the cord slashed across my pussy lips. This was the most intense pain I had ever felt. It left me dangling on the rings, only held upright by the ropes which tied me to them. Alarmed by my screams, my Mistress dropped the whip. She kissed and hugged me and wanted to know if I was alright.

I soon found my footing again and reminded them that the flogging had to continue until I passed out. My mistress was so impressed by my screams and the marks which started to show all over my body that she refused to punish me any further. Now it was my Master's turn.

As he swung the cat o' nine tails across my breasts, it was almost certain that one of the lashes would hit my nipples. I could tell that he did not use his full strength - far from it. Even though, the contact of the lashes on my already sore nipples was hellishly painful. To my surprise, my Master ignored my screams. He kept whipping me, moving from my left to my right to distribute the castigation evenly across both breasts.

I was in agony. My head rocked from left to right as the lashes cut into my breasts. My screams turned into a continuous wail as the strokes hailed down on me. It took all my willpower to hold on to the rings. Had my Master changed his mind as far as physical punishment was concerned? Did he whip me this fast and furious to bring my ordeal to a quick end? Had he decided to do his part in making this once-in-a-lifetime flogging a memorable event? Or did he get turned on seeing me suffering so defencelessly?

The strokes shifted gradually lower, leaving their marks on my belly, my lower abdomen, my thighs, but never quite reaching my pussy. Eventually, my Master stood next to me, one arm around my waist, and lowered the cat between my legs. First slowly, almost playfully so, until I pushed my pussy forward to welcome the touch of the leather thongs. Then the whip came down with speed and force and hit the most tender part of my body. I screamed louder than I had ever screamed before. My legs gave way and the rings I had been holding on to slipped from my hands. I was dangling from the ceiling, only held up by the ropes which tied my wrists to the rings.

"Have you had enough?" my Master asked, clearly expecting that I would say yes.

I was barely able to speak. "I haven't fainted yet," I whispered, shaking my head. That's the last thing I remember. A flurry of lashes came down on my pussy, making me scream in anguish. Then everything went black before my eyes.

-----

I came to as my Master lifted me out of his car, wrapped in a blanket, and carried me to the lift in his apartment building. My Mistress went ahead, opening the doors as they carried me to one of the bedrooms and placed me gently onto the bed. Both of them seemed relieved that I had regained consciousness. I thanked them for letting me experience such overwhelming pain. "In future, whenever I think of disobeying either of you, I will think back to this experience, and I will obey you," I promised.

My Mistress wanted to sooth my pain by applying lotion to my bruised body. The cool liquid gave momentary relief, but even the softest touch hurt and I asked her to just let me rest to recover.

-----

As soon as I had fully recovered from my flogging, my Masters took me for a two-week holiday to a luxurious nudist resort on the island of Corsica. There I spent my days lazing in the sun and my nights sharing their bed. However, our love-making wasn't limited to the night, nor was it confined to our suite. We found some sheltered coves a short way along the coast and indulged in the pleasure of making love in the open air with the sound of the sea as an accompaniment. During these two weeks we behaved like a conventional - conventional? - threesome. We enjoyed ourselves as a trio, as a duo and there were even some solo performances. It was a wonderful two weeks, a period of respite before my existence as their slave would start in earnest. It made me think of the night with Lola and the fact that we had never taken her up on the promised return visit. I decided to contact her as soon as I would get back to Paris.

-----

Something else we did when we returned to Paris was to put into action a plan we had worked out during our stay on Corsica.

My Masters had noticed how much I liked being naked in front of strangers. I had been naked throughout my stay at Sainte Jacqueline and now I spent two weeks in the nudist resort without ever wearing a stitch. There were a few single men who had gone there looking for some adventure and I enjoyed it tremendously when they watched me sunbathe and tried to hide their erections whenever I looked in their direction.

