4 comments/ 125351 views/ 6 favorites French Lessons By: starbelliedboy It was during my first summer holiday since I'd gone to university when it happened. I had gone into town one Saturday afternoon to get some CDs, when I saw walking down the street towards me my French teacher from school. Generally I didn't really like meeting my old teachers, it was always a bit odd being treated normally by people who had been authority figures for me only a short time ago, and even if Mrs Woodcock (she was French, but had married an English guy) was far more attractive than the others with her long blonde hair, large breasts, sparkling eyes behind her black rimmed glasses, and most of all her sexy French accent, I was still not too keen to meet her. But it was too late, she had spotted me, and it would be rude to try and escape. "Hi Jack," she said, her soft continental purr already sending shivers down my spine, "How are you?" "I'm fine thanks Mrs Woodcock," I replied, trying to think of a way to get away as fast as possible without being impolite. "You can call me Chantel now, Jack," she smiled. She began asking me how uni was, and I found her surprisingly easy to talk to, until we must have been chatting for about ten minutes. "Oh merde! Sorry, I just remembered my parking ticket's going to run out in five minutes... Hey, would you like to come over for some drinks? I'd love to hear more about what you've been up to at university." "Well, I don't I know..." "Oh, if you've got other things to do, I don't mind, it's just that I like to hear from my ex-pupils. And John, you know, my husband, is away for two weeks, so I would like the company, just for an hour or so, and I can drop you home later." "Yeah, OK," I said, realising I had nothing better to do, and that I actually quite enjoyed her company. So together we ran to the car park, and once in the car continued our conversation from before, it was almost like talking to one of my friends. The drive didn't seem to take very long, as she pulled up in front of a fairly small modern house, announcing that we'd arrived. I followed her inside, noticing how clean and tidy and uncluttered it was compared to our house, just a few pictures and photos on the walls with one or two ornaments, as she led me into the living room and invited me to sit down on the pale beige sofa. "What would you like to drink?" she said. "I'm not your teacher anymore, so I can offer you alcohol. How about a beer?" "A beer would be fine thanks," I replied, and couldn't help staring at her behind as she walked away into the kitchen, the thin material of her skirt not doing much to conceal its shape. Taking advantage of her being out of the room, I rearranged myself so that if I did get an erection it would be easier to hide, as that was the last thing I wanted to happen, and tried to force myself to stop thinking that way to avoid embarrassment, although that was proving more or less impossible. Only seconds after I'd rearranged myself, Chantel returned with two glasses of beer, handing one to me, and then sitting down only an inch or so from me with hers, and once again we resumed talking. This time though, I soon found it a bit harder to feel quite so at ease, as she twisted around on to face me, one knee bent up on the sofa and brushing against my thigh slightly, while she supported her head on her elbow resting on the back, and her breasts thrust seductively towards me. I concentrated on my beer, getting more and more nervous, and so drinking much quicker than normal, making the small amount of alcohol go to my head far more than it would normally, doing my best to hide the hard-on that was growing in my trousers. When I'd finished my glass and was beginning to wonder how I could politely ask to go home, I felt the back of her hand on my cheek, gently turning me to face her. "Jack," she said, her voice a little more husky than usual, and her accent a little stronger, and her pretty grey-blue eyes fixed on mine through her specs, "I'm not your teacher anymore, so I hope you don't mind me saying this: ever since you first walked into my classroom three years ago, you... you made my feel, well, horny!" My mouth dropped open a little, gawping like an idiot. "It was silly I know, you were my pupil, so I had to ignore, to suppress it. But now..." She leaned further forward, her nose almost touching mine, and whispered: "Now I can have you." Her lips pushed against mine, and to my astonishment I felt myself kissing back. She took my glass from my unresisting hands, and as her tongue pushed its way into my mouth, she brought my right hand up and placed it on one of her large, firm breasts, squeezing it tight over it, then leaning closer, still kissing me, putting one arm around my waist while her other hand stroked the back of my head. This was all such a surprise, a completely unreal and dreamlike situation, that I just let myself go, kissing back and feeling her tits, giving control over to her and my instincts, so much that when she sat back and pulled my head into her cleavage, instructing me to suck her nipples, I didn't hesitate, and set about unbuttoning her blouse. There was a slight delay as I fumbled around the back of her bra, but I soon discovered that the clasp was at the front, and released her beautiful shapely D cups, and started gently licking and kissing the surface, intending to work up to the nipples. "Oh, no Jack, not like that," Chantel told me. "I want you to suck them hard! Be rough with me, my husband is the one who does the tender loving." Getting more turned on by the minute, I obeyed, and sucked as hard as I could, feeling them become firmer and more erect in my mouth, all the time squeezing whichever one my mouth was not attending to with my spare hand, getting rougher as she instructed, and my own erection getting harder each time she gasped exclamations in French between orders. After a few minutes, she pushed me back against the sofa and straddled my lap, tugging at my top and telling me to lift my arms up, which I did a little reluctantly, as I was a bit insecure about my skinny chest, but once it was bare she made no comment, but just kissed her way down it, sliding smoothly back off my lap to between my legs and began unzipping my flies. "Mmm, Jack," she said, lifting her head up to look at me through her glasses once she had my erect dick in her hand. "It's as good as I imagined! I've been waiting for this moment since I first saw you get a stiffy in class." With that she licked her long red tongue up the shaft, and I had to look away to stop it all ending there and then, feeling her circle the ridge slowly and then the damp heat of her mouth as she took me inside. Not bothering with much sensuousness, Mrs Woodcock bobbed up and down sucking until I was as hard as I could possibly be, then pulled back and stood up, taking off her skirt and slipping out of her panties, throwing them aside to reveal her pussy shaved completely bald, before, still in her black heeled shoes and open blouse, she straddled my lap once again. I put my hands on her waist, and she pushed them down to her butt, then with one hand on my shoulder to steady herself she used the other to hold my erect cock in position as she slid slowly down on it. Chantel must have been thirty-five or thirty-six years old when this happened, so you can imagine she was not tight like a virgin or anything like that, and she was also really very wet, which was a blessing as she began fucking me really very hard, telling me to thrust up harder and harder, her large breasts shaking and bouncing off each other right in front of my face. After a few minutes she shifted sideways, pulling me with her, so that I was on top, thrusting in and out of her as fast as I could whilst doing my best to stop an orgasm building too soon. So I could thrust deeper, she pulled her legs up so her shoes were above her head, and began fingering her clit, her moaning rendering her instructions to be fucked harder more and more incoherent. "I'm gonna cum soon, Mrs Woodcock, I mean Chantel," I gasped when I sensed things getting close to out of my control. "Not yet Jack," she replied immediately, and pushed me away. "Use your mouth and fingers, I've got more for you to do yet." Obediently I got down on my knees and began lapping at her slick wet slit, following her instructions and moving up it lick her clit, which was swollen and easy to find, making small fast circles with my tongue, and then pushed my right middle and forefinger inside her cunt, thrusting them in and out as I had been with my dick. Suddenly she grabbed my wrist and manoeuvred it around, positioning my finger inside her until I could feel a kind of small mount of flesh with my fingertips. "Yeah, there, toy boy, just keep stroking that," she told me, and then grabbed my hair with both hands to hold me in place so I had no choice but to keep licking and sucking her clit, pushed even further into her pussy by her legs which had wrapped around my back, pressing my cheeks into her soft, slightly thick thighs, whilst my soaked hand was pressed against the bottom of my chin and neck. Without warning, Chantel thrust her hips forwards and let out a low moan, rising in volume into a yell, and then just as it changed into a series of strange sharp