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Camping in France

By: zaphod40



For the long summer vacation at the end of my second year at College I invited my friend, Des, to go camping with me in Brittany. We had lived near to each other when we were kids and always got on well. So when he phoned to say he would very much like to go I was delighted. He also made a suggestion which intrigued me – that we should invite Trevor, who was a friend of his and who had never been to France. This gave me a further idea. At first I had thought of back-packing, but as three was an odd number I remembered that another old friend of mine from home, Graham, had a car and that if he could get a week off work in August we might all be able to go together.

To cut a long story short it was finally agreed between the four of us that we would go during the second week of August and that Graham, who had a trailer and a tent, would bring his car and we would share the expenses equally.

I need to tell you about Graham. He is five years older than me and his father and mine were friends who had season tickets at the local football club so I had always looked up to him like a big brother. When he was 18 he had moved out of his parents' home into a bed-sit near the city centre. I believe there had been some sort of difference with his parents but I didn't discover what it was until later. He had left school at 16, being no scholar, but he is a friendly, considerate kind of guy and he got a job with a firm which specializes in tyres, wheel-balancing and tracking. He was a good employee and quickly achieved promotion but he kept himself to himself and his football matches in my company seemed to be his main interest in life. I was wrong, of course, and I discovered it in the following way.

We had been to a Saturday match together and for the first time he invited me round to his bed-sit for toast and tea. When we got to his room I was amazed to see how many paperback books he had, lining the shelves of his bookcase. Idly, while he was in the kitchen filling the kettle to make tea, I took one of his books off the shelf to look at it and was stunned to see that the book fell open at a place where he had marked it with a piece of paper. It was a novel by James Baldwin called "Go Tell It On The Mountain" and the page gave a graphic and explicit account of two young men going to bed with each other for the first time . "Do me as I do you" was the phrase that still rings in my mind, even now… While I was reading this erotic account, Graham entered the room and saw what I was looking at. For a moment he looked embarrassed, but he said nothing and bent down to plug in the kettle. I said naively "Hey, Graham, what's this?" and he looked up and said "Nothing." Well it was obviously not nothing and I was intrigued so I said "Have you read this?" 

He blushed – and I knew he had.

Well this got me fired up. I had never really considered whether Graham was a wanker or not or whether he went to bed with other guys, and the idea that he might be interested in male sex excited me. He was not especially good-looking and was slightly overweight, with a pleasant round face and he carried himself in a bouncy, cheerful kind of way. When I got to know him REALLY well I discovered that he had no hang-ups save that he resented the fact that he was gay. Whatever had made him like that, whether it was in his genes or to do with his birth or upbringing – or a combination of those things – he hated it. That is why he had moved away from his parents into a bed-sit and though they suspected his sexual orientation they were never sure. 

He was honest and a good friend, so when I asked if he had similar books, he said "A few."

"Do you read them when you get back from work?" I asked, and he nodded, adding that he read them in bed, too, before he went to sleep. I wasn't sure how to put my next question, so I blurted out "Do you wank while reading them, or just after?" and again he looked a little embarrassed and nodded – ever so slightly. I was getting the picture. "Lend it to me" I said; and when he shook his head, I said "Go on … I would like to read it. I know more about this subject than you might think."

Since then I've often thought how pushy, insensitive and thoughtless I was when I said this. It put him in a quandary : either he had to lend me the book; or he had to engage in a conversation he would find difficult; or he had to appear to be rude. The easiest way out was to give me the book. "OK, but promise to tell no-one I gave it to you," he said.

I took it home with me and read it from cover to cover. Then I took it back to Graham and asked if I could read "Giovanni's Room" (also by James Baldwin) – if he had it. He had! And soon we were talking about male sex and I told him about some of the experiences I had had. He listened in amazement and during a brief pause in my confession I looked up at Graham to see that he was covering a bulge in his trousers with his hand. He noticed the direction of my gaze and said "You're getting me all excited," his hand still resting on his crotch. "How often do you do it?" I asked. "What, wank?" he said. He considered this for a moment (our tea quite forgotten) and then said "About five times a week – and sometimes twice on Sundays."

"Would you do it with me, now?

"No – it would spoil things between us."

"It wouldn't – and anyway, as you know, I'm not completely without experience. It's good fun and hurts no-one."