My enjoyment was not very slave-like, I admit, the kind of pleasure the Marquis had constantly warned me against, but my Masters hadn't yet fully taken control of me. At one stage I must have commented that I felt like walking down the _ Champs-Élysées _ in the nude. This got them thinking. I had already exposed myself by wearing near-transparent clothes or allowed people to take a peek at my panty-less pussy, but now I wanted full nudity for everyone to see. The suggestion to sit as a nude model for an arts class was discarded for being much too tame.

It was my Mistress who came up with the idea we all agreed on. "You know those people who stand on street corners and in public squares, on a pedestal, pretending to be statues, with a box for the public to drop some money?"

We had all seen them. It seems the fad had started a few years ago. Nobody knew exactly where it had started. We weren't sure if those people were out-of-work actors, art students or just a new breed of beggars. They represented a variety of figures. Characters from 'The Wizard of Oz' were popular motifs, but there were also historical figures and images from famous paintings. What they all had in common was that they stood there, motionless, leaving the passers-by guessing whether this was in fact a statue or a human being of flesh and blood.

"What if we get Jacqueline dressed up, or rather undressed, as a Greek or Roman statue, say Aphrodite or Venus? She could hold an amphora in one hand and maybe an olive branch in the other. That would be the only thing she'd wear."

I knelt down and kissed her feet, so much did I like her idea.

It was necessary to do some more research. We had to decide on the exact motif and find out how to produce the marble effect of an antique statue on my naked skin. We found out that rice powder mixed with the right amount of grey would do the trick.

"You know something?" my Mistress asked after having looked through a few books on ancient statues. The smile on her face made me feel apprehensive.

"Goddesses don't have any hair on their pussies. All the statues I've looked at are bare, clean, smooth as a baby's bottom."

That explained the smirk on her face. My Mistress was looking forward to shaving my pussy. And she was determined to make a big event out of it. She stopped short of inviting friends and neighbours to watch, but my Master kept his eyes glued to my pussy while my Mistress went through an elaborate process of first trimming my pubic hair with scissors, then moistening the remaining stubbles, applying plenty of shaving foam, and finally removing the last vestiges of hair with a barber's razor. She didn't even need to order me to stay quiet while she shaved me. I held my breath as the sharp blade slithered around my pussy lips.

To finish the job, my Mistress drenched my now bare pussy in aftershave. Boy did that sting! I'm sure she knew it would have this effect when she applied the lotion so generously. My Master didn't even wait for my gasps to subside. He couldn't get his cock quickly enough inside my freshly shaved pussy. It reminded me of how he had jumped on Lola when he first saw her bare plum.

My Master, but also my Mistress, behaved as if they had been given a brand new toy to play with and didn't let me get much sleep that night.

The following morning, my Master and Mistress covered me from top to toe with make-up and took me to the open space in front of the _ Louvre _, where we had decided my performance as a statue of Aphrodite would take place. They had brought along a pedestal which was really a kitchen stool, draped in black velvet, and helped me to get into position, an olive branch in one hand, the other hand resting below my breasts. After putting a collection box on the floor before the pedestal, they retreated to observe the events from a distance. A few other statues had already taken up position in the same area.

My heart beat so hard, I was afraid it would knock the make-up off my chest. The first people who passed seemed to be in a hurry and paid little attention to me. Or maybe they were so used to this collection of living and breathing works of art that they didn't notice the new figure. Then, one man who had already passed me slowed down and turned around for another look. It was the classic double-take. He came slowly closer and had a good look. Scratching his head, he walked around me to inspect me from all sides. When he had done the full loop he stood in front of me and observed me for a while, probably trying to see if I was moving. Eventually he went away, shaking his head.

A group of Japanese tourists took my picture, probably never suspecting that they were snapping a real woman. More people stopped and looked at me. One man said, "Girl you've got guts," as he dropped a generous donation into my collection box. A group of people formed in front of me. They engaged in a discussion whether I was or wasn't a real woman and once they decided that I had to be real, they tried to figure out whether I was in fact naked or was wearing a body stocking or some other kind of clothing under my body paint. As the group grew larger, it attracted more passers-by who all stopped to have a good look at me. Some were pulling faces or acting funny to make me laugh.

