6 comments/ 26072 views/ 3 favorites Discovering Giselle By: Calandria2 Everyone in this story is over eighteen. Don't let the theme, male domination, be an excuse for the sort of disgusting jealous rage that makes some men abuse women. This is a different kettle of fish – and an essential part of it is willing, eager submission by the girl concerned. Over the hill? Perhaps I was, but still just short of my sixtieth birthday, and pretty fit with it, I didn't feel quite ready for the slippers-by-the-fireside bit. Anyway, I didn't have anyone to put them there for me. I wasn't sorry for myself on that score – opportunities to 'settle down' had not been scarce, though things had, fair to say, dried up a bit of late. I had retired early from my job as an interpreter, on a decent pension, with my little apartment in the elegant sixteenth arrondisement paid for, my previous married life in England now a distant memory, fifteen years on. From time to time, the reputation I had built up brought me bits and pieces of work to supplement my pension, and it was when I followed up such an invitation that I first cast eyes on Giselle. As one of my unwritten rules had always been to avoid contact with the very most attractive women, and as I was, I reckoned, thirty years her senior, I should perhaps have just enjoyed the view – but the old hormones....... It was an open-plan publisher's office, where I had come to offer my services translating articles from French into English, Spanish and German. As I sat awaiting the arrival of my contact there, this vision of loveliness passed before my eyes, not once, but at least four times, glancing more than once in my direction – or was it wishful thinking? She seemed to drift weightlessly along, a dream-quality about her, this Bohemian-looking girl, slim and around medium height, looking taller, I thought, because she wore a long Indian cotton multi-coloured skirt. Above that, an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, under which the barest hint of movement suggested she may not be wearing a bra. My eyes took in all that, but it was her angelic oval face which really caught my attention, devoid of make-up, framed by thick, soft brown hair, which fell, in a straight heavy mane, down practically to her waist. The only decoration she wore was a pair of long, heavy Spanish filigree pendants in her ears, and a tiny, glinting stone set into the side of her pert nose. I was doing my best not to stare at her receding form when Alain Beauregard, my contact, wheeled into my line of sight, carrying a sheaf of papers. He quickly introduced me to the sizwable stack of articles, then said, 'Come on, I should introduce a few people to you.' He led me around the office, presenting first the accountant – 'keep the right side of Jean-Pierre, or you'll never get paid' – and then a couple of admin assistants, before ushering me into a cubicle at one end of the office. 'I'd like you to meet Giselle,' he said, 'she is a biologist by training, and will help you with any technical points you need clarifying.' And I found myself shaking the proferred, cool, long-fingered hand of the beautiful creature I had seen walk past. Her voice matched, a slightly deeper-than-usual timbre to it, an accent which may have been Provençal. She looked at me evenly and said, 'We need to get to know each other, Monsieur Loxley.' 'Andrew, s'il vous plaît,' I told her. Her eyes were big and dark, like pools of chocolate, and her soft lips parted to show rows of good white teeth when a smile lit her face. I was reminded suddenly of a stupid phrase from my college days – 'I'd crawl twenty miles naked over broken glass to throw stones at her shit.' But it was as close as I could get to an opinion of Giselle. I left, wondering who was the lucky guy who possessed her, took her in his arms, kissed her................I sighed and decided I'd never know – some lucky bastard! – anyway, I was past it, wasn't I? I set myself to work on the mound of translations, then, one evening as I was about to call it a day, the phone rang. 'You probably won't remember me. I am Giselle, from the office.' I was in shock. Not remember her? Jesus, I didn't think I'd ever forget the most gorgeous human being I'd ever laid eyes on. 'Yes, of course I remember you,' I managed to blurt out, 'wh...what can I do for you?' Fuck, I could do just about anything for her. 'I have some revisions on two of the papers. Can I bring them around to you?' Just hearing her voice had me getting excited. 'Of course, but do you know where I live?' 'It's on the agreement.' Of course it was. I agreed that I'd be waiting for her in an hour's time. Shit, I'd been waiting for her all my life. I set frantically to cleaning the apartment, and, when it was half-decent, I still had time to change from a disgusting pair of shorts and sloppy tee-shirt into a pair of chinos and a button-down shirt. The doorbell rang, and there she was. She was wearing a shorter skirt this time, knee-length, and pleated green cotton, with a white silk blouse, under which she was definitely not wearing a bra, as I could see clearly her nipples pointing at me through the thin material. I tried hard not to look. She wore leather thong sandals, and a different pair of long ear-rings completed her outfit. Her hair was scraped back and caught up in a pony-tail. Dressed differently, she had exactly the same effect on me, and as I sat her down at the kitchen table with a coffee ('decaffinated, if you have it') her radiant smile followed me to the coffee machine. When I hd sat down opposite, both of us furnished with a coffee, she explained the revisions she had brought to me, and then complemented me on my apartment. 'I'll show you the rest of it,' I said, a trifle gauchely. 'You wouldn't be trying to get me into your bedroom, would you?' she asked, and I saw she was teasing me, as she laughed – a pretty sound. But I was flustered, and spluttered an apology. She reached over and put a hand lightly on my arm. 'I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Andrew,' she said, 'silly me. But yes, I'd love to see around your apartment.' It took very little time to show her the place, but she was charmed by the rooftop view, with a distant sight of the Eiffel Tower, and admired the geraniums I had only just picked the dead heads from. I looked at my watch. 'I suppose you're going back to the office now?' 'No, I've finished for the day.' I hoped there was an opening, though always realising the hopelessness of any move. 'Then would you care to have dinner with me?' You could have knocked me over with a feather when she replied, 'That would be lovely, but I can't go like this, I've been working in these clothes all day.' 