He hesitated, looking troubled and doubtful. "How old are you? Eighteen?" (I nodded.) "Look, I'm not sure. I've always thought of ourselves as just good friends. How about if we just wank ourselves but not each other. Would that be OK?"

It certainly was! We were both dying to whack off. We sat side by side on his bed, unzipped our flies and took out our dicks. His was fat, especially in the middle. He had a short foreskin and when he stroked himself it moved up and down his cherry-red glans. I had a longer foreskin and a longer dick but not as fat, and I liked to bare my dickhead and massage underneath the tip with two fingers using pre-cum. I was fascinated by the differences between us. 

As he stroked himself I noticed a bubble of pre-cum emerge from the tip of his dick. "I always cum soon after I get pre-cum – it's a kind of sign that I'm good and ready," he said and with that he started stroking faster and I suspended my own operations to watch his. He certainly went for it! Soon he was breathing hard and then he said "It's cumming" and out shot a jet of spunk, followed by two more jets and a series of dribbles down his shaft. "Wonderful" he gasped as he opened his eyes. "Now, how about you?" 

I didn't need any further encouragement. I hitched my shirt above my midriff so that there would be no tell-tale marks on it and soon my spunk was flying as his had done. In all this we never touched each other and in fact it was not until several meetings later that we did that.

That first meeting led, of course, to others, always after a football match. I learned that Graham didn't meet other gays or go on "the scene" (as he called it) and that I was the only one who shared his secret past-time – or vice, as he thought of it. I didn't think of it as a vice at all and used to ask him questions about sex which he had some difficulty answering. For instance I read somewhere that a "scientific experiment" had been carried out to find out how long the average male took to masturbate. The answer – apparently – was two minutes and they had been blind-folded while doing it. I had a crazy picture in my head of a row of blindfolded men all wanking away with the scientist sporting a huge hard-on while he watched and timed each ejaculation; but Graham said that it was probably one man alone in a cell who pressed a buzzer when he had finished. I also thought that the degree of pre-stimulation would speed up ejaculation so there was nothing very "scientific" about the experiment and that different techniques could slow it down. On this we agreed, and we celebrated by cumming off very quickly indeed! We also talked about recovery time because in the article the same scientist had measured different men's recovery time - that is, how soon they can cum again after the first orgasm. When we tried it once Graham was able to do it quicker than me, though the results were disappointing – harder work and less spunk. The older you get, so the article said, the longer the recovery period! Privately I thought that recovery time probably depended more on the strength and force of the first orgasm and the degree of stimulation but I'm not a scientist and it didn't seem to matter much. Our average time, by the way, was about two minutes!

While I was at University I met Graham from time to time during the vacations, went to football matches with him and afterwards to his bedsit. Then I met Des again – I mean, really met him this time - and was overwhelmed by his size and technique. He was also an extraordinarily nice guy – friendly, cooperative and completely unflappable whereas I know myself to be more highly strung. Having a huge dick himself, he can afford to say "Is bigger necessarily better?" but I know it to be true that a huge tool is a real turn-on for another person, whereas if one is just having wank on one's own, it doesn't matter how big you are. It amazes me that some guys have expensive, messy and painful (and mostly unsuccessful) operations to make their dicks bigger!

So you now have the background picture to our expedition to Brittany in August – me and Graham, Trevor and Des. I was looking forward to meeting Trevor; but Graham, who had not met Des or Trevor before, was a bit apprehensive. As I said, he hated being gay, and at 25 he was also a few years older than the rest of us.

Well, in the event, we couldn't start out until the Saturday afternoon because Graham had to work Saturday morning. He drove round to my house with his car and trailer in the afternoon, having packed his two-man tent and some cooking gear sufficient to make coffee in the mornings. (It had been agreed that we would go to French cafes and restaurants for our meals except for breakfast, when we would buy fresh bread and croissants.) He also brought a sleeping-bag and some blankets, to which I added my own sleeping-bag and gear. Then we set off on the round trip to collect Des and Trevor and began the long journey to catch the night ferry from Plymouth.

Graham and I shook hands with them when we met at Des's house – a picture of innocence, four young people loading up and setting off on a camping expedition to France. We all had sex on our minds, though! I took a good look at Trevor – and liked what I saw. He is about 5 foot 10 inches and has a slim and well proportioned body and fine features. His skin is chocolate brown – it shines as if burnished. He told me quietly that he had come from Jamaica to England when he was about three and had done well at school. His parents were very Christian people but he himself was not a believer. He was very polite and soon we were getting on well, though he did not speak a lot. Des, who had a driver's licence, sat in the front while Graham drove and I sat in the back with Trevor. After a couple of hours of driving and chatting I gently put my hand on his knee and he didn't flinch – just moved it a little closer to mine and covered my hand with his. We smiled at each other - an implied promise that we would have some fun during the holiday to come.