I didn't move a muscle, resisting all attempts to make me give away my real existence. But I was in danger of being betrayed by my pussy. I was getting increasingly excited by all those people inspecting me closely and could feel that I was getting wet. Would my juices seep out of my bare pussy and mix with the rice powder? 'I should have put a tampon inside to soak up the juices,' I thought. Excellent idea, but terrible timing.

Then something unexpected happened. A woman in her sixties, dressed all in black and carrying an umbrella on such a warm, sunny day, started a tirade against the decline in moral standards. I wasn't sure whether she was complaining about a naked woman exposing herself in a public place or whether she simply objected to the Greek Goddess being portrayed so realistically, with all details clearly visible.

When her opinions didn't find much sympathy with the others, she went away, ranting and raving and announcing that she was going to call the police to remove this offensive work of pornography.

I doubted that any _ gendarme _ would pay much attention to this hysterical woman, but I found it better not to risk it. I gave my assistants the agreed signal for retreat by letting the olive branch slip from my hand.

My Master and Mistress arrived, dressed in white coats which identified them as employees of a famous arts gallery. They wrapped a blanket around me, and then my Master carried me away while my Mistress took care of the pedestal. The onlookers stood there open-mouthed and I could hear that the discussion about whether I was made of stone or of flesh and blood restarted.

My Master celebrated the successful execution of our plan by 'fucking a monument' while my Mistress wanted to find out what it's like to be licked by the Goddess of love. We only stopped when my body paint was evenly distributed between the three of us. Then we showered together to clean up.

-----

My letter to Lola returned unopened. 'Not known at this address', it said on the envelope. I had written to her, telling her about the changes in my life and my new relationship. I explained that these changes were the probable reason why my Master hadn't given any indication that he was planning a visit to Berlin. But, I suggested, if she was interested in an adventure, she might show up unexpectedly one day and see what develops.

The fact that my letter hadn't reached her made me wonder what happened to her. I decided to call the magazine which had sent her to Paris to interview my Master. Using broken English and the few German words I know mixed into my French, I found that Lola was no longer working there, but they gave me a phone number where she could be reached.

Lola's voice sounded as cheerful as ever, when I finally got through to her. She seemed very pleased to hear my voice and apologized for not having been in touch. Before I told her about the changes in my life, as I had intended, I asked her why she was no longer working as a fashion correspondent.

"That's a long story," she started. "I published the interview with Ramon exactly as it had been recorded. You may remember he talked a lot about my shaved pussy that day, and also about the things we had got up to the night before. My readers became curious. They wanted to know more. Some wanted to see pictures of my pussy. The people I worked for offered me the job of editor for a new magazine with explicit pictures and stories and suggested I should start off the first issue by writing about my own experiences and include a series of photographs of myself.

"I thought about the offer - not very long - and accepted it. Now all my readers know exactly what happened that night between you, me and Ramon. I also told them the story about Charlotte's lesson, when I met you the first time, and many other exciting things which happened to me since that day. They have seen pictures of my pussy from every possible angle. I get the feeling I must have one of the most photographed pussies on earth.

"But my readers wanted more. They wanted to see my pussy in action: stuffed with a big cock or dripping with cum. That's when I announced that I was looking for partners to shoot the scenes people were demanding. You can't imagine the number of offers I received! Anyway, that's how I met my owners..."

"Your what?" I interrupted, sensing a case of déjà vu.

"My owners. I'm theirs to use and abuse. Their names are Ralf and Rolf. Also known as the A and the O. They are identical twins. It's impossible to tell them apart, so they agreed to have the letters A and O tattooed on the base of their cocks. That way I can tell who is Ralf and who is Rolf. They fuck me like I've never been fucked before. And we publish the pictures for everyone to see."