'You look perfectly lovely to me.' 'That's sweet of you, but I'd like to go home and change. I live very close by, in fact.' I felt as if I'd won the lottery when she left, and wouldn't have been surprised had she had second thoughts and not come to meet me a couple of hours later, at the bar on the corner, as we arranged. It was hot, so I stayed with the chinos, and slipped on a brown silk short-sleeved shirt. So I was sat toying with a gin and tonic, nervous as a kitten, when she appeared. She stopped conversation as she threaded her way through the tables to my corner. She had changed – and how! Her lustrous black hair was now loose, and she wore a scarlet, halter-neck, backless dress, the loose top of which allowed her breasts to jiggle as she walked. The knee-length skirt was, however, skin-tight, and I glimpsed red, very high-heeled sandals as she neared my table. I stood and pulled out a chair for her, but first she pecked me on each cheek, that magnificent hair brushing me, and I caught the heady scent of....of what? – Guerlain? I was, in any case, thoroughly intoxicated by her. When she sat down, I saw she had put in different ear-rings, simple, long silver chains that brushed her shoulders. She also had a broad silver amulet decorating her upper right arm – it looked painfully tight – and wore silver rings on her left middle finger and the thumb, as well as two tiny rings on the second joints of two fingers. I couldn't remember seeing them before. Her long nails were varnished red to match her dress. 'You look wonderful,' I said, my voice coming out strained, I thought. She smiled. 'You like the way I look?' It sounded almost like a challenge. 'Any man who didn't would be a little....strange.' 'There are many kinds of men,' she said, enigmatically, then, 'where did you plan to take me?' To bed, I thought, now. But I mentioned a nice restaurant, and we left, eyes boring into her as we negotiated our way around the tables and left. More attention came Giselle's way as we entered the restaurant, but she seemed oblivious to the eye, both male and female, that tracked her to our table. It was hard to concentrate on the food in her company, and several times I caught her amused glance, as if she knew what was going through my mind. As we relaxed with coffee, she quite deliberately placed a hand on mine, on top of the table. 'You've been watching me, all through the meal, Andrew.' 'I'm sorry, it ....it....well, I had hoped it wasn't so obvious.' 'I think it's lovely,' she said, and there was the faintest pressure on my hand. I could feel a burgeoning erection getting started – and she was scarcely touching me. 'I'm old enough to be yo......' She put a cautioning finger to my lips. 'I like older men,' she said, but didn't offer any further comment as we finished our coffees and a brandy apiece. I walked her to her door, which wasn't indeed very far, and we stood, a trifle awkwardly, on the sidewalk. 'I can't ask you up, Andrew,' she said , 'the Concierge, you know, and besides, I'm rather tired.' 'I understand,' I said, and was about to wish her goodnight and turn away. 'Aren't you going to kiss me?' she asked, in a little girl voice. I took her in my arms, as she tilted her head up, and kissed her lips, first tentatively, then, as she responded, more ardently. She opened her lips, and her tongue flicked into my mouth. For the first time, I realised that her tongue was pierced, and the little stud excited me beyond belief as it toured my mouth. Her body had moved closer to me, and I was embarrassed to feel my now-fully erect cock pressing against her belly. It was, howwever, a moment I never wanted to end. When we eventually parted, I walked home with my balls on fire, and had to relieve myself as soon as I arrived. But after sleeping with thoughts of her constantly in my mind, it was as though my feelings for Giselle somehow transcended sex – I had loved talking to her, and just wanted to be in her company. Come on, Andy, I thought, you're an old fool, and there's no fool like an old one! But I knew for sure that, if she'd agree, I'd marry her, whenever and on whatever terms, and you can't get sillier than that – I was seriously in love. I had work to do next day, but was itching to phone Giselle – even if only to hear the sound of her voice. At that stage, I couldn't, wouldn't let myself, believe that she, someone so beautiful, was unattached – surely some young stud was servicing her regularly? So when she called me at about three in the afternoon, I was amazed. 'I wondered if you were free this evening?' she said. Free? Does the Pope say his prayers? I tried to sound casual. 'Yes, I think so – what have you in mind?' 'Whatever you like, Andrew, but of course, if you'd rather not.........' Hurriedly I dropped the casual bit. 'I'd be delighted to see you, Giselle. Why don't you let me cook you a meal?' 'That would be lovely – see you about eight, then?' A trip around supermarkets and delicatessen was now essential, and I had to decide what to cook that was pretty sure not to be a disaster. I settled on boeuf bourguignon, with rice and a green salad, and made sure I had a couple of bottles of a Moulin a Vent. By seven thirty, I had everything nicely under control, and put on a different pair of chinos and a clean shirt. She arrived promptly at eight, and my heart leapt at the sight of her. Her gorgeous hair was once again loose, framing her pretty face, and she wore a simple silky green pleated beltless dress, with a gathered neckline, which fell straight from her breasts to the hem at mid-thigh level. On her feet were strappy stiletto-heeled sandals. 'You look fantastic,' I said, and meant it. We took our time over the meal. I was aching to kiss her – just to kiss her, would you believe – anything further would have to take its course. But as we ate the tiramisu I had bought for sweet, I was suddenly aware that her ankle was against mine under the table. At first I thought it was accidental, and moved my leg slightly away, but her leg was soon back, now rubbing quite deliberately up and down mine. I looked up at her, and she opened her mouth a fraction, then the studded tip of her tongue emerged just a fraction from between her teeth – it was an unmistakeable gesture, to which my cock responded instantly, leaping to attention. I reached for her hand across the table, and she leaned over. Our lips met, just a brush, then she said, 'have you got any coffee?' I fought to get my erection under control as I got up to make the coffee, and thought I caught her looking at me, amused at my efforts. When I got back from the kitchen with the coffees and cognac, she was sitting on the sofa, so I drew up a small coffee table, and sat beside her. I flicked on the stereo with the remote – an old Commmodores album. 