We caught the ferry, on which we had booked a cabin for four, and spent some time drinking beer in one of the ship's bars before turning in for the night. The narrow cabin was arranged with two-tiered bunks on each side and was not suitable for sex, though we probably all thought about it. But we had a week ahead of us, were getting to know each other and could wait, so I don't think anyone indulged in a wank that night.

The following morning (Sunday) we landed and drove the 30 miles or so to a camping site which I had booked in advance, not far from the sea and a Breton village with a bar, a café and a boulangerie. The site was on a promontory, so the sea was on three sides of us down some rocky cliffs. The sun shone and we quickly had our tents pitched. Des had borrowed an ex-Scout tent from his father which had plenty of room for the four of us if it should rain, but we kept most of our gear in Graham's trailer, with its waterproof cover. He had also brought an air-bed and two sleeping bags (as Trevor didn't have one) which unzipped so that they could be zipped together to make a double sleeping-bag. We had agreed that for the first night we would sleep in our original pairings – i.e. Des and Trevor, Graham and me – but that we should ring the changes after that. Graham and I were very intrigued to see that double sleeping bag and wondered how Des intended to lay it out!

As soon as the camp was ready and we had inspected the washing/toilet block we went down to the nearest beach. The sun shone on the sea, the waves and the sand and we promised ourselves a bathe after lunch. Then we went into the little fishing village for a drink at the bar and lunch at the café. As I was the only one who could speak a bit of French, I did the ordering. After that we went for a scramble on the rocks and had our bathe. Perhaps we all sized each other up in our bathing trunks, but it was Des who, even more than Trevor, caught the eye and made us feel jealous. What a package the guy has!

After that we went in the car for an excursion inland and up the coast, scouting for good restaurants to use during the days ahead. We found several and made a note of the menus and days on which they were open and then it was time for our evening meal, which, with two bottles of wine, we enjoyed very much in the little fishing village. As we had had an early start to the day AND because we were excited about the night to come, we went to bed quite early. When we went for a wash in the toilet block I noticed that Trevor and Graham were both wearing a full set of pyjamas whereas Des and I made do with our underpants.

When Graham and I reached our little tent we had to decide what to do about our separate sleeping bags. Each was too narrow for two people to squeeze into, but if we got into one each, we wouldn't be able to reach each other! So we agreed to lie on top of them and cover ourselves with the spare blankets. We didn't have air beds but the two bed rolls we had were quite comfortable.

I had never before been in bed for a whole night with another man and I don't think Graham had either. But it was a lovely feeling to have his warm, willing body so close to mine and it was not long before I had undone his pyjamas and had my fist firmly round his thick tool. He wasted no time, either, in encouraging me to kick my underpants to the bottom of the bed. We came off almost together, probably in about two minutes, and then realized we had the whole of the night together. Time to test Graham's recovery period! After a short interval I put my hand on his limp dick, then drew circles in the spunk on his body and reached for his dick again. It had re-stiffened a bit and grown! With further gentle encouragement it became completely hard so I pumped it quite vigorously. He was moving his hips and making every effort to achieve the second orgasm, but it must have been all of several minutes before he groaned and said "Here it cums." In the dark I could not tell the extent of the "splashdown" but when his spasms had stopped he did a lovely thing – for the first time he put his arms round me and kissed me. And – being tired as well as shagged out – that's how we went to sleep. We woke in the early hours, went to the toilet for a pee and then climbed into our separate sleeping bags.

We slept well that night and I felt very good about Graham when we woke in the morning. We crept out of the tent quietly so as not to disturb Trevor and Des and took the car down to the village to get the bread and croissants for breakfast. On our return I lit the gas stove and boiled a kettle to make coffee. Des emerged first from his big tent and I caught a glimpse of Trevor lying darkly in the bed. The sleeping bags had been zipped together to make a double one. "Have a good night?" I asked archly, but he only smiled and said "Of course." 