Lola paused. There was the sound of a door opening and a male voice in the background saying something I didn't understand. Lola said a few words, I assume in German, then I heard her gasp.

"They've come back and want to fuck me," Lola reported. "Ralf's already stuck his cock into my ass and Rolf is waiting for me to suck him. I've got to go. Stay in touch." She spoke with difficulties. It seemed like someone was pounding his cock into her for all he was worth.

I sat still for a moment, the phone still in my hand, thinking about Lola. Was she in trouble? Did she need help? Were those people she called her owners using her against her will? I came to the conclusion that there was no reason to worry. She was well capable of looking after herself and if anybody abused here, then it was because she wanted to be abused. And I wasn't really in a position to panic about her confession. Hadn't I intended to tell her that I now had a Master and a Mistress? That wasn't very different from her situation.

-----

I now have a Master and a Mistress, and I have to follow both their orders to the letter and without hesitation. Sometimes their orders contradict and I am left with the difficult decision whom to disobey, as they don't accept the excuse that my other Master had told me to do otherwise. They tell me this is my own problem as I had chosen to start a relationship with two Masters - now I have to suffer the consequences.

The words 'punishment' and 'reward' have taken on a different meaning in our relationship. The things my Masters do to me as a special treat, a reward for good behaviour, would normally be considered severe punishment or completely unacceptable as treatment of a loved one. On the other hand, if my Masters feel I deserve to be punished, they don't touch me. My punishment consists of being ignored or being tied up and having to watch them make love. I always enjoy watching them, because it is a pleasure to watch these two beautiful people fuck, but the fact that I can't join them and can't even bring myself off while I watch is a severe torture for me - and they know that.

I now visit the apartment every Wednesday in addition to spending the weekends there. My Master plays five-a-side football on most Wednesday evenings and I am usually at my Mistress's disposal. On the weekends my Master is in charge, although he generously shares me with my Mistress - or with anyone else who shows up.

Both my Master and Mistress are keen to see me complete my studies at university. They follow my progress and punish me when they feel that I'm not concentrating enough on my studies. I am grateful to them that they have allowed me to move to another university. Having to face all the students I sucked and licked during the phase when I was just a cunt would have caused me deep embarrassment and might distract me from my studies.

I felt a strange sensation of nostalgia when I returned to the _ École Supérieur Sainte Denise _ to clear out my room. It had been my first home away from my father's house and there were many fond memories attached to it. I even thought of Arlette and that I wouldn't be able to impress her with my beautiful all-over tan.

Maybe it was a good thing that I didn't get a chance to parade my tanned body in front of Arlette. Wasn't showing off an expression of vanity, and wasn't pride the motivation behind vanity? I knew that I had to avoid these vices.

I now study at another university, which happens to have the advantage of being nearer to my Master's apartment. My room at the new university is very similar to the previous one. I have a new roommate, an American girl from Clear Lake, Iowa, called Beverly. When she talks about her home town I get the feeling that it's even more provincial than Villiers. Its only claim to fame seems to be that a famous country music star died in the vicinity when his airplane crashed into the cornfields.

My Masters have given me permission to have sex with my new roommate if the situation should arise. But I have my doubts that it will happen. When I met Beverly she had just stepped off the plane from the USA. One of the first things she said was that she couldn't understand why the French get so hung up on sex. I have the feeling that, along with improving her French, she's also improved her French kissing and is gradually developing a taste for sex herself. Sometimes I fantasize about taking her with me to the apartment and making her submit to my Mistress and Master.

My Mistress has picked up where she left off before the 'chance meeting' with my Master which brought about this dramatic change in my life - she puts clamps on my nipples and then stimulates me for ages with her vibrators without letting me come. When she finally pulls the clamps off, I erupt in the most powerful orgasms imaginable. She told me how amazed she had been about my strong reaction when she caressed me with a feather for the first time. She had never seen anyone come this hard.