'That was a lovely meal, Andrew,' she said, 'and I feel so comfortable with you.' I looked at her. Comfortable? Was that what I had to settle for? But she went on, 'I know you like me – I see it in your face.' 'I think I'm in love with you,' I blurted out – silly old idiot. 'You don't know me, Andrew.' 'But I can't get you out of my mind.' 'Oh Andrew, kiss me, like you did last night!' I obliged, and she threw a slender arm around my neck as she opened her lips to me, and set me on fire as her tongue darted in and out in a parody of sex. She pushed me gently away, then looking me in the eye, said, 'Fuck me, Andrew, please!' I could scarcely believe what I heard, but she rose gracefully to her feet, right in front of me, and, swaying gently to the music, slowly raised the hem of her dress, until her neat hairless pussy came into view, then, parting her legs slightly, and holding her dress bunched in one hand, she slid the other into her crack, opening her labia with her first two fingers, so that I was looking at eye-level, straight into the damp, pink depths of her cunt. I struggled to free my now rampant cock from my trousers, and she uttered a little murmur, as she straddled my legs, and eased her slender body down, impaling herelf on me. She moaned as my length slid easily into her moistness, then took my hands and placed them on her breasts – they were firm under the flimsy material, nipples as hard as rocks as she began to move, riding me as my weapon slid up and down in her ready depths. I had to fight to stop myself from cumming in seconds, but her knowing hand helped when she grasped my shaft tightly, to prevent a quick finish. I now drove into her, matching her rhythm, and she groaned ever louder until I could hold off no longer, stiffened and shot a huge stream of hot spunk deep inside her. She stayed where she was, with me inside her, and kissed me tenderly. 'That was lovely, Andrew,' she said. 'For you too?' 'For me, but really for you,' she said. 'But you?' I insisted. 'Next time will be for me,' she said, mysteriously. There was already a stirring in my groin, and I thought that 'next time' could be soon, but Giselle had other ideas. She got to her feet, smoothed her dress down, and picked up her little purse. 'I'm a little weary now, Andrew, and I'm sure you could do with a nap too. See you in the morning?' 'In the morning?' 'Yes, tomorrow's Saturday – we can go out together if you like.' I wondered if I'd died and gone to heaven. This magnificent creature was offering to go out with me. This young girl who wore no panties, and asked me to fuck her. 'Sure I'd like. Where d'you want to go?' 'You decide, I'll be round about ten – OK?' In the event, I took her to Versailles, where we sauntered around the palace and the grounds, ate ice-cream, held hands, talked and kissed. She was wearing a flared white skirt and a pale blue silk blouse – her hair tied back in a pony-tail, different huge ear-rings, comfortable flat sandals. 'How come you are single? You must have loads of offers,' I asked her as we strolled through fragrant flower-beds. I've had offers, yes, and I lived with a guy for a year, then with a girl for almost the same time.' She saw me staring at her. 'Now I've shocked you, Andrew.' 'No, no, I'm not shocked,' I managed to say, but I was, a little. We strolled on in silence, then ate, not very satisfactorily, in a bistro near the palace gates. I drove us back into Paris in my Peugeot, and expected that Giselle would want to be dropped off at her apartment, but she said, 'Can I come up to your place?' I made coffee, and when I came back with it into the lounge, she was standing by the table, quite naked, save for a fine gold chain which encircled her tiny waist, her clothes neatly folded on a chair. 'As I told you, Andrew, now it is my turn,' she said, and dropped to her knees in front of the sofa, and pulled a cushion into the seat, resting her head on it. She signalled me to come around behind her, then used both hands to spread her buttocks wide. Her arsehole was an open invitation – she was no anal virgin – that was apparent. My prick was throbbing with anticipation, and I lost no time in pulling it out, dropping to my knees, and thrusting my knob eagerly into the waiting portal. 'Slowly, cheri!' she said, and wiggled her arse to help me ease into her velvet passage. She took me, right up to the hilt, and gave a deep groan as I buried my length in her. I had never felt such a sensation before, and my own pleasure was heightened by hearing her moans as I drove in and out, her peristaltic tightness a thrill beyond belief. I held her lovely breasts as I tore into her with all the force I could muster, and she screamed wildly as I inevitably released my load of hot cum deep, deep within her. 'Oh Andrew, that was, indeed, truly for me, darling – I came so very...very... strongly.' She had difficulty finding a word to describe what she had felt, and I couldn't find strength to speak. When I had recovered sufficiently, and we were sat together on the sofa, I said, 'If I died now, I'd die happy.' 'Don't, please,' was all she said. My mind was in a whirl. I had fallen in love with a lovely girl – and I now knew that I had done so without beginning to know her. She had shown me an amazing sexuality that left me speechless 'We should talk,' I eventually said. 'Not now, love,' she said, 'I'm tired. Let's have a bite to eat, then I need to go home and sleep.' We went down to the bar, had a snack, and then I took her home. She raised herself on tip-toes and kissed me, saying, 'I'll come around in the morning – eleven OK?' 'Of course – I'll look forward to learning more about you.' 'Oh Andrew, I don't know what to tell you.' 'You can tell me anything,' I said, and went home wondering just what secrets she harboured. Giselle occupied my mind all evening, and I'm pretty sure I dreamed about her as well. The morning dawned cloudy and cooler, so my planned trip to Fontainebleu wasn't going to come off. I decided we'd just play it by ear. Once again promptly, my doorbell rang, and I buzzed her up. I was used to her ringing the changes, but her appearance that damp Sunday morning took my breath away. Casting aside a little bolero jacket she had worn to walk over, she revealed – and 'revealed' was the word – herself in a black transparent blouse, buttoned up the back, so that her firm, young, uncovered breasts were wholly visible, Below that she wore a knee-length black satin skirt so tight she could scarcely walk. Her seamed stockings must have been hold-ups, as a garter-belt would have shown through the skin-tight material. On her feet were the highest stilettos I had ever seen, with metallic needle heels and platform soles. In them, she matched my height. Discovering Giselle She paused, looking at me in, I thought, a challenging way. 