high-pitched yaps followed by more straining moans, hot liquid burst out from her, gushing over my fingers and streaming down my arm and over my chest. Her arms were shaking but still pushing me into her crotch as she climaxed, so that my mouth slipped from her clitoris to her opening and I got a mouthful of what I soon realised was her juices (and not what I had at first feared), as I witnessed my first female ejaculation. It seemed to go on for well over a minute, maybe even more, the hot liquid gushing down my throat, but her grip gradually relaxed and I was able to breath. I was about to pull back completely, but she kept hold of my hair and shook her head. "Uh-uh," she said, still panting, "You keep eating me, mon chère, you keep eating your bitch of a French teacher until I say stop, you won't regret." So continue to eat her out I did, being pushed down off her still hyper-sensitive clit to lap up the juices from her lips, but her hands moved to on top off my head and pushed me further and further down, until before I knew it my mouth was level with her tight puckered ass hole, and I tried to push myself away again. "Non, non, non, non, non," she said, re-tightening her grip. "I want you to get my ass hole nice and wet so you can get inside." Somewhat revolted, but incredibly turned on, I decided not to pass up a chance like that, and tentatively stuck out my tongue once again. Thankfully she was very clean, so I gave in to my desires yet again and began circling her tight entrance, which was in actual fact already pretty wet from all the vaginal cum that had poured down over it. Chantel began to get excited again, pushing my face into her so my nose was pressed in her moist vagina and my tongue slipped right inside her arse. "Now listen Jack," she said after I'd been licking her anus for a good few minutes. "I'm going to let you fuck my arse now, but I want you to fuck me hard. I want to be slapped around and treated like a dirty whore, so don't hold back with your language or anything. Je veux sentir comme une pute, like a whore, OK?" I nodded, and she sat up and got off the sofa, removing her blouse so she was completely naked but for her shoes, getting down on her hands and knees. "Oh, one more thing Jack. I don't want you cumming inside me, I want you to do it in my mouth, that OK?" "Yes, Chantel," I replied, and then began testing her hole with my finger to see how tight she was. She still hadn't loosened up too much, so I wetted two of my fingers and pushed them inside, sliding them in and out of her hot arse, then squeezing another in and then another, keeping my dick hard with my other hand. Once her sphincter seemed sufficiently relaxed, I decided I'd better get down to business, so I spat a mouthful of saliva on to her rear entrance and spread it around, then did the same on my cock, and knelt up behind her slightly large, more mature, though certainly not flabby behind, and positioned myself. Pushing my hips forward whilst pressing down on my cock with my hand, I forced my way inside her, her sphincter tight around me and the saliva not quite enough to make it an easy entry, the friction making her scream out in a little pain, but she insisted I continue. At first my strokes were slow and difficult, but it eventually became easier, and she yelled at me to go faster, so I sped up, and started to slap her arse cheeks, a little hesitantly to begin with, but as she moaned in pleasure I gained in confidence, spanking her harder and harder. Soon the air was thick with her cries and the loud smack of my hand on her now rosy buttocks, and I got more into my role, calling her a dirty whore as I slammed my dick up her anus. "You're a filthy slut," I told her, leaning forward and pulling on her tied back hair, "Nothing but a cum dumpster." She roared in delight, and reared up so I could squeeze her tits from behind, clamping one hand really tight on one and pinching the nipple hard while still slapping her behind, leaving the other breast to swing wildly from our body movements. I pushed her back down again, my hand on the side of her face, grinding the other cheek into the carpet as her hands are too occupied seeing to her clit to hold her up, knocking her glasses off centre. There was only so much of this I could take, and I could feel and orgasm building which I wouldn't be able to contain this time, so I pulled her up, by her hair once again, and withdrew completely, letting her kneel up and lean back against the sofa then thrusting my cock into her eager mouth, still holding her hair. The heat of her hot wet mouth with her tongue swirling over the head was too much for me, and I exploded almost immediately, which took her a little by surprise and she choked, dribbling semen down her chin and temporarily letting go of me, so the left lens and black frame of her glasses was made cloudy by the next squirt as I ejaculated in her face. She recovered quickly, and continued sucking, making me groan in ecstasy as she prolonged my orgasm for what seemed like an age, swallowing nearly everything. As I reached the end, I pulled out of her mouth and squeezed the last few drops of cum on to her large, beautiful breasts before she finished licking it clean. "Thanks Chantel," I said after I regained myself, not knowing what else to say. "It was a pleasure," she replied, a big smile on her dirty, plastered face. "In fact, now you've proved yourself, I was wondering... Would you like to stay the night?" French Lessons I first saw the ad on the internet. The website was a listing of Dominant Women on the West Coast. Since I live in Los Angeles, I was checking out the pictures and information on local dominants. The one that caught my attention was unique. Madame Darcy was based in Paris. Her ad stated that she traveled to Los Angeles frequently and had family here. She required a slave/servant. She wanted ownership of a slave who would serve her while she was here and be used by her family when she was in France. The accompanying photo was of a breathtakingly beautiful woman. Blonde, tall, thin but with large breasts and a tiny waist. She was dressed all in black - a shiny leather corset with garters, nylons, high-heeled stiletto shoes, gloves and a diamond choker around her neck. Her lipstick was glossy red. She carried a whip in one hand and had the other hand on her hip. A very intimidating woman. Her email address was at the bottom of the ad. This was different and exciting. The thought of serving an demanding woman and being displayed to her relatives as her slave was a long-time fantasy of mine. I didn't really believe that she was looking for a servant. I thought it was a clever way for her to arrange sessions while she was in Los Angeles, perhaps with other people around. I soon learned how wrong I was. I responded to her ad with my physical description, a brief background on my submissive history, and expressed a desire to serve her in Los Angeles. It was two days later that she answered. Her email was long and detailed. She wanted a digital photo sent immediately along with my medical history, work resume, list of any special skills, foreign languages spoken, and a rating on my ability to cook and clean. She wanted to know my work schedule and salary, amount of free time, hobbies, living arrangements and type of car I drove. Madame Darcy included some other photos of her and said that she would be visiting her family in Los Angeles in three weeks. She hoped that I would be able to meet her requirements and told me to respond immediately. I was surprised at the amount of information requested, but was fascinated by her photos and the idea of serving her. I sent everything she asked. The brief version is that I am in excellent health, work as a consultant so that I have a lot of free time, own my own condo, drive a two-door Lexus, am a very good cook, clean my own home, do not speak any foreign languages and have a six figure income. I did not have to wait long for her reply. I would be used on a trial basis provided I could meet certain requirements. I was to enroll immediately in a Berlitz French course. I did not need to speak fluently, just have a basic understanding. Madame Darcy spoke English quite well, but found it convenient to speak some French to her servants in public. If I did not already own them, I was to purchase three uniform sets consisting of black pants, white shirt and black bow tie. I would also need two pair of black dress shoes. This was to be my attire when acting as chauffeur. I would be dressed like this when I picked up her at the airport. She wanted it understood that she was looking to own a slave, not merely have someone play at it. She was expecting full service. This was not a sex game. She required a maid for cooking, cleaning, secretarial work, errands, and a chauffeur for driving her around. There would be considerable domestic work. I would live-in while she was in Los Angeles, and be available part-time for her family while she was in France. I should rent a Lincoln Town Car for her use while she was in the city. I would use this to chauffeur her around during the day and evening. If she decided to continue my services after the initial two weeks, I would need to acquire a limousine license. She required complete control of me during