On some days, when I'm due to visit her in the evening, my Mistress phones me at the university during my lunch break and orders me to go to my room and put on the nipple clamps. Wearing them all afternoon leaves me steaming with excitement for the rest of the day. The clamps make my nipples extremely sensitive and every touch, even by the smoothest and lightest fabric, makes me squirm. By the time I get to the apartment I'm a bundle of desire and beg my Mistress to make me come. But, with her being the Mistress she is, it takes a lot of begging and pleasuring her before she fulfils my wish.

One such afternoon, Beverly came into our room just as I was attaching the clamps to my nipples.

"What on earth are you doing, Jacqueline?" she asked, her eyes wide open in horror.

I hadn't planned on her seeing me like this. Now I tried to act naturally, as if nothing unusual was happening.

"Oh, I'm just putting on some jewellery, so I can leave straight after my last lecture. I've got an appointment this evening." I tried to make it sound as if nipple clamps were an indispensable fashion accessory for the modern woman.

"Jewellery?" she gasped. "This looks more like a torture instrument to me."

"Not really. It's not as bad as it looks. Do you want to try?" I moved towards her, offering her the clamp I hadn't yet put on.

"No way, José," she shrieked, moving away from me.

I knew it was better not to insists. She was slowly warming to the idea of letting one of her more persistent pretenders make a woman of her. I had encouraged her to take that step, but trying to push her too far too soon might put her off.

So I just fitted the remaining clamp and then carefully buttoned my blouse over my hardening nipples. Then I set off across the campus to attend my afternoon lecture, knowing that the next few hours would be hell.

That's how I earned my unofficial nickname, 'Jackie Nipples', wearing the thinnest possible blouse so that the textile wouldn't stimulate my already sensitive nipples even further. I call it my unofficial nickname, because nobody's ever called me Jackie Nipples to my face. But I've heard it often enough behind my back to know how much my male fellow students - maybe some females as well? - enjoyed peeking at my breasts through the flimsy material. I treat all my admirers politely, but when they ask me for a date, I tell them in the nicest possible way that I am already spoken for and that they don't stand a chance.

I have the impression that the frequent and prolonged use of those clamps has made my nipples grow bigger. Or maybe they're just getting used to being constantly aroused and are sticking out in anticipation. They're always attracting attention, even when I wear a thick sweater. It's almost impossible not to notice them. When I mentioned this observation to my Mistress, she confirmed, "Yeah, that's the idea. I like them big and very sensitive. I want to be able to make you come just from trailing a feather across your breasts." I got extremely wet just thinking at the prospect.

She has similar plans for my clit. She bought a few special clamps which come with a number of weights that can be hooked into a ring to increase the pull on my clit and multiply the discomfort. My Mistress attaches the clamp to my clit, selects a weight and then makes me lick her while she lies on her back. The weight dangles between my legs and tortures my clit with every move I make. It's sheer hell, but I love it!

Sometimes my Mistress spanks me, but there isn't a lot of force behind her swats. The purpose isn't really to punish my backside, but to make the weights attached to my clit swing every time her hand makes contact with my bottom. Charlotte had once said that it takes a woman to give another women the maximum pleasure because only a woman understands the female body well enough. I would add that it also takes a woman to torment another woman to the maximum - for the same reason.

The treatment seems to have the desired effect. My clit keeps poking its head through my pussy lips, trying to make contact with the outside world. It has become almost impossible to wear tight trousers, because they stimulate my clit so much that my excitement immediately produces a wet patch between my legs.

My mistress went absolutely crazy when I told her about the Marquis' 'cunt-opener'. I had assumed she'd be interested, but I hadn't expected such an enthusiastic reaction. In fact she had noticed that my labia had been gaping open and allowed a good look into my deeper secrets the day she had come to collect me from Sainte Jacqueline, but she hadn't given the reason for this much thought. Now, she was determined to get hold of this toy and immediately contacted the Marquis, even though the two aren't on very good terms, and asked about where she could get such a gadget.