'You look utterly fantastic!' was all I could say- 'I thought I might try to give you a clue as to what we started to talk about last night.' 'The only clue I am reading is in my trousers,' I said, and she laughed gently when she saw how my cock was already tenting out the front of my chinos. I took her in my arms and kissed her, but after a few moments she pulled away. 'No, Andrew, I thought you wanted to talk?' 'Yes, Giselle, I'm sorry – it's just that you have this effect on me, you know.' 'I like that, but make me a coffee – I want to get it off my chest.' 'It's your chest that's the problem,' I called over my shoulder as I made for the kitchen, and I heard her laughing again behind me. We sat together on the sofa, her skirt so tight that she couldn't move. 'What I'm going to say may mean the end of us, you must realise,' she began. I couldn't see that possibility, and started to say so, but she held a finger to my lips. 'No, listen, please. You know I like anal sex, so I'm not a normal girl.' I could see that she was trying to find the right words, and decided I'd best help by keeping quiet. I sought her hand, but she pulled it away. 'Basically.' She said, 'I'm a slut,' Again she shut me up with that finger. 'I love pain, restraint, discomfort – hence my skirt and shoes this morning. So, my dear Andrew, if we are to have a future, you may as well know, you are going to have to be my master.' She looked hard at me, that challenge again, then she got to her feet. 'I'm going to let you think about it. I think you may well be masterful – what I need – and last night you were terrific.' Her expression softened at the memory. 'I shall be at home when you've had time to think about it – you've got my number, and my email address.' I watched walk out of the door, incredibly sexy in that tight skirt – and those heels! No way was I going to let her get away. I sat for a time, nursing a too-early cognac, and thought. I had, of course, read 'O' – and been mightily turned on by it, more so than by the film, although that too had its points. I had fantasies about what might have been, at several points in my past. Judy had left me, probably because sex was boring – what if I'd taken her anal virginity? What, still more, if I'd tied her up and spanked her? Christine had suggested, none too subtly, that she had 'other ways' of deriving pleasure. A torrid affair with Lisa had come to an end, when I might have simply gone a step further, and introduced a second female to our bed. I had been too conformist, sure, but I had felt there might be something pure about my love for Giselle – for it was love that I felt for her, I was in no doubt. At first, I had been almost afraid to touch her, so frail and immaculate was her beauty. So what was I going to do? Why, try to be her master, for sure. But could I be cruel to her? That was what she would want, after all. What price, purity? Having thought for long enough, I started to compose an email. It went something like this:- My dear Giselle, I have given the matter much thought, and my mind is made up. I expect you to follow my instructions to the letter. You will come to my home tomorrow evening, and live with me indefinitely, always provided I am satisfied with you. Between now and then – you should have time tomorrow lunchtime – you will go to an equestrian supplier and purchase a coach whip and a crop, both leather. You will bring them with you, as they are for your pleasure. You will bring such clothing and accessories as you require, but you will not wear underclothes, nor any kind of trousers. I shall meantime purchase other items that will be necessary. You will come to me wearing a loose dress, or skirt and blouse, and nothing else. Your arrival will imply consent to be punished as and when I see fit. If you have any queries, you can telephone me – otherwise I shall expect to see you tomorrow evening. As I'm sure you are aware, I love you with all my heart, Andrew. I read it through twice, thought it struck the right note, and pressed SEND. I scarcely slept that night, and had to go for a long walk early, before the shops opened, to settle me down. Then I went down to the metro and made my way to Montmartre. There I soon found a sex-shop, and selected items I needed. I bought two sets of nipple-clamps, an anal vibrator, a large butt-plug, and leather ankle- and wrist-restraints. The Goth girl at the counter didn't turn a hair when she parcelled them up for me. I found an erotic lingerie shop, and bought two sheer, hip-length white nightgowns with fur trim at neckline and hem, a matching long negligee, and, on a whim, a black lace body-suit. A jewellery shop provided me with a stainless steel collar, set with little stones, and bearing a discreet ring to which, I thought, a leash might be attached. Pleased with my purchases, I stopped off for a relaxed lunch, then went home to await Giselle's arrival, more than a little nervous in case she had second thoughts. I busied myself making some preparations, fixing a ring-bolt in the beam which crossed my lounge, then going down to the hardware shop for a metre of heavy chain and a snap-link to hang from it. Eight o'clock came and went, and my anxiety increased, until, at about half past eight, my mobile phone rang. 'I'm just around the corner,' came Giselle's voice, sounding more nervous than I felt. I ran downstairs, and was waiting when the taxi drew up, and the driver unloaded a big suitcase and two boxes from the boot. I paid him, and managed the suitcase and a box, Giselle carrying the other box upstairs to my apartment. Once inside, we set down our burdens and I turned to look at her. She was breathtakingly beautiful, in a green and white printed silk dress, with a short flared skirt. Her hair was shining, thick and loose, cascading down to beyond her waist, and her feet were in silver-heeled stiletto sandals. I took her in my arms and kissed her, but she pulled away. 'I'm sorry I'm late, master,' she said, her eyes cast downward, hands clasped together. Instinctively I knew she was asking me to punish her, there and then. 'So you should be, you little slut,' I said, when, for the moment, all I really wanted was to make love to her. I showed her the collar I had bought, and she looked up at me when I clipped it into place around her slender neck. 