her stay, including my acquiescence to wearing a chastity harness to which she had the only key. This would be a necessary act of my subservience to her. I was to pay her $2,000 for the two week training period. $1,000 per week. I would also be responsible for any of her incidental bills accrued during my service. Future fees would be discussed if she decided to keep me. This was starting to snowball. I had not realized the extent of my duties or my surrender to her control. I had always played games and fantasized about being a slave, but had not considered the actual day-to-day activities. Madame Darcy knew what she wanted. This was not a game with her. The more I thought about it, the more excited I became. I believe that I thought I could somehow manipulate her to my fantasy. I obviously didn't know Madame Darcy. Several more emails were exchanged. She had me relate all my fantasies about dominant women and well as detailed descriptions of women I had served. I re-lived many experiences as I wrote to her. I found myself looking at her photos more and more often. I followed her instructions. I enrolled in a French language course. I purchased the necessary uniform clothes. I shaved parts of my body I had never envisioned shaving before. She told me more about her herself and her family living in Los Angeles. Madame Darcy was 46 years old. She certainly did not look like it. She married young and had two daughters. Monique was now 27 and Simone was 24. They lived in a house owned by Madame Darcy in the Los Feliz district of L.A. Madame Darcy was heavily invested in real estate and had purchased her Los Feliz home before the prices skyrocketed. Los Feliz has become the in-place to live for successful yuppies in the past few years. The house was on a hill with an outstanding view of downtown L.A. It had four bedrooms, four baths, and many other rooms including servant's quarters. As our emails became more personal, Madame Darcy had me switch to instant messaging. She asked very specific questions. She wanted to know the size of my cock when normal and erect. Had I ever been used as a toilet? She asked if I had ever worn women's lingerie. After getting my measurements, Madame Darcy gave me orders to go to Victoria's Secret and purchase a bra, garter belt, stockings and panties. She told me the sizes I needed. I was to wear the lingerie under my "uniform". She would allow me to wear a t-shirt over the bra and under my white shirt for our first meeting. After that, she would decide when I would wear the lingerie more visibly. Madame Darcy said that one of the reasons she chose me was that I was not very masculine looking. She wanted a servant who could be either man or woman. Madame Darcy wanted me to purchase some cosmetics, lipstick, lip and eyeliner and nail polish. She explored my psyche so she would know which buttons to push. What she could use to bend me to her will. Without understanding, I told her everything she needed to know. By the time she was ready to come to L.A., she knew me better than I knew myself. Madame Darcy gave me her flight number and told me to meet her at the gate in my uniform holding a sign reading "M. Darcy". I was also to have a chilled bottle of French champagne in the car with one flute for her. I could not sleep the night before her arrival. I had made arrangements to be off for two weeks. My calls were forwarded to a service. I had rented a Lincoln Town Car. I stopped delivery of my newspaper and put my mail on hold. As I locked the door of my condo, I felt as if I was leaving my life as I knew it behind. I stood at the gate as the passengers came through U.S. Customs. I recognized Madame Darcy immediately. She would have stood out in any crowd. She was walking with a handsome well-dressed man. They seemed to be intimate. She looked up and saw me and the sign. Madame Darcy squeezed his hand, whispered something in his ear, and kissed him. Then she strode over to me. She examined me carefully before nodding. "Michael. I look forward to our time together. Here are my baggage tickets. I have four bags. You will walk two paces behind me at all times. Now, follow me to baggage claim. I will point out my pieces." She walked away before I could say anything. I followed two paces behind and stared at her beautiful ass. She walked with a sensual stride. Her muscles moved with each step, visible through the short silk dress. I was so entranced, that I almost bumped into her when she stopped. Madame Darcy stood surveying the baggage area. She spotted her luggage and pointed it out to me. I got a cart and collected the four large pieces. We walked through the exit. I started to say how grateful I was for her time, but she held her hand to my mouth. "Hush", she said. We will talk in the car. I will wait here. Take the luggage to the car and drive back to me. Be quick. I don't like to be kept waiting." I obeyed immediately. She acted as it she expected nothing else. I half ran to the car and drove faster than normal to get to her. Madame Darcy was smoking a cigarette. When she saw me, she dropped the cigarette on the ground and crushed it under her shoe. I hurried around the car to open the back door for her. She got in and I rushed to get behind the wheel. I started to pull away from the curb when she said, "Find an airport parking garage close by and drive in. Pick a spot away from traffic, park and get in the back with me." I didn't know what she had in mind, but I followed orders. As I got in the back seat, she turned to face me. "Well Michael, you look very nice. I'm glad that you were careful to follow my instructions. Now, pull down your pants and let me see your lingerie." I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could even get one word out, she slapped my face hard. My head rocked. "I did not say you could talk. I just gave you an order. Obey it! I see you will need more training than I thought." I immediately undid my belt and lowered my pants. She ran her hand over the silk lingerie. Then reached over and took my cock in her hand. She looked in my eyes and said, "Do you really think that this tiny excuse for a cock was enough to satisfy any woman? You may answer me." "I'm sorry, Madame Darcy. My cock is too small to be of any use to you." I admitted. "You don't have a man's cock, and you're not a woman. So you must be a sissy. Right" "Yes, Madame" I responded. "I will call you Michele from now on. It's really a shame about your sissycock. Luckily they had a small one that might fit you." She took out a plastic device from her handbag. Within an incredibly short time it was fastened around my cock. "This is a CB2000 chastity harness." She named the device as she locked it in place. "I have the only key. If you try to remove it without permission, consider yourself dismissed from my service. Do not even bother to return. I control you. All of you. You puny cock is mine, your ass is mine, and very shortly your mind will be mine as well. This is just the beginning." I kept looking back and forth from her face to the harness. She still held it in her hand. "Now, kiss my hand and thank me for taking my time to train you properly. The only thing you need to do to be happy is to obey me. The alternative is pain and discomfort. You may not believe that yet, but you will. I was serious in my ad, even if you weren't." I took the hand she held out to me and kissed it, saying "Thank you Madame Darcy, for training me to serve you." "Now, give me your tribute for your training." I handed her an envelope with $2000 in cash enclosed. "Michelle, pull up your pants, open the champagne and pour me some, then get on your knees on the floor." she commanded. I obeyed. Madame Darcy sat back in the seat, removing her skirt. She was not wearing panties, and was fully shaved. She took red lipstick from her purse and carefully applied it to my lips. When she was satisfied with the application, she spread her legs and said "Let me see how well you can use your tongue. If you feel any pain in your groin, then the CB2000 is doing its job. This is not for your pleasure but for mine." She moved slightly forward on the seat and pulled my face into her cunt. I eagerly went to work. I was in heaven. My first hours as her slave and I was doing what I desired most - being used by a gorgeous dominatrix to suck her cunt. Then I noticed the tightness around my cock and realized the purpose of the harness. While I was caught between heaven and hell, Madame Darcy took her cell phone out and made a call. I heard part of the conversation. Her thighs pressed against my ears, muffling the sound. I learned later that the person Madame Darcy was speaking with was her friend, Karin. Karin was a successful artist and photographer living in Santa Monica. They had been friends for the past 20 years. I remember the part of the conservation that concerned me. In response to a question from Karin, Madame Darcy said "As a matter of fact I'm breaking in a new bitch now. Her face is between my thighs, and her little tongue is going full speed. I've needed a new one since I sold Suzanne...Of course. I don't know how good she is at cleaning yet. Yes, you can use her while I'm gone, but try to keep it to once a week. Good housekeepers are hard to find. We'll have lunch tomorrow. Keep it