It was another lovely sunny day which we spent exploring the nearby coast line and bathing. Monday and Tuesday nights were to be in the "new" pairings of me and Trevor, Des and Graham. This meant that either Des or Graham had to vacate his tent, which we settled by spinning a coin. Des lost so he moved in with Graham, and I was able to share the airbed and the double sleeping bag with Trevor. We had our usual good meal and two bottles of wine in the evening and returned to our camp for the night's adventures with our new partners.

We had a little electric lamp which we could just read by. Trevor got into bed first, fully dressed in his pyjamas. He didn't say much and we both read for a few minutes while we got used to lying next to each other. Gradually I eased over in the bed, gently pressing my leg against his. He pressed back – just a little – and soon I was wanting to put my book down and switch off the light. He agreed and we lay quietly, enjoying the sense of closeness until I could wait no longer. I placed my hand on his chest and started to undo his pyjama jacket buttons. When it was open I turned my attention to the bottoms and soon had the cord unfastened. The way lay open to the treasure below!

While I was doing this he didn't attempt to touch me but I could tell that he was excited and when my searching fingers closed round his dick it was fantastically hard. I fingered his dickhead and finding his loose foreskin, eased it back, uncovering the glans. He breathed deeply at this and I went on to cup my hand round his balls. They were a splendid size and he breathed deeply again while I fondled them. Then it was back to his long, thin shaft which I started to stroke gently and then more vigorously. Just as I thought I was getting somewhere he put his hand over mine and said firmly "You first." That was OK with me because I was dying to cum and it implied a promise that he would too. So I dropped my pants and guided his hand to my hot dick, all slippery with pre-cum. He had a wonderful touch which was gentle and demanding at the same time and I was in ecstasy. "I'm close" I groaned, then soon afterwards "I'm going to cum" and I shot my load all over the place. He knew just how long to go on stroking me and when to stop and I was in heaven when the spasms stopped. "That was wonderful" I said, "Just give me a few minutes and I'll return the favour."

Well, I did. It took a lot more stroking than I ever needed myself and he had no pre-cum, but when finally he spurted, it was quite an event. He covered his belly with goo and I rubbed it into his skin and felt really happy. We must have gone to sleep immediately afterwards because it was morning when I woke. Trevor was peacefully asleep next to me, his breathing slow and deep, his body completely relaxed. Enough light was filtering into the tent for me to see him and to make me want to see more of him! So I placed my hand, ever-so gently on his chest and moved it sideways to his nipple. I felt it harden under my hand so I moved across to his other nipple and then down to his waist. His breathing became less slow and deep! My own dick was now hard and urgent so I felt for his hand and took it and placed it round my shaft. With my other hand I felt for his and it was enormous. I badly wanted to see it so I said "Can I roll the cover down so that I can see you?" He grunted (which I took for assent) so I uncovered us both and there it was – long, shining and black – and very, very hard. It stuck out away from his body and his balls were an enviable size. "You first, this time" I said and I peeled back his long foreskin, noticing that his glans was darker than mine, and, kneeling beside him, began to stroke him as he had done me the night before. Glancing up at his face I saw that he had closed his eyes and was enjoying every stroke! I kept going and after a few minutes (definitely longer than two!) I saw his heavy balls creep up towards the base of his long dick and his dick itself lift a little. Then a jet of white cream shot from its tip and landed in a quivering pool on his dark belly. I was entranced! Another jet and then another and there were three pools of glistening spunk. I fingered the now slippery glans and he shivered with pleasure, all the time keeping his eyes closed. There was fleetingly a funny expression on his face when he opened them – half embarrassed and half triumphant. I rather liked it. 


Camping in France



Clare and I had been talking about a camping trip for months. A chance to leave the city and it's hectic life behind and spend a week camping in the wilds of France; that is, if there was still such a thing as a wilderness to be found anywhere in Europe. If there was, we thought it must be in central France, away from the family campsites and crowds of tourists that drive on through and flock to the crowded coasts.

We arrived on the outskirts of Cressy, Burgundy in Clare's old Citroen after a long six-hour drive. It was late on a Saturday afternoon, and the bell in the old church was calling its message to the village faithful as we parked in the central square watched by three old men sipping tall, chilled glasses of white pastis outside a little cafe. Offering a friendly wave, we hoisted our packs and hiked off towards the woodland in search of a place to pitch our tent.

The village of Cressy was beautiful and before leaving, we stopped in a little store and bought long loaves of crusty bread that smelt delicious, hard local cheese and of course several bottles of good red wine to celebrate the first night of our holiday. 