As soon as she got her hands on the cunt-opener, my Mistress started to experiment with it and invented a new game which she calls 'Christmas tree'. It starts with me kneeling with my legs slightly spread and my hands tied behind my back so I can't interfere. Then she fits the cunt-opener and attaches clamps to my clit and nipples. She says it makes me look like a decorated Christmas tree. I have seen my reflection in the mirror and don't really see any similarity, but, of course, I wouldn't dare to contradict my Mistress.

The only thing which doesn't meet my Mistress' approval is the fact that my ass is occupied by the butt-plug. It keeps her from sticking one of her vibrators in there. But she makes free use of my other opening and uses a variety of sizes and speeds to stimulate me until I'm no longer able to hold my kneeling position. Then she lets me experience the most powerful orgasms I can remember.

My Mistress has noticed that I produce copious volumes of juice when she treats me like this. "Looks like you have turned into a little squirter," she said with a mixture of astonishment and delight. Now she places a small bowl between my legs to catch my dripping juices and then gives them to me to drink. Drinking my own juices like this seems to be the pinnacle of perversion. I'm so grateful to my Mistress that she makes me do it.

When my Master returns from his Wednesday night football match, he is often tired and downtrodden and barely acknowledges my presence. But sometimes he is in a triumphant mood and claims me as the winner's trophy. Those nights, when my Master fucks me after my Mistress has played 'Christmas tree' with me are unforgettable. It seems that my Mistress has just warmed me up so that I can reach higher, hitherto unknown levels of pleasure in my Masters arms. My orgasm starts as soon as his cock enters my still highly sensitive pussy lips and only ends when he sprays me with his cum. My pussy gushes juices like an overflowing fountain and our lovemaking leaves me drained and exhausted.

"Look what a mess you've made, you two sex-mad pigs," my Mistress scolds us afterwards. "If it goes on like this, I need to buy some plastic sheets for you." But then she stops being the concerned housewife and licks us both clean; first my Master and then me. I don't think this is the kind of thing a Mistress is supposed to do to her slave, but I love it nonetheless.

On the weekends, my Master puts me through my paces, supported by my Mistress and by the occasional visitor. My Master has installed the modern-day stocks, the equipment I had first seen at _ Le Chambre Séparée _, in his apartment and I spend many hours tied up in it. A number of people drop in at the apartment without prior notice. They see me walking around naked except for my dog collar, tied up and suspended in the pillory or taking my meals crouching under the table. Sometimes my Master lets those visitors play with me.

Apart from the people dropping in unannounced, there are scheduled visits from people who I don't get to see because my Master blindfolds me before they arrive. Those people come with the explicit intent of using me as I'm tied up with my pussy, ass and mouth freely accessible. I can't see them, but I can hear them talk and I believe that Mirabelle is amongst them. I'm pretty sure that I recognized her voice.

When I asked my Master whether Pablo and Mirabelle had been visiting because I thought I had heard Mirabelle's voice, he didn't answer my question, but the next time he expected visitors he also fitted me with a pair of headphones blasting music at a near-deafening volume into my ears. As I listened to Beethoven's Ninth, I felt fingers and other objects being inserted into my pussy and rear and my face being unceremoniously pushed into a female crotch. I felt an urge to join into the 'Song of Joy' as I felt an unmistakable steel rod enter my ass. This had to be Rui and Sylvie!

To my delight, my Master's altruism has its limit. For most of the time I belong to him and serve him with my entire body. To feel his wonderful cock inside me makes everything I had to go through worthwhile. I swoon with delight when he fills my pussy, my ass or my mouth with his delicious spunk. He fucks me tied to the stocks, pinned to the floor, on the bed; wherever and however he feels like. It's exactly how I imagined life as his slave to be like and I'm savouring every minute of it.