open. Yes, I'll bring Michelle along. She's my driver as well. Bye." Madame Darcy's next call was to her daughters. I kept my tongue moving, massaging her clit. I could taste her wetness. She was enjoying my effort, but gave no sign of it during her conversation. She told her daughters where we were, and when to expect us. They already knew about me. Madame Darcy had forwarded my emails to them. After Madame Darcy was finished speaking, she put her phone away. I was allowed to continue servicing her for another few minutes, before she pushed me away. "Wipe your face and get presentable. We're going to see my daughters. Be respectful and helpful. Do not speak unless spoken to. You will have a room in the servant's quarters. You will either sleep in my bedroom on the floor or be chained to a bed in your own room at night. You will obey all the women in the house, and Simone's boyfriend. They're used to having obedient and submissive servants in the house. We will spend tonight with my family. Tomorrow morning, I will show you your household duties. We will then meet Karin for lunch. You will take me shopping in Beverly Hills in the afternoon, making sure I am home by 5pm. I have a dinner date with Jeffery, the man I met on the plane. You will be our chauffeur, or should I say chauffeurette. I told him to be ready by 8pm." She took a leather dog collar from her purse and fastened it around my neck. The tag hanging from the collar read "Property of M. Darcy". "You will wear my collar. When we arrive at my home, you will keep your hands behind your back. Actually, I think I'll use handcuffs for this first meeting, just to remind you to keep them in place. Do not speak unless spoken to. You are not to intrude. A good servant is one not noticed. I think you should wear lipstick for your introduction as well. The girls will recognize a sissy when they see one. Leave the bags in the car. You can collect them after I see my daughters." She handed me a lipstick case and told me to use the rear-view mirror. I was to drive to her home and apply the lipstick immediately upon arrival. I followed her directions and drove to a beautiful house in the hills. I put on the lipstick and ran out to open her door. As she exited, she took out handcuffs and locked my hands behind my back. She attached a dog leash to my collar and had me walk behind her. I followed - lipsticked, handcuffed, collared and leashed. The door opened before she rang the bell. Her daughters must have heard the car pull in the driveway. I was pulled into the house amid much noise from the family reunion. Monique was the image of her mother, only younger. She was spectacular! She was wearing a man's cut business suit that could not disguise her magnificent figure. Her light blond shoulder-length hair and red lips made her look extremely desirable, even while looking very professional. I later learned that Monique was a high-priced lawyer who loved trial work. She had a hypnotic effect on a jury. Simone was more casual. She wore hiphugger jeans, a low-cut tank top and was barefoot. Simone was gorgeous also with large tits, a hard tight stomach and a deep tan. Her hair was a darker blond and worn in a pony tail. Her only makeup was red lipstick, a lighter color than Monique's. I was not even noticed as mother and daughters brought each other up to date on events. Madame Darcy absently held my leash on one hand. The reunion over, Madame Darcy pulled me forward, saying, "Girls, this is Michelle. She is our new domestic. I'll get her started tonight, but it will be up to you to tell her how you like things done. She'll be here for a two week introduction. We can decide whether to keep her after that. Michelle doesn't understand the facts of life yet, but I'll explain them to her. She has the potential but needs training to be a good maid. And she needs to realize that being a sissyslave is her destiny." Monique walked up to me and looked me up and down. Then she said, "Call me Master. Considering how I'm dressed, it's appropriate. Call mother, Madame and call Simone, Mistress. That way there won't be any confusion. You can call Simone's boyfriend, Roger, Sir." She lightly caressed my check with one finger. "You'll wash my lingerie for me, won't you, Michelle?" she asked. "Yes, Master" I replied. She reached down and grabbed my genitals, squeezing and feeling the plastic harness. "Good, he's locked down already. That way there won't be any mistakes. I know the games you sissies play when you'll alone with a woman's lingerie. That won't happen with your cock bound. Obey me and I will treat you well. I may even use your mouth or asshole as a reward. But disobey me and you will discover what a bitch I can be. Oh, and I'll still use your asshole. My bedroom is soundproofed, so no one will hear your screams." She ran her hand gently across my cheek again. "Why mother! He's trembling. Just from my little warning. This is going to be delightful. You are incredible. You find the best servants. I have to get to work, but I am thrilled that you're here. We can visit later. And it's so nice to have a maid again. We had a cleaning service in, but they never know where to put things. We really need a full-time servant. I'll try not to scare her too badly." She hugged her mother, patted my ass and walked out the door. "Don't worry about Monique" Simone said. "She is out most of the time. But I do expect a clean house, clean clothes and good cooking. You will have some leniency in the beginning, but learn quickly. We are not very patient. Mother is extremely good at training new maids. I have a boyfriend, so won't require much sexual use from you, but Roger likes oral sex and sometimes I don't feel like it. It will be up to you to satisfy him. He's used to sissies. Mother will probably have you sucking her dildo for practice, but there's nothing like the real thing." This was all said so matter-of-factly, that I realized that this family had used male-maids for a long time. Madame Darcy unlocked my handcuffs and told me to bring her luggage to her room. My leash was left in place. I brought the bags in and found her room. It was more like a suite. The huge bedroom was flanked by a dressing room, walk-in closet and large bathroom. There was a skylight in the ceiling along with recessed lights. A fireplace occupied one corner of the room. French doors led to a small balcony containing a white round wrought-iron glass-topped table and two comfortable chairs. "Hang up my clothes and put the rest away. Then run a hot bath for me. When you are finished with the luggage, I want you to rub my feet. I love a good foot massage. Then you can help me bathe. In the future, I will expect you to put out fresh clothes for me without being told. Now, get busy." French Lessons I completed the unpacking, marveling at the number of dresses, shoes and exotic underwear she had. Madame Darcy was sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed and I knelt at her feet. "Take off your uniform, but leave on your lingerie." she ordered. I now knelt before her wearing my collar, bra, garter-belt, nylons and panties. She held my face in one hand and re-applied my lipstick. Madame Darcy looked down at me and said, "I think you're beginning to realize the difference between your fantasy and my reality. I have studied you and know you better than you know yourself. I can recognize a real slave and,whether you like it or not, you fit the mold. Deep down you find it easier to take orders than give them. In your relationships with women you always want to please them. To do what they want. But it so hard to know what they really do want, isn't it. Most women don't make it as easy as I do. I just tell you what to do and expect you to do it. You crave that. You want to be obedient and submissive. You know you can't really satisfy a woman as a real man. Your cock is puny, you're not aggressive and you know women sense that. Your fantasies always involved serving women with your mouth and tongue, not your cock. But somehow, in your dreams, you were allowed to ejaculate. You imagined you had some control. Here you have no control. I do. I control your cock; I control you body, and I will control your mind. You will realize that the path to your happiness lies in making me happy. You were trembling when Monique told you about your future. Don't be scared. This is what you need. The discipline will train you; make you more careful in your work. You are here for our use. Your pleasure will come from your owners using you. Whether sexually or domestically won't matter. You will be used. Accept it and your life will be easier. Fight it and you will be miserable, both physically and mentally. I want you dressed in women's lingerie as a reminder to you of your status. You are not a man. You are not a woman. You are a sissy. You are a slave. You belong to me. You cock cannot get hard unless I allow it. You cannot play with yourself. You will find relief only in obeying me. I will use your mouth. I will use your asshole. I will teach you to worship me and my friends – of both sexes. I know, I know. You never sucked a cock before. You are an anal virgin. But you will suck cock because I want you to. There is no guilt for you to obsess about. I am making you do it. I require you to do