Once out of the village, a path led through the woods and opened into rolling hills covered with crops of sunflowers; their yellow faces following the progress of the hot June sun. We tramped along chatting happily for nearly two hours and then, just as the light was beginning to fade to the golden hue of evening, we came across the perfect camping spot.

It was an open grassy area, close to a small river and overshadowed by a large willow bowing its head towards the slowly setting sun, it was perfect, and as the last rays painted the sky a fiery red, we sat at rest with the tent up and a small cheery fire. A bottle of wine was opened and we began to get pleasantly drunk, giggling and talking the evening away - it really felt like we had found our Shangri-La.

I've known Clare for about three years. We both work in the same bank but in different departments so only get to socialise outside of the office. I have always thought she was pretty. She has a slim build and, at first glance, you might think she is still in her teens when actually you would be out by a good ten years. Firelight reflected from an elfish face with startling blue eyes and full lips that were quick to smile. Her best feature, which I wouldn't have dwelt upon that evening camping under the stars, but now some six months after the camping trip I do, are her long, beautiful legs that by the fire were curled beneath her. Most of that evening, while we became more drunk and giggly, was spent talking about the men in our office and how-on-earth a girl was supposed to find a good and decent one in this crazy modern world. It was fun and quite magical night that had us both becoming closer even if, at that point, it was still only as friends.

We awoke the next morning to the sounds of birds in the trees, the gentle rippling of water in the river, and the sound of a car engine coming to a stop close to the tent.

'Josie, someone's outside,'whispered Clare. She was sitting up, scrambling to get out of her sleeping bag.

'Calm down,' I answered sleepily. 'It's probably just the farmer checking his river hasn't run away.' I giggled and then sat upright as a voice intruded.

'Bonjour?' The voice was female and sounded cross. 'Est-ce que quelqu'un est dedans là?' Whoever it was shook the tent.

'Wait! We're coming, we're coming,' called Clare. She unzipped the doorway and I followed her wonderful smooth legs and barely covered bottom out of the tent into the blinding light of early morning.

A woman was standing just a few feet away and she appeared to be angry.

'Anglais? Parlez vous Francais? Non ... tipique!' She glared at us and I began to feel foolish. We were both in skimpy t-shirts and knickers and I suddenly felt underdressed as this intimidating woman studied us.

'Désolés ... errr ... nous sommes ...' I began, but she interrupted me.

'Don't worry your pretty little head, English. I speak your language and I don't want to hear you murder mine. What do you do here? This place is private, no camping. It is wrong that you are here.' Her accent was strong but she obviously had a greater command of English than I did of French. She glanced around and shook her head in dismay at our desecration of her land and then, when she saw the fire, she grabbed my arm and pulled me around.

'Hey,' I cried.

'What is this? You think to fire this whole field? Stupid English girls.'

I tore my arm back. 'Listen. We're sorry. We didn't mean any harm. We'll just pack up and leave.' I turned back to the tent but then heard Clare squeal.

'Let me go,' Clare was struggling in the woman's grasp but she was too small to break free. 'Please!'

'No, you must come with me. La Gendarmes must be told.'

'Listen, you let her go or I'll hit you.' I snatched up a saucepan and stood brandishing it, ready to clout this rude woman if she didn't let Clare go. Things had gone too far. I couldn't see what we had done wrong but if we had to leave then we would leave, but she had no right to bully us.

'So you wish to assault me now, eh? You make things worse you know.' Calming herself, the woman pushed Clare to the ground. Clare scampered over to me and I threw down the saucepan and began pulling our clothes from the tent.

'Come on, Clare. Let's get dressed. We'll find a much nicer place than this,' I promised. I turned my back on the woman as I pulled off my t-shirt and slipped on my bra and a blouse, and finally stepped into a skirt. As I put on my make-up she appeared ready to explode but I ignored her - I wasn't going anywhere without make-up!

'Hurry,' insisted the awful French woman. 'Clear your things. I will drive you to the village.' She watched us as we silently dressed and then packed up our little campsite. As I threw things into my pack, I studied her from the corner of my eye. She was about forty and was wearing riding clothes; tight britches, high snug polished riding boots and a white blouse. Her chestnut hair was long and flowing hair, she would have been extremely attractive if she smiled rather than glaring at us.