Sometimes, when I haven't behaved the way my Master thinks I should, he ties me to the chair which has now permanently moved from the kitchen to the raised platform and is irrecoverably soiled with my juices, and makes me watch as he makes love to my Mistress. Having to watch those two beautiful people without being able to join in is still as frustrating as it was the first time, but I know now that it never takes long before they invite me to join them. Serving my Mistress and my Master at the same time is probably the most fulfilling experience of my existence.

Sometimes the three of us go out, to a restaurant, a theatre or simply strolling in the park. My Masters make sure that my attire and behaviour leave no doubt that I'm just a slave who is allowed to tag along with her Masters. My Master has designed a complete set of slave outfits for these occasions. There is always some detail - along with the ever-present dog collar - which indicates even to the casual observer the nature of my relationship to the two people I accompany. Sometimes my legs are shackled with a fine silver chain, sometimes my dress is held up only by a set of elaborate nipple clamps, sometimes my clothes look like they have been torn by some violent attacker and what's left of them barely manages to conceal my charms. Whatever my Master comes up with, my attire is sure to attract a lot of attention and the curious stares are bound to make me feel self-conscious and extremely proud of being my Master's slave.

[The Ultimate Submission]

The way I describe my life today, my readers might expect my story to end '... and they lived happily ever after' or some similar words. Yes, it might, if it wasn't for my rebellious spirit which once again made me act in a wayward, undisciplined way. I don't regret for one second what I did, but I know that it could put a severe strain on my relationship with my Masters, when I tell them.

And I will have to tell them soon, because I don't want them to become suspicious and start to ask questions. I'd rather make a clean breast of it and confess what I've done, hoping they will understand my motivation. I'm just waiting for a suitable moment to tell them.

I have decided that I want to bear my Master's child. I haven't just reached this decision on a theoretical level, I have gone further than that: I have turned it into reality. Roughly two months ago, I stopped taking the pill. My period which had been due three weeks ago didn't arrive. I have taken the test, not just once, a dozen of times, in different laboratories, and they all confirm what I had hoped: My Master's child is already growing inside my body.

It takes all my willpower to contain myself, to hide my joy. But I will have to tell my Master and my Mistress. I don't want to wait until they notice the changes in my body. But I'm also thinking of the child. It would be too dangerous for the child to let them continue to submit me to the extreme and painful treatment I have become accustomed to but I wouldn't want my Master's child inside my belly to be subjected to.

You probably wonder what made me take this radical step. Let me assure you that it is not an attempt to compete with my Mistress for my Master's affection. I did not do this to make him love me more than her because I'm carrying his child in my womb. I'm not doing this to make him feel any obligations towards me for bringing his child into this world. (My female intuition tells me, that there is a boy growing inside my belly, but if I should be wrong and it turns out to be a girl I will be just as happy.)

My reasons for taking this step are more complex. Although my Mistress can be quite harsh at times and my Master is very demanding, I still feel that they treat me with more leniency than I deserve. They look at me as a human being and they adjust their demands when they notice that I am tired or under stress.

A child will not have any concern for these subtle changes in my disposition. There probably can't be a more complete, more demanding Master than a hungry child, eager to get its mouth on my breasts to satisfy its need. There can't be anybody more tyrannical than an infant who needs his nappy changed or wants attention any time of the day or night.

My Mistress with her persistent use of clamps and the cunt-opener has managed to achieve some physical changes of my body, mainly my nipples, my clit and my pussy lips. But this is nothing compared to the changes my body will undergo when the child inside me grows bigger and bigger. What is the discomfort caused by being suspended in the pillory or by wearing the cunt-opener compared with that which accompanies a pregnancy: the morning sickness, the swollen limbs, the backache from the weight of the child in my belly? No matter how much my Master's big cock stretches my vagina, it is insignificant compared with the stretching I will experience when I give birth to his child, when the infant's head will force its way to the outside.

All these thoughts passed through my mind when I took this important decision. And I want to assure you that I did not take it lightly. I see it as a way of taking my submission to my Master one gigantic step further.