it. I will fuck your asshole and watch as others fuck you. I will make you my toilet. I will humiliate you. You will do things that you never even dreamed of. All because I order you to. Each humiliation will be proof of my control and your obedience. You are never to question me or hesitate to do anything I ask. No matter how gross, outrageous or offensive you may find it. You will do it. I can enforce my will with pain or pleasure. The choice is yours. But you WILL obey. You really want this. You need it. You were meant to be owned by me, to be my property. My daughters and friends will use you, but I will own you. Never forget that. You are mine. Now, you will help me with my bath, and then dry me with large warm towels. Then you will wash yourself. I intend to start your training immediately. First you will suck my cunt, then you will learn to suck my strap-on and finally I will take your precious virginity. You will be my bitch tonight. I will even allow you the ejaculate, if you please me." As I heard Madame Darcy outline my future, I was dazed. I was both frightened and thrilled. Part of me knew she was right. This may not have been what I expected or even wanted, but it was what I needed. A beautiful, powerful and demanding woman had chosen me as her slave. I would belong to her. I did not have to worry about anything else except obeying her. I could take comfort in the knowledge that she was in control. As I knelt before this magnificent woman, I felt a great sense of relief coupled with a tremendous excitement. I would be serving her as her servant, bathing her, touching her, worshipping her. I would be used for her sexual pleasure. I felt the tightness of the harness as my cock tried to become erect and had a taste of her control. She rose from the bed. Telling me to remain on all fours, she pulled me into the bathroom by my leash. to be continued... French Lessons This afternoon as I lay on the bed with her in the apartment on Ludlow Street I reflected on the perversity of my own desires. I don't know that you could say we were making love. Ms Puissage was lying, head on my belly, gently sucking my penis and I was absent-mindedly stroking her angular back, my thoughts drifting to my wife. I imagined Rachel kneeling by our bed praying, her nightgown stretched over her full bottom, that rump radically different from that of bony Lisette's under my hand. Myself, indifferent to the woman who was sucking me, thinking instead of Rachel, who was so indifferent to me, and my desire rose again. I wanted to pull that nightgown up over Rachel's head like a cowl and kneel behind her -- not interrupting her prayers, but inspiring them. I imagined my wife bowing her head and fervently giving thanks as I pressed myself down and into her, she already wet, her soft flesh yielding. I would slide into her with measured deliberateness and hold myself there feeling the pulse of our blood synchronize. In the hot room we'd slowly melt together, sweat forming a slippery membrane between us as I pumped against her plump ass. Rachel's prayers would become incoherent, her gasps punctuating. Her religious passion would become our physical passion. Finally, arched over her, my arms wrapped around her and clasping her weighty, milk-filled breasts, we'd climax together, she calling out to her God and I, too, calling out to a god, some unnamed divinity, and also filled with gratitude. Inspired by this vision I came in Lisette's mouth then, spurting the product of the imaginary screwing of my wife, abandoning myself to the release, somehow fucking both of them together. I felt Rachel's cunt tighten in Lisette's mouth, heard her little mewling cries fill the rooms of my imagination. As long as I kept my eyes closed my world was whole. I always kept my eyes shut. And Lisette never looked me in the eye during our assignations. She rarely looked me in the eye anyway. She'd been my secretary for five years by the time we began our weekly tryst upstairs in the apartment. It was easy to lock the office door on the second floor and walk up the one flight and spend an hour every Wednesday after lunch in sin in the old apartment of my parents who had long since fled to Florida. It was a strange affair, I suppose; extremely regular, as I like my life to be, and businesslike, but lacking the sordidness or passion that one is supposed to experience. I would have thought one of us would feel something. It disturbed my need for the world to keep itself arranged in neat categories, like a ledger book. Something didn't add up. I felt a physical desire in the act of lovemaking and relief afterward but nothing else much. And Lisette? What did she feel? As far as I could tell she had no feeling about it whatsoever and that just didn't balance the books. From the first encounter when she took me by the hand and led me up the stairs on the pretext of identifying a sound she said she heard through the ceiling, she seemed to have merely a desire to extinguish, conveniently, her own small fire of physical lust. I should say this was not entirely out of character for her, but as what became a regular weekly firedrill it seemed wrong even for a girl as common-sensical as Lisette. And this didn't quite suit as a hypothesis of her reasons because our encounters always and without exception consisted of her performing fellatio on me. Unless her g-spot was in her mouth I doubt she got that much pleasure out of it although her moans and sighs of bliss, which I imagine must be faked, were indeed real. When I hired her as my assistant at the accounting business I respected her focus on the task at hand and her un-girlish eschewing of small talk. I'd never even heard her gabbing on the phone with a friend. This was so unlike Rachel who will spend hours gossiping with the play-date moms. Yes, Lisette was a perfect assistant -- quiet, efficient, and punctual. You can imagine what a remarkable surprise to have her seduce me that afternoon last Spring. I had been finishing the IRS forms for an old client during tax season and had been working long hours for several months. She'd been doing her usual very tidy job of filing the documents, organizing the electronic files and collating the forms for mailing. My out box was empty. I couldn't say as much for the in-box, of course. I looked up to see her standing in the doorway to my office, looking pensive. It was not like her. She normally strode energetically through with papers or my cup of coffee. She stood there, model-thin and looking at me from the corner of her eye. I must say she always dressed well; she spent her small paycheck on good quality clothes that fit her remarkably. If I'd liked skinny women I would have been excited by the drape of the soft fabric of her sweater over her bony shoulders. I could have been intrigued by the little points of her nipples tenting at her chest and the thrust of her hipbones under the herringbone of her knee-length skirt. She had a finely turned calf, though a bit stringy for me and no butt to speak of, at least not to my way of thinking. I hadn't considered her bedable, shall we say. As if I were a Lothario. But that afternoon she surprised me by, first, interrupting my work (which is against my rules -- I require solid blocks of uninterrupted labor from 8 to 12, then 1 to 5, followed, in the tax season, by my evening hours of 6 to 9), then insisting I come upstairs to locate the source of the "knocking" from the apartment. I demurred, but she insisted. I'd never seen her the least bit upset or anxious and so she was able to convince me of the urgency of the matter. She even took my hand as she pulled me up the stairs. Her hands were slim and cool, the nails painted a sensible pink. She smelled of lavender and reminded me of my mother, actually, in that regard. I could not place Lisette in the ranks of her generation. Outside in Union Square gaggles of NYU students milled about looking punkish or slovenly or "alternative" in one bizarre way or another, yet Ms Puissage, who'd gotten her degree in Film Studies there seemed to be stuck in 1942. Perhaps she was a devotee of films like Casablanca or The Maltese Falcon; she appeared to style herself after Ingrid Bergman. Her outward behavior, however, was not the least romantic or emotional; she was cool and professional at all times. I never knew what was going on in her head or her personal life and I really didn't want to know. I preferred to keep things to business in the office and she readily met that requirement. And happily, as far as I could tell. Until she led me by the hand up to the apartment and, finding no source for the supposed noise, suddenly turned to me, stated (quite forcefully) that I'd been working too hard, and began unknotting my tie. I was aghast. Until she grasped my hand to lead me upstairs we'd never even touched and now she was pressing herself against my leg, pulling off my Brooks Brothers jacket, running her hands across the good linen of my dress shirt. I stepped back but caught against the dining room table. I protested (I admit, rather weakly, but I was very much nonplussed and didn't want to create a scene) but she kept on with her advance, telling me that I deserved to give myself a break, to not overwork myself, to avoid a heart attack, even. I was fifteen years