'It's lovely, master – I shall wear it all the time.' 'Yes, it is a symbol of your submission. Now take off your dress.' She reached behind her and pulled down the zipper, shrugged the dress off her shoulders, so that it feel with a whisper to the floor around her feet. She stood, proud and slim, her young, firm breasts jutting as if in challenge, long nipples hard with excitement. I kissed her, long and hard, inviting the studded tongue into my mouth, then, when I drew away, I said, 'You would like me to whip you, wouldn't you?' 'Oh yes, master.' 'You know I'm going to hurt you, don't you?' 'Yes.' I let my hand stray downwards, and she parted her legs obediently as I found her crack. She was dripping-wet. I kissed her again, briefly this time, then fetched two of the restraints I had bought, and buckled them around her wrists. I led her to point beneath the ring-bolt, and soon had her wrists clipped onto the hanging chain, high enough so that she could just stand in her heels. I thought how lovely and vulnerable she looked, but knew that it was going to be difficult – my only experience of whipping came from fictional sources, and some stuff I had seen on the Internet. She sensed, I thought, my nervousness as I took the riding crop from her suitcase, and swept her heavy mane of hair over her shoulder, leaving her pale back, pristine and unmarked, available to me. She looked over her shoulder at me, lips slightly apart, an unreadable expression on her lovely face, then, quite deliberately, she slowly said, 'Please hurt me, master.' I swished the crop against her back without much force, and she looked over her shoulder at me with something akin to scorn. It was clear that she expected more, and I drew my arm back and brought the leather crop down hard across her slender back. She moved scarcely at all as the stroke fell, even though a pale red line appeared instantly across her flesh. I lashed her again, this time lower down, with more force, letting the crop fly freely. This time she gasped, and a red welt showed across her back, just above the swell of her buttocks. I was afraid I'd hurt her too much, but there was something in the way she swayed and squirmed in her bonds that made me carry on. I was learning technique, and now the crop seemed to have a life of its own, as it fell just below her shoulder-blades, wringing a little 'oh' from Giselle's lips. Soon her back was criss-crossed with red lines, and she was writhing as I thrashed her for what must have been the tenth time – I had meant to stop at six, but was almost ashamed to realise that I had a mighty erection at the sight of my new lover, now in pain. I threw down the crop and, taking her head in my hands, kissed her deeply. She responded, driving her studded tongue into my mouth, her wrists still restrained above her head. I let her down, and she gasped, 'Oh, master, fuck me, please, NOW!' I led her to the sofa, pulled my surging cock from its prison in my trousers, and drove it home, into her sopping cunt. She cried out, and her shudder announced that she had cum – even as I entered her. I was shamelessly quick, and came after no more than four desperate strokes, flooding her with hot spunk – but I would swear she came again as I did so. When we lay together, quite exhausted, I voiced my concern that I had done damage to her back, and all she could do was murmur, 'It was delicious, master. I came while you whipped me, then twice more. I have never known such pleasure.' And I had never felt happier. We slept curled up together, not a bit like master and slave, just two lovers, and I awoke to the smell of coffee. We had breakfast, and, as she was getting ready to go to work, I felt I had to say something about the night before. 'Are you...' I started. 'I'm just fine, master,' she cut in, 'And I am proud of my stripes.' She pulled the silk blouse she wore out of her skirt's waistband, and showed me the livid red lines that crossed her back, then she bent down to kiss me and was gone. Where did we go from there, I wondered? On a whim, I surfed the web for BDSM images, looking for ideas. There was an awful lot of faked-looking stuff, but I did get one clue, and went out to a DIY shop, where I bought saw-horse. Back home, I shortened the legs at one end to give it some inclination, then drilled a wide hole near the low end, through which I inserted the biggest dildo I had bought, taping it firmly in place. I admired my handiwork, then hid it away in the closet. When Giselle got home that evening, I first told her to put on the fur-trimmed negligee I had bought. She looked stunning, standing there waiting to be punished, and I couldn't resist having her put on the cruellest nipple-clamps I had obtained. I screwed them down tightly myself, until she yelped with pain, and involuntary tears ran down her cheeks. I led her into the bedroom, and dragged out the sawhorse. As she stood looking at it, her lovely eyes wide, I applied a little KY gell to the dildo, then told her to take off the negligee. Naked now, she straddled the horse, and, when I saw that she was about to lower herself onto the waiting dildo, I pulled her feet forward, and readjusted her position, so that it was her arsehole that would be impaled, rather than her vagina, as she had intended. 'Oh master, but it's so big,' she moaned, but she was already wriggling the end of the massive dong into her smallest orifice, and groaned with pain and pleasure as she sank onto it, taking the entire length deep inside her. 'Now fuck it!' I ordered, meanwhile taking the coach whip she herself had bought from its leather case. As she started to ease herself up and down on the great shaft, I lashed her hard across the buttocks with the thin whip, which I knew would sting horribly. She cried out at each stroke, and her rhythm increased as I matched it with fierce blows. After perhaps ten terrible, fiery strokes, she screamed loud and long, and I knew that a terrific orgasm had swept through her shuddering body. She slumped along the bench, quite spent, and I fell to my knees, cradled her in my arms, and kissed her for several minutes. 'Thank you, thank you, master,' she said, tears still streaking her beautiful face. I was still concerned – desperate not to lose her – that I was doing everything I could that she needed. 'Giselle, darling...' I started, hesitantly. 'Yes, master?' 'Is there anything else you'd like me to do for...I mean to you?' She thought for a while, stroking my prick through my trousers as she did so. 'I just love to be whipped,' she said, hesitantly, then, almost in a whisper, 'perhaps if I could watch on video?' 'Of course, my dear.' 