I'm sure that my Master's son will not hesitate to accept my submission. In fact, he will demand it. The thought of how he will be looking for my breasts to quench his thirst and satisfy his hunger makes me wet my panties. I wonder if other mothers find feeding their children as sexually stimulating as I do. My child will not have to look far to find the objects of his desire. Not least, because my nipples will be sticking out like two lighthouses situated on the hills of neighbouring shores. He will clasp one of them with his lips and suck without the least consideration for my comfort.

My breasts will always be at his disposal, giving him a plentiful supply of nourishment and also providing the much needed physical contact. Just as my breasts will provide his first oral experience of the outside world, the rest of my body will be the playground on which he will make his first tactile discoveries. His little hands will roam over my body, grasp, pull my hair. The touch of his skin on mine will be as fulfilling as the most intimate caress.

Maybe it will help me to shed some of my pride when I change his nappies, wipe his bottom, dry and powder him. I will perform these humble tasks like thousands of mothers do every day, but none of them does it with more devotion and as free from any resentment as I will.

I can't wait until my Master's child is born so that I can submit entirely to my child Master - I'm ready for the ultimate submission.

The End

[Closing Comments]

When I started to write this piece, roughly a year ago, I did not expect it to develop into something which is more appropriately called a book rather than a story. What started out as 'Jacqueline's Story', became 'The Ultimate Submission', but I decided to keep the original title in brackets, as a kind of subtitle.

'Jacqueline's story' didn't start out as a 'BDSM' story. Some people might comment that it still isn't one. I won't argue with them. It isn't one of my life ambitions to fit neatly into a clearly defined category, and it seems that my stories also resist attempts at putting them into pigeon-holes.

The story was conceived as the account of a young woman whose curiosity about sex makes her want to try out whatever comes her way. I had no clear idea where this might lead and let Jacqueline, the main character, find her own way. Other characters asserted themselves too. Caroline, who had been assigned only a supporting role, claimed a place on centre stage.

While I let the plot develop and allowed Jacqueline to get involved in a number of adventures, I wrote four, considerably shorter stories and posted them between February and May 2004. The response to these efforts encouraged me to carry on with Jacqueline's expanding saga.

When I read those four stories on the internet I noticed that quite a few errors had slipped through and that some things might have been worded better. There are probably errors out there which I didn't spot - an author reading his own work often sees what he expects to see, not necessarily what is really there.

I decided that my first big story would be reviewed by an editor before being posted. I consider myself lucky to have had the help of Peter Z who scrutinized my scribbling and pointed out errors and other problems. He amazed me by keeping a cool head amid the hottest scenes, finding errors and inconsistencies without letting the orgasmic screams of the protagonists distract him. There is no doubt in my mind that the final product has gained considerably from Peter Z's contribution. It gives me great pleasure to use this opportunity to extend a heart-felt 'Thank you' to Peter Z.

I also want to thank those who have taken the time to send me their feedback. Your comments are appreciated, regardless of whether they are terse or elaborate, enthusiastic or critical. Amongst the readers who have sent me their comments, one deserves a special mention. Mistress Fortuna sent me enthusiastic, elaborate and thoughtful observations about many of the early chapters and promised to give a final verdict when the story has been posted completely. With readers like you, Mistress Fortuna, the effort of writing and publishing stories becomes worthwhile.

Finally, a word, or rather three words, to those readers who haven't yet sent me their comments: Do it now! Your feedback is the only way I can know what you like about my stories, what you don't care for, and what you feel is missing. The fact that you've got to this point seems to indicate that you didn't consider reading this story a complete waste of time. So why don't you just think of one thing you liked and one thing you disliked about the story and send them to me. Or maybe three things you liked and one thing you disliked - I think you get the picture. In return for your effort you'll get an e-mail with the electronic autograph of the author. ;-) And possibly an even better story next time around.

Gato Medio