her senior, a little portly and I could not imagine what would possess the cool, detached Ms Puissage to throw herself at me like this. Was it my slight resemblance to Sydney Greenstreet? I hadn't invited it. I made no suggestive comments, didn't stare at her stick figure body, couldn't have made a pass if I'd wanted to. And she gave no prior hints of her interest in me. Where had this passionate urgency come from? She disarmed me quite effectively in minutes and had my acquiescence in this affair without a serious fight. I have to admire her for her tactical prowess in bedding me that day. She seemed to appreciate that watching her strip would not be so much a stimulant for me. She removed my clothes and neatly hung them over a chair, then planted a kiss on my cheek and a hand on my member. I'm proud to say, as a man, that I rose to the occasion although as a husband and father I was filled with apprehension that first time. She turned briskly and began both unbuttoning her blouse and leading me by my eager penis into the bedroom. I hardly had time to object before she'd gotten down to her underthings. Her taste in these was equally good, of course. I'd never seen scalloped and lace-edged panties before or a garter belt and hose for that matter, except in the movies and Victoria's Secret windows. Rachel is a good Catholic who sticks with simple, and cheap, white cotton. Lisette's bra was apparently worn only as a lacy decoration. It was translucent, salmon colored and darkened only by the little smudges of her areola. The bra wasn't required to hold up her breasts, as these were so slight as to barely even crease on the underside. They appeared to be almost entirely nipple; tight, hard, rubbery nipples as firm as Lisette's intent. That feature of hers alone excited me. And she had excellent skin, I should add. She kept her simple single string of pearls at her throat. After neatly folding her clothes and piling them on the dressing table she lay me down on the bed on my back she took my cock in her mouth. She lay there at a right angle to me and suckled, gently, while stroking and petting my testicles, her back to me, her head resting lightly on my belly. This would become our standard position. I ventured a protest. "Miss Puissage, please. You needn't do this. There's time-critical work to do. What has come over you?" But she said nothing and kept on with ministering to my swelling organ. My initial surprise gave way quickly to acceptance. Or perhaps flustered resignation is a more appropriate term. Rachel didn't give oral sex. This would be my second ever blowjob and I couldn't resist the pleasure Lisette was giving me with her warm, wet mouth. I would tolerate this unbusinesslike behavior once and deal with correcting it in the future, I thought at the time. She was putting me in her debt and that imbalance was one I could not tolerate, let alone the breach of office protocol. I reached tentatively to stroke along the ridgeline that ran from her shoulder to her knee, tracing the sharp angles of her skeleton. I could run my fingers along the bumpy track of her spine and slip my fingertips under her wing-like shoulder blades. The girl really should have eaten more. Even that first time I could do nothing but compare her to my buxom Rachel whom I desired so much more even after 20 years of marriage. Rachel, whom I desired, but who no longer desired me. While Lisette worked to draw the seed from my tingling balls I tried to ameliorate my guilt by thinking of Rachel. How had I lost her affection? I would wake with a morning erection and turn to wrap Rachel in my arms, cupping a heavy breast in my hand, spooning as we used to do before the boy was born but Rachel would not react. She wouldn't wiggle, or sigh or even pull away. Nothing. I was puzzled and dismayed by this. I couldn't find the words to ask for a clearer answer than her body was giving me. She didn't desire me anymore or welcome my desire for her, apparently. I'd been going without the pleasures of my marriage bed for the two years since Herbert, III was born and it didn't appear the situation would change. In all other respects our marriage was good or at least what I thought of as 'normal'. I made an abundant living as a CPA in the firm my father, Herbert Lipkis Sr., started and brought home an ample income from which I gave Rachel a generous allowance. In fact we lived, a little extravagantly, on the upper West Side in a co-op that my father warned me would only pay me back on its investment if I held it a long time and Real Estate appreciated in a hitherto unexpected way. Of course he sold his investment properties on the lower East Side at the height of the bubble and moved to Florida, so he had the luxury of being proved wrong. But I digress. Lisette was gripping my now hard dick in one small bony hand while licking around and around the crown. I was intrigued by the sensation. I couldn't see what she was doing so my imagination, as I mused about Rachel, filled in a scenario in my mind's eye. What possible reason had I given Rachel to shun my physical attentions? I desired her, longed for her, gave her everything she asked for -- a son, a fine apartment, a car, even things as frivolous as French lessons. It was unfair! Unbidden, an image of Rachel shot into my mind. She lay on her back across our brass bed, tied hand and foot to the four corners, her head hanging over the edge, her eyes wide as I approached. My throbbing cock pulsed gently up and down with my heartbeat and pointed dangerously at her face. It seemed to glow red from the heat of my anger. I'd torn up Rachel's nightgown to use as bindings. My wife struggled in her bonds of cotton. She rolled and her breast flesh sloshed across her chest, nipples suddenly engorged. The fat raspberry pips wrinkled tight, the little gooseflesh-like bumps that ringed her wide, red aureole prominent. Her hair hung down unbound to the floor. Her mouth worked to form words that might dissuade me from what I was obviously about to do. I would not let her ignore me any longer. Lisette was feeling my cock swell in her mouth as this imagined scene grew in my mind. She took me deeper and began stroking with her hand. I reached over her slatted ribs and pinched one of her fat, hard nipples. In my mind I stood over Rachel's prone and writhing body, smiling, commanding, surveying all I possessed. I owned the bitch. She would fulfill her marital obligations. I placed a hand on each round breast and squeezed. She struggled under me, whispering, "No, Herb, NO!" This excited me, I was surprised to learn. I felt my dick twitch. So aroused was I that I dripped. A string of cum stretched from my penis to Rachel's cheek. She twisted her face to avoid it but one silver trail led down to her ear. She started crying. Her body as she pulled against the restraints looked much like it did when in the throes of passion. Or so I could imagine. She bucked her hips like I was riding her and I supposed she would like me to stimulate her down there. I imagined that her desire for me rose despite herself. I reached further and ran my fingers into the coarse, black thatch of her unshaved bush. My cock swung against her face. She squealed! Her wet pussy lips yielded to my hand and I stroked the length of them roughly, her hairs springing between my fingers. She was sopping. My middle finger, the fuck finger, lay between her puffy, wet pussy lips like a hotdog in a bun. I waggled my fingers and she thrashed. I brought my hand, wet with her drippings, to her breasts again and smeared the cleft between them. Then I pressed my hips forward and lay my red cock in the bed I'd made between her tits. Grabbing each warm pillow with my hands and pressing them together I tit-fucked her. I spit to make it wetter. Let her look at my hairy ass while I took my pleasure. I would take what she withheld, like it or not. It was my due. "Herb, you animal! Get the fuck off me!" I'd never heard her say 'fuck' before and it only inflamed my passion. I was getting close, leaving a trail of my own fluid between her breasts. My dick felt like it was two feet long. And she wouldn't stop yelling. I'd stop the ungrateful bitch's noise. In my enraged imagination I pulled back and gazed for a moment at her spread-eagled body again as it heaved on the bed, savoring my power. She looked pleadingly at me, her face streaked with tears and cried, "What the hell is wrong with you, Herb? I don't deser.." I plugged her complaining mouth with my cock, grabbing her head in both hands and bending her neck back so I could drive it straight and deep. She made gargling sounds and her arms pulled tight against the bonds. Her legs kicked out spasmodically. I'd show her what she deserved. I bent my knees and thrust into her throat, held my dick there and felt her swallowing as she thrashed in my grip. She made a high keening sound that stopped when I shoved in all the way. Then I came like a fire hose. My hips thrust uncontrollably and I doubled over until my head rested on her breasts. My hands at her throat I humped her face without regard for anything but my own pleasure. It was fantastic! I felt each thick bolus of cum race down my cock and explode in her throat. Over and over I pumped my manhood and my juicy seed into my wife, my now