'And you could whip me wet – that would hurt very much, I think. But master,' she went on, feeling the urgent bulge in my trousers, 'you are very excited, yes?' For answer I slipped my ramrod-stiff cock out of my trousers, and groaned with pleasure as she took me between her luscious lips, deep into her throat, sucking me as nobody had ever done before. I felt no need to control myself, and came quickly, spurt after spurt, the relief and ecstasy unbelievable, as I stroked Giselle's silky hair. 'I love it that you get so excited at my pain,' she said, when I had recovered, 'I know it sounds strange, but being hurt, by my master, is everything to me.' She was looking into my eyes as she spoke, sincerity shining from her. 'At first, I was afraid of hurting you too much,' I said. 'I know, master, but I can stand much more.' 'If, for instance, I had you marked, like 'O?'' 'That would be the most wonderful thing,' she said simply. Next day, I spent a lot of time thinking about what Giselle had said, and by the time she got home, I had rigged up a video camera and a screen, so that she would be able to watch her arse being caned. The camera was at the foot of my spare, single bed, and the screen propped on the headboard. I showed it to her. 'Not tonight though, my love, you must still be sore from last night.' She agreed reluctantly, eager as she was to try the system out. As it turned out, it wasn't to be the next evening either, as we were both invited out to dinner by her boss, a suave guy in his forties, and his wife. 'What should I wear?' asked Giselle. 'How about that very tight skirt? And if you need something else to go with it, we can go shopping at lunchtime,' I suggested. 'I've got just the thing,' she said, 'just so long as you like it.' She disappeared into the bedroom, and was gone for perhaps thirty minutes. When she returned, she had put her hair up in a French knot, had made up her eyes and lips, and was wearing a black corset. 'Do you like it?' she asked, twirling around coquettishly. I replied truthfully that I thought it was lovely. It was cut high at the back, so that her round buttocks were free, and it was laced, criss-cross fashion, up the back. 'Tighten it for me, please,' she said, and I pulled the ends of the laces. 'Tighter, much tighter!' she said, and gasped when I did as she asked, effectively reducing her already slim waist to almost nothing. When she turned to me, I saw that the tightness of the garment had had the effect of thrusting her breasts upwards, and the half-cups at the top of the corset only just covered her nipples – a little of her brown aureolas was on view. Attached to long garter straps were black seamed stockings, and her feet were in outrageously high stilettos. She stepped into the skirt she had brought with her, and, when it was zipped up with the hem-to-waist zipper, it moulded her slender legs and hips like a glove. She would only be able to walk with tiny steps. She had put on the tight amulet she had worn once before. A transparent black blouse, buttoned up the back, completed her ensemble. I stood back and admired her – she looked the very image of restraint, and I wondered just what effect she was going to have on our hosts – her boss had only seen her dressed for work. 'Do you like me like this?' she asked. 'I'm so proud of you,' I confirmed. We arrived at the ritzy block where Paul and his wife, Nadine, lived, and their maid, a petite black girl, opened the door to us, and showed us into a spacious lounge. Nadine came out of the kitchen to greet us. She was a slender brunette, with sharp features – not exactly pretty, but with a certain attractiveness. She wore a filmy, translucent harem suit, apple green in colour, and as she moved around the room, putting some soft music on the expensive-looking stereo, and getting drinks, I couldn't help speculating as to whether or not she wore anything underneath it. That she wore no bra was apparent, as her nipples poked out at the thin material. When she passed me a drink, I noticed that her extra-long (porcelain?) nails were bautifully decorated, and that a tiny ring hung from her right pinky, and from it dangled a chain about two inches long, with a little jewel set in the end. 'Did you see her nail-decoration?' whispered Giselle, when our hostess went out to the kitchen, 'I want one of those!' Paul came in, having been to the wine-shop, and praised Giselle's appearance. Th maid served our dinner, and, as we sat at the table, I couldn't help noticing that Paul's eyes never left Giselle. If she was embarrassed by his attention, she didn't show any sign. 'I was wondering, Nadine,' she said, 'where did you get that delightful little chain in your nail?' Nadine told her, then said, 'But it's not half as nice as your tongue-stud, Giselle, I've been thinking of having one done for some time.' Paul grinned. 'It must make a blow-job even better,' he said. 'Paul!' exclaimed his wife. 'No, that's alright,' I said, 'and yes, it does. Would you like to try it out?' 'Yes, of course, if you don't mind,' said Paul, and Nadine stood up, flinging her napkin to the floor, and strode out. 'I'm sorry if I've upset her,' I said. 'She'll get over it,' said Paul, standing up himself, and extending his hand to Giselle. He led her to one of the two couches which faced each other, and they sat together, whilst I took up position on the other couch, eager to watch. A pang of jealousy was inevitable when Paul released a stiff, thick weapon from his fly. He really had an impressive organ, I was forced to admit, and Giselle stroked it tenderly, then slowly lowered her head, and licked the whole length of it, causing Paul to moan as her silver stud grazed his crown. My own prick was leaping, and demanding to be taken from my trousers, and I obliged, as Giselle rounded her lips and slowly, slowly, eased Paul's mighty prick into her mouth. So intent was I on the scene before me that it was a surprise when I sensed that Nadine had slipped onto the sofa beside me, and suddenly her long-nailed hand had replaced mine, stroking my shaft expertly. I reached over her shoulder and cupped a small, firm breast as she did so, feeling the nipple harden under the soft material. I couldn't remember ever having had a hand-job so erotic, as I watched my beautiful love-slave sucking the engorged tool of her boss. As he stiffened, and drove one last, shuddering stroke deep Giselle's throat, Nadine quickened her rhythm, and Soon I spurted copiously over her hand and her suit. She raised her face and kissed me deeply, then stood, and abruptly went out, while Giselle was busy swallowing every last drop of Paul's cum. Discovering Giselle We walked home – slowly, as Giselle could take only small steps, and ws acutely uncomfortable in her tight corset and the incredible heels. I enjoyed the envious looks I got from men we passed on the way. 