subjugated, humiliated, put-in-her place, ungrateful bitch of a wife. The high was like none I had felt before. I passed out. That first time with Lisette in the Spring, when my too-long-denied desire and untapped anger erupted into her little mouth, I awoke to find my secretary washing my penis with a warm cloth. She was dressed again and her makeup was back in place. Lisette left the warm cloth draped over my privates as she buttoned up her blouse, prepared again for work. This, too, was our pattern and so I awoke again this afternoon. "I'll be finishing the Randall file by five, Mr. Lipkis," she stated and quietly left the apartment and returned to the office. I lay there in a post-coital daze for a few more minutes then began to dress myself. I was especially kind to Rachel after these demonic fantasies surfaced in my trysts with Lisette. Every Wednesday blowjob seemed to elicit another ghastly perversion as I fucked my wife vicariously. In the months since the illicit sex began I had beat her, raped her, forced anal sex on her, cum in gallons over her body and otherwise expressed my semen and my anger in ways that shocked me. My guilt over the affair, and the imagined depravities I'd visited on Rachel propelled me to treat her as if I had amends to make. Well, I did have amends to make, though she had no idea what for. I was especially kind to Rachel and our home life had become much more pleasant. I could say we were as happy as we'd ever been. Still, I truly felt remorse at my inability to quit my trysts with Lisette. This strange imbalance in my life tormented me. And although I benefited and I tried to make it up to the unknowing Rachel I was still unable to fathom what benefit Lisette derived from our Wednesday afternoons. This bothered me as much as any other aspect of it. Then today, as I bent to tie my shoe, I noticed a paper that had been dropped under the dressing table chair. I picked it up. It was a check, written in my wife's hand, to Lisette Puissage. And on the memo line was written; French Lessons. French Lessons Lucy lived a quiet life, simple and typical of a young girl in the French countryside during 1860. Sighing, Lucy set down her needlework and went outside her father's tiny cottage, looking at the flowers. How beautiful they were as they reached toward the sun on this early spring day! She would have to pick some of the budding blooms for Papa later. She smiled, leaning down and smelling some of the daffodils. Her Papa was her dearest friend. Indeed, her only friend. They lived miles away from anyone else, and only saw people when they travelled into town for supplies. Her mother had died almost exactly eighteen years ago, giving birth to Lucy. Sighing, Lucy felt a tear graze her cheek. How she wished for a mother! Lately, she was beginning to feel so lonely, and had no idea why. Honestly, she should be just as happy as ever, nothing had changed. But now that her dresses were growing tighter and she needed to wear a corset, and Papa said she could no longer sit on his lap, things had begun to change. She longed for people in a way she had never thought of before, and had no idea of the cause. No one told her anything! It really was a pity being such a sheltered girl. Tonight would be especially lonely, because Papa had gone into town by himself for food and cloth for her to make a new dress with. She did hope he would buy the right color; he was not good at things like that. She dreaded spending the night alone; it was ever so dark and lonesome in the cottage at night. Drawing her shawl around herself to guard against the evening chill, Lucy went inside and locked the door just as Papa instructed, and latched the shutters. She made a fire and heated herself a humble dinner, and yet again found herself ever so lonely. Lucy readied herself for bed, undressing in front of her full length mirror. She and her father were hardly wealthy, but he always gave her whatever she asked for. She slipped her chemise over her head and was reaching for her frothy, silk nightgown when she caught her reflection in the mirror. My, had she changed in the past three years. The reflection of her large blue eyes was the same, but almost all else was different. Lucy's cheeks went red with shame as she regarded her nude form. Her skin was pale as ever, but more lustrous than before; supple and wanting to be stroked. Tentatively, she ran one of her hands over the smooth skin of her stomach, shivering even at the gentle touch. The blush on her cheeks grew even more profound as she brushed her long blond locks off her shoulders and, with a shaking hand, stroked one of her breasts, small but expressive. She gasped at the sensation, and watched as her nipple seemed to grow more attentive. She was beautiful, wasn't she? She'd never thought of it before. A bird called right outside the window, making Lucy jump. "Shameful girl," she chided herself, pulling her nightgown over her head. "How dare you look at yourself that way...!" Crawling into bed, Lucy found she was not at all tired. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling and listening as the clock chimed once, twice, twelve times. Her heart was beating erratically, alert and excited by this new realization that she was beautiful. Beautiful girls were never lonely, were they? She had no reason to be. Her lack of information irked her, and she tossed and turned as she tried to think of a way to remedy her situation. She could ask Papa to tell her more, yes, tell her things a mother would, but he would not be home until morning, and she had never felt so impatient in her life. Suddenly she sat up, eyes bright. Quickly, Lucy lit a candle, remembered Papa's private library. He had two large bookshelves in his bedroom, which she was never allowed in. "My beautiful Lucy," he told her several times when she was younger. "There are things in those books that are not meant for a young girls' eyes. They are too mature, too worldly. I would not want to spoil your purity with those kinds of words!" He had not mentioned those books in a long time, but he had only instructed her that young girls should not see them. Lucy was practically a woman, was she not? They surely would tell her the things her mother would have! Anyway, Papa had regarded her as grown up several times lately. She'd caught him looking at her in the morning light, when she was still in her nightgown. "Isn't that a little... sheer for a young lady?" he'd ask, growing red. "Papa, it's just you and I," she'd say, puzzled and giving him a kiss. There was no reason to cover herself; she she did not know of such relations between and man and a woman. If he'd acknowledged that she was grown, then it was surely time! Lucy scampered out of bed, shivering in the evening air. Her nightgown had tiny straps like strings, and exposed most of her chest and back, as well as her arms. Her stomach twisted in anticipation when she entered her father's room, not bothering to close the door all the way. She held her breath for a minute, enjoying the heavy beating of her heart and the knowledge that she was completely alone. First, she looked about the room, and smiled. It smelt of her father, and she was reminded of how much he meant to her. How she missed him! Her heart ached for his return. Only one more night, Lucy, she told herself. He was so brilliant, and cared for her so. She'd trust him with her life, her Papa. He was so good to her. His room was decorated with dark woods, and had a large bed with blood red velvet curtains, hanging open. It looked so warm and protective. How it fit him! She could imagine him retiring, after a long day working on their land for their food, exhausted, the muscles of his chest hard and tight. His large, strong arms, perfect for protecting her. "Papa," she murmured, missing him so. Shaking herself out of her reverie, Lucy went over to the bookshelf. The books were bound in leather, and had no titles written on the fronts. No idea where to start, Lucy picked one off at random and carried to the bed with her. Curling up, she began to read. Oh, how her sights were expanded! Those words... and pictures too! Lucy shut the book as soon as she realized what it was talking about. A man, a young woman, and he was watching her undress! Touching her, kissing her... licking her in her private place. Lucy's face was brilliantly red. Did her father really read this? Maybe it was a mistake? She went back to the bookshelf. Surely people did not really do this? She picked up three more books, and flipped through them. More about men kissing the women in their private places, women taking the men in their mouths, and even a book with pictures of men and women doing something that required the man lay on top of the woman. She furrowed her brows, trying not to judge her father. If Papa enjoys reading about these dirty things, then I will surely not be angry with him. He knows so much more than I, Lucy thought. If Papa was interested in something like that, then it must surely be all right. She should be interested too. I'll try one more book, Lucy thought, and went to the other shelf. Her eyes landed on a very battered copy, clearly well-used. She flipped through the yellowed pages, finding the passage that the book had been opened to the most- the spine was weakened there. She took it to bed with her, and began to read. Before the end of the page, she knew this interested her far more. It was about a young girl and her father, and how much he loved her. Lucy definitely understood that! She smiled, understanding why her father must have read this one many times. He cared for her so! She continued to read as the father realized his daughter was late coming back from her walk. He went out and found that she had been lost in the woods, and he took her back home. The poor girl was freezing, and he undressed her and ran her a hot bath. Lucy continued to read as the father ran his hands over his daughter's body, and then lifted her out of the tub, kissing her. She blushed as he began to touch his daughter, but continued to read. Her breasts ached when the book talked of the father touching the girl's breasts, Lucy's nipples tingling. The father began to lay the girl down and kiss her all over her body, causing Lucy to feel heat between her legs. She had no idea what to do about that, and continued to read. The father began to kiss his daughter's private place, and Lucy began to understand why people did that- the girl seemed to enjoy it very much, grasping at her Papa's hair and drawing him in closer. Papa has obviously read this many times, Lucy reasoned. And it seems to be something the people in the book enjoy doing... why have we not done this, if this is something a loving father does for his daughter? Jack was exhausted as he entered his cottage. He had not planned to be home until morning, but at the first chance he got he jumped on a carriage to return home to his Lucy. He missed her far too much when he was away, and also worried about her all alone in this isolation. The girl was so beautiful, and he could easily imagine her being corrupted by some philandering youth. He almost growled at the prospect of another man laying his hands on his Lucy. She was his, forever, he would never let another man touch her or upset her purity. He smiled, imagining a beautiful life with his Lucy forever, the two living in peaceful companionship forever. His beautiful daughter and her, her protector. A smile on his lips, Jack ascended the stairs, trying to be quiet as he walked so as not to wake Lucy. She would surely be sleeping, delicate little thing that she was. It became immediately apparent, however, that someone was awake. Candlelight flickered from the slight opening of the door to his bedroom. Suspicion occurred immediately-what if someone was in the house, ravishing his Lucy? He almost burst right in, but resigned to be quiet about it. What if the intruder had a weapon of some kind and hurt Lucy? He would have to sneak up on the brute. Jack quietly peered into the room, and was calmed by what he saw. Lucy, alone! There was so sign of any man. Once he realized this, he looked at the rest of the scene, and his jaw dropped. Lucy was reading his private books. Four of them were stacked around her on the bed, and a fifth one was on her lap, deeply engrossing her. He began to panic. He forbid her from reading those because he just knew that her pure nature would be disrupted. She would never forgive him for reading such sinful material! She was too sweet, too pure! She would not be able to stand having such a naughty father. When his eyes caught the cover of the book Lucy was currently reading, his heart almost stopped. It was his favorite publication, about the incestual relationship between a father and his teenaged daughter. He had others as such, but the relationship between the father and daughter reminded him most of, well... It was his favorite. Jack was frantically worrying about what to say to explain away the situation, when he looked once more at Lucy. His eyes narrowed- her chest and upper arms were very flushed, and her eyes were wide. Instinctually, his manhood stirred within his trousers. He knew that look, but could not believe it. A woman aroused. His Lucy was aroused... It made his mouth hang open, and his eyes widen. Everything went still for a moment. Lucy was aroused... he had never seen anything so beautiful. Jack continued to watch this erotic and forbidden scene, his hardness growing more so by the second as he marveled his golden-haired angel discovering her womanhood. Had she read this material before? He doubted it. Her eyes were moving frantically across the page, as if desperate for each word. Her breath was coming fast, and Jack noticed that she had the not-so-faint impressions of erect nipples pressing against her thin nightgown. His manhood was as stiff as it had ever been now, and he felt it throb painfully, demanding to thrust into this beautiful girl before him. His Lucy... how could he betray her as such? His breath caught- Lucy began to unbutton her nightgown, blushing furiously as she did so. He forgot his moral dilemma for the moment, as he could only look at her. She only unbuttoned it as far as her navel, but it was far enough. She lay back and sighed, touching her stomach softly. Jack's heart was beating so hard he thought she might be able to hear it. His eyes could not open far enough as he observed the show before him, as the dainty girl explored her untouched body. His mouth was hanging open, and he found his mind screaming: Open your nightgown, darling Lucy... show me your breasts! Show me, dear daughter, I long for nothing else! She did. The white silk at last was parted, and he was rewarded with the sight of her small, girlish breasts, milk-white except for the pink perk nipples, which stood straight up. She ran her fingers over them, and jumped, shocked by the potency of the sensation. "Oh," she moaned softly, and Jack almost came. There is nothing more beautiful than the awakening female sexuality, he thought to himself, admiring the girl before him as she experienced her first sensations of pleasuring herself. His daughter... she was his daughter! How could he betray her? How could he think of her sexually? Could he truly sit here and watch, enjoying the sight like she was a cheap whore? No- he would not enjoy it like she was a whore. He would enjoy it for the pure angel she was, the eighteen-year-old beauty laying on his bed, the sexual girl he had created out of his own flesh and blood. Lucy unbuttoned the rest of her nightgown, and he could no longer fight his impulses- he had to watch. He had no choice. Her girlish thighs parted, and her pink rose of a maidenhood was exposed. Jack felt the blood in his ears, but nothing compared to what was going on below his belt. She ran her hands over herself further, until she gave another little moan and began to stroke herself. Jack broke- he unbuttoned his trousers and wrapped his hand around his hot, stiff cock. His eyes closed momentarily at the stimulation, but as soon as he had himself under control he opened them, so as not to miss anything. His baby daughter, his one and only girl, was masturbating on his bed and he could not control himself. Lucy obviously had little experience with this, but it was clear how aroused she was. Tiny, wet noises came from her cunt as she moved her fingers about it, which were soon coated in her sweet, female arousal. Jack stroked himself, in awe at this beautiful sight, terrified that he would make a noise and lest make her stop. Please, dear God, don't stop, he prayed as Lucy found her clitoris for the first time. What a blessed moment it was! "Oh!" she cried, her voice caught deep in her throat, eyes widening in amazement. Her neck was very red from arousal now. Her hips began to move against her hand, and she began to let out tiny feminine whimpers. Jack so longed to touch her, but not tonight. Tonight he would watch, and enjoy this glimpse of her first sexual experience, completely unaware that another was observing her sinful act. Her whimpers turned to desperate, womanly moans, and she began to toss her head back and forth, her blond locks growing very disheveled. "Oh God... Oh God! Touch me, please..." she moaned loudly, as Jack felt himself began to pulse. He was so close... he's never been this aroused, and all because of his daughter, his beautiful Lucy. Her hips bucked against her hand, and her mouth drew itself into an 'O,' her brow furrowed, her breathing ragged. She was reduced to an utterly animalistic, sex-driven slut... and nothing was more arousing to him. "Lucy," he breathed, desperate to acknowledge that this beauty was indeed his daughter, masturbating to his own incest fantasies... Confirming his wish, she let out a desperate cry. "Papa!" Her back arched and she rose off the bed, her entire body tensing at the same time as her father's. Finally, agonizingly slow and yet all too fast, she collapsed, completely out of breath. A moment later, Jack came, tensing his throat so he would not cry out. It was so intense that he instantly had a very painful headache; an orgasm like that demanded hard thrusts into a prone girl, grunts and yells... not a whispered sigh. But tonight, that was what he would have to settle for. He grasped the door frame, and stayed there for a moment, knowing he had only a short time before Lucy would discover him. He caught his breath, and quietly as he had come, descended the stairs, unable to shake the image of his beautiful girl, naked and asleep on his bed.