'That was quite an evening, Andrew,' she said – she had got out of the habit of calling me 'master' during the evening, and I found that I didn't mind at all, our roles now clearly defined. I told her so. 'If you've still got anything left,' she said, slyly, 'I'd love you to fuck me when we get home.' And when we arrived, she didn't even make it to the bedroom, unzipping and stepping out of her skirt and bending over the dining table, presenting me an expanse of white bottom and thighs, framed prettily by the lower frill of her cruel corset and the tops of her black stockings. Her face against the table-top, she reached both hands behind her, spreading her buttocks as if to invite me. I needed no further encouragement, and plunged my hot, throbbing knob hard into her arsehole, thrusting home much more deeply than I had before, and wringing a whimper from her lips. I pounded her long and fiercely, and she was screaming with each stroke as I finally came, shooting a load that came from I knew not where, deep within her lovely body. 'I love you, Andrew,' she said simply. I needed time next day to recover, and stayed in bed late, when Giselle had gone off to work. When I eventually got up, I put finishing touches to my arrangement with the video camera, then pottered around the flat until it was time for Giselle to come home. When she finally walked in, she was a little work-weary, and we sat with a glass of wine for a while, until she said suddenly, 'I've been thinking about what you are going to do to me, for hours, my darling Andrew. Shall I go and get ready?' Ten minutes later, she stood before me, naked but for a little silk slip, and I led her to the spare room, and showed her my set-up. I soon had her, still wearing the slip, face-down on the bed, her ankles loosely tied to the sides of the bed, two cushions under her belly. Then I started the video, and a little 'snow' preceded an image of her arse on the screen in front of her. I adjusted the camera, so that her naked pussy was in focus, her legs being just sufficiently apart so that it was nicely visible. As an afterthought, I gave her a pillow so that she could look directly at the screen in front of her. I then fetched a thin cane from the terrace, and said quietly, in what was fast becoming our ritual, 'You know I am going to hurt you, don't you?' 'Oh yes,' she said, almost pleadingly, 'please hurt me.' I measured up the fall of the cane against her lovely buttocks, then drew back my arm, knowing that anything less than a cruel stroke would be useless. I thrashed her soft flesh with real force, drawing no more than a gasp from her at first, but by the fifth vicious stroke, she was moaning, and by the tenth, her moans had turned to screams, as vivid red welts now showed across her white skin. I paused and said, 'Have you had enough?' 'Oh please, carry on, carry on.' She squirmed and bucked as the next few lashes fell, and I knew instinctively that she had cum. I gave her only a few more – I think it made twenty in all, but she stayed staring at the screen, with rapt attention, and, her ankles still attached to the bed, moved a hand down between her legs, and writhed again, threshing around on the mattress, as she masturbated to another moaning climax. When I had untied her, she said, 'Andrew, that was wonderful – tell me we'll do that again.' 'Yes, my love, we will. You love it when I hurt you, don't you?' 'Oh yes, and it's wonderful to watch my arse being marked.' I looked at the way her lovely buttocks were now scored with deep red lines, and thought how pretty they were. But I knew I couldn't cane her again for a while. A couple of days after her caning, I decided to take her out for dinner, to the best restaurant I could afford, where some very smart people dined. I really wanted to show her off, and picked out a dress for her to wear. It was a bottle-green dress in gossamer-light silky material, all tiny pleats, with 'seventies' wide sleeves, and no belt, so that it would fall straight from her breasts to the mid-thigh level hem. Under it, she would, of course, be naked, but for a fine gold chain I gave her to wear around her slender waist. Her collar, naturally, was around her neck, and her feet would be in platform-soled, needle-heeled silver shoes. When she had attended to her make-up, brushed her hair until it shone, and stood for my inspection, I saw that a stray stripe from her caning was visible on the back of her thigh, but it somehow added to the erotic image she presented, her haunting beauty enhanced by my knowledge that she was naked beneath the dress. Wordlessly, I handed her a blue, flanged butt-plug, which she immediately slid into her rectum, her mouth forming a pretty 'o' as she did so. Conversation ceased as we threaded our way through tables to our corner place, both men and women fascinated as their eyes followed her. As we sat, I looked around, and was delighted to see a very attractive couple, in their thirties, perhaps, at a table directly opposite us. He was darkly handsome, with a goatee beard, she a slim Eurasian beauty, with long, glossy black hair. I noted she was wearing a long evening gown in shiny gold material, and couldn't help wondering what she looked like naked. My thoughts soon returned to Giselle, however, and we talked throughout the delicious meal. As we finished, the couple opposite were still in place, he smoking a cigar, as they toyed with coffees and cognacs. 'Turn a little in your seat, slide your dress up, and show them your cunt,' I said, and she looked about to protest, then, her eyes on my face, she quietly twisted around, moving her stiletto-clad feet out towards the aisle. I saw the couple opposite trying not to be too obvious as they looked curiously in Giselle's direction. Giselle's eyes slowly left mine, and focussed on the couple, ever so briefly, then she cast them down, as she lowly slid up the hem of her dress, just enough so that her hairless slit was visible, and the flange of the blue butt-plug must have been evident, as well as one or two of her now-fading welts. I looked at the couple, out of the corner of my eye – he was peering with unbridled lust, she had her lovely lips slightly apart, and our eyes met when hers left Giselle. I called the waiter, scribbled my address on a napkin, then wrote, 'in an hour?' underneath. When we got home, Giselle asked me: 'Should I change?' 'No,' I replied, 'they probably won't come anyway.' But I had scarcely had the time to put on some tranquil music and get out a tray of drinks when the doorbell rang. I buzzed them in, and they came tentatively into my apartment. 'I'm Pierre, and this is Lily,' said the guy, who now looked younger than he had under the lights of the restaurant. I introduced us, then told Giselle to serve them drinks, and invited them to sit down. Giselle put Pierre's Scotch in front of him, on the coffee table, then bent over to put down Lily's vodka and tonic. As she did so, I lifted her skirt, and, right under Pierre's nose, stroked her lovely, pale, randomly-striped buttocks, looking at Pierre. 'Pretty, isn't she?' I asked him. 'Very,' he confirmed. 'She's a slut,' I said, 'and she'd love you to fuck her, wouldn't you, Giselle?' 'Yes,' she admitted, in a small voice, 'if you wouldn't mind.' 'Well, that will depend upon Lily, I think,' I said, looking at her. She nodded silently, which I took as her consent. 'Go and kneel in front of the other sofa,' I told Giselle, and when she did so, I again flipped up the hem of her skirt, and slipped the plug out of her arse. It made an audible 'plop.' I stroked her behind again, and encouraged her to part her knees further, so that an enticing view of her gaping black arsehole and her pretty pink vagina was ours. 'There,' I told Pierre, 'she's ready!' and I sat down in his place, beside Lily on the sofa. When I sneaked a look at her lovely face, I saw she was breathing rapidly, her lips slightly apart. I risked plaacing a hand on her shapely knee, clothed in silky material, and at that she turned to look at me, edging closer along the sofa's seat. Pierre was taking his time, first massaging Giselle's offered slit, then dropping to his knees, and probing her now-vacant arsehole with a long, questing tongue. 'This excites you?' I asked Lily, but she looked a question at me. 'Je suis vietnamoise,' she whispered, and I realised she spoke little French. But it was apparent that she was, indeed, turned on by what was occurring, and when I slid her dress gently up her leg, she made no protest, but her hand strayed to the stiff bulge in my chinos, and a ssmall murmur which sounded like pleasure escaped her lips before I leant over and kissed them, meeting with an immediate response. By now she had released my burgeoning, insistent dick from my fly, and had it neatly in her hand – it wasn't the first time she had held an erect male organ. But afteer my hand-job from the gorgeous Nadine, I wanted more, especially as Pierre was now teasing Giselle with the crown of his thick tool, pushing it a short way into her anyus, and withdrawing it as she writhed, and wanted him deep within her. Lily, for all her lack of communication, sensed my need, and hitched her dress up, climbing, with considerable agility, over to straddle me, and lowering herself abruptly onto my eager member, impaling herself up to the hilt. Her long-fingered hands covered mine as I cupped her small, firm tits. I couldn't see beyond her, but she took all my attention, as she rode me, her tight cunt seeming to suck me in ever deeper, but Giselle's cry told my subconscious that she too was getting well fucked. I came, flooding Lily with my hot cum, and then holding her lithe body in place for a long time, while Pierre finished his business with Giselle. Her loud scream announced his final triumphant stroke. When they had gone, we went to bed together, wordlessly enjoying again the events of the evening as we lay entwined, naked. 'I think I just might whip you in the morning,' I murmured. 'Mmmm,' purred her only reply. When I awoke, she was playing with my half-erect cock, chuckling to herself as she demonstrated her power to arouse me, even in sleep. I soon found my erection hard and stiff, and, flipping her over, started to stroke her damp slit, as she obligingly raised a leg to make herself available. I penetrated her offered vagina, feeling the lovely smooth warmth inside her, and fucked her gently, tenderly, easing myself deep within her, and drawing from her the little moans that always added to my desire. I came right into the neck of her womb, and she twisted her head around. 'I love you, Andrew,' she said, 'I'll make you hard again, then you can hurt me, if you like.' I was too exhausted to reply, but when, a few minutes later, her long, queesting forefinger reached around me and found my arsehole, I knew she would do as she said. She drove the finger straight up my sensitive rectum, and I gasped at the sensation. 'You're the only woman who's ever done that to me,' I told her. 'And do you like it?' 'What do you think?' – her other hand was testing out my growing hardness, as I, for my part, teased her nipples to their own erection. Suddenly she sat up. 'Come on, I'm impatient for your whip, master!' The last word had a slightly false ring to it, now that I had agreed she should use my first name, but I guess she meant it to mark a change in our roles. Picking up on that, I said, sharply, 'Put on a nightdress.' She looked at me questioningly. 'Do it!' I said. She walked over to the closet and got out a long silk nightgown, and a thigh-length white, transparent one, with long, wide sleeves. 'That one,' I told her, and she slid it over her head. Still naked, I propelled her into the bathroom, and told her to go into the walk-in shower. I fetched a pair of handcuffs, and the riding crop from the lounge, and fitted the cuffs to her wrists, the lifted them over the shower-head. 'But I'm in my nightdress,' she protested. 'That's right,' I agreed, then reached around her and turned on the shoer control, drenching her thoroughly in ice-cold water, so that the thin nightdress stuck to her like a second skin. I reached around and turned off the water, then I lashed her back as hard as I could with the thin leather crop. She cried out as each stroke etched a red line, easily visible through the flimsy nylon, and, after some half a dozen vicious blows, I turned her about. Her face was serene as I rained more strokes across her flat stomach and upper thighs, and when she closed her eyes after only three or four, and shuddered visibly, I knew that she had cum. The sight of this was just too much for me, and I groaned as I spurted spontaneously, making my knees feel like jelly. I let her down, and left her drying herself, having peeled off the soaked garment. 'Oh Andrew,' she said at length, 'that was the most wonderful sensation.' I traced the welts on her back and stomach, and said what was on my mind. 'I didn't think I'd ever find someone like you, Giselle, I love you.' I continued caressing her, and thought about more things I could do to her. Life with Giselle was certainly looking very interesting.