I made a show of cleaning the fire, scattering the large stones we had used to form a fireplace and in the end, there was only a small circle of blackened earth to show we had ever been there.

'I am Madam Renard, you will call me Madam...come.' She turned, strode to her car, and opened the back for our packs, obviously expecting us to follow and do as we were told.

'Oh, come on, Josie,' hissed Clare. 'Let's just go.'

I shrugged, and then nodded. 'Okay I won't make trouble.' I followed Clare to the car but when she wasn't looking, I glared at Madam Renard, bobbed a fake curtsey, and said 'Thank you, Madam,' in a lilting voice. I don't think she realised I was making fun of her stern manner. She merely nodded, got into the car and started the engine. The moment Clare and I got into the back seats, we set off, bouncing down a dusty track between fields of sunflowers - I remember think what a shame it was that she had to spoil our little holiday like this.

We had been driving for about ten minutes when I realised we were actually going away from where the village must be. 'Where are we going?' I asked, leaning forward so she could hear me over the squeaking and rumbling of the car. 'The village ... Cressy, is in the other direction isn't it?

She glanced back at me, muttered something in French and then, waving ahead into the distance, said. 'The road is this way, not through the forest ... I cannot drive through trees, n'est pas ... comprenez,' she tapped her head. 'You understand, English girl?'

'Bitch,' I muttered, and then felt better as Clare's hand found mine, feeling a strange, small thrill at our intimate contact and the way our bare knees were touching as the car bounced along.

Another ten minutes of driving and we finally bumped up from the fields onto a gravel path and drove past a beautiful lake with swans gliding across the surface between ornamental lilies towards a huge intimidating chateau. A gardener stood with head bowed as we passed and then we were driving through gates and pulled up in an inner courtyard.

'Wow,' exclaimed Clare as she got out of the car. 'This place is incredible. Where are we?'

Slamming the car door, Madam Renard tossed the keys to a waiting maid and called over her shoulder. 'Welcome to Chateau de la Bouche.' She made a mocking bow. 'Please, enter, you are my guests.'

'I thought we were going back to Cressy to get our car?' I called. Madam Renard stopped on the steps to the house and turned around. It was pretty obvious she wasn't used to being questioned and I was beginning to annoy her.

'We are going to the village ... soon. I need to fetch a few things and then we will be away. Please, for a short while, be welcome in my home.'

The Chateau really was fabulous - this was old France. I even stopped thinking about its nasty owner who had disappeared giving orders to the maid to make us comfortable - my French is bad but I could understand most of what was being said. The maid was in her late forties and dressed in a traditional maid's uniform - black dress, cut a little short, with white lace apron and bonnet, and black seamed stockings - she looked quite sweet as she smiled and ushered us in.

Old portraits and tapestries adorned the walls of a long impressive hallway and we gazed about, taking in the rich opulence like the tourists we were.

'My name is Claudette. I will bring you drinks in the ... ' she thought for a moment to find the right word, ' ... in the summer room.' She smiled. 'Iz nice room, you come with me.'

We followed her through a succession of rooms and corridors, finally ending up in a beautiful sitting room decorated in pale, pastel greens. The sun was streaming in through lace curtains that billowed gently with the summer breeze - it really was a nice room. It smelt old and musty from the leather furniture and polished wood that filled the room but it was clean and welcoming and spoke of times long past.

Claudette disappeared and returned a few moments later holding a tinkling tray of glasses and an icy jug and she poured two glasses that we gratefully accepted. The lemonade was ice cold, sweet and delicious - we drank several glasses.

I remembered drinking the lemonade ... but then the room became hazy and I remember sitting down on a leather couch.

The next thing I knew, was looking at Madam Renard now wearing a dress. She was smiling at me, sitting on a chair opposite. I tried to focus my eyes and felt strange.

'Well, my naughty girls. The way I see our little situation is that I found two pretty, lesbian girls camping on my land. You were touching, kissing and playing with each other in your little tent, away from prying eyes, yes?'

I tried to say no, to shake my head, but I couldn't move. Clare and I were friends, not lovers ... and why couldn't I move?

'Oh, yes.' She smiled and crossed her legs, smoothing her dress with a satisfied air. 'There was a little something in your drinks that will make you easier for me to play with ... and to punish you. You will find that you can only move or say something when I give you a direct order, or at least that is what Claudette has assured me.' She glanced to the maid who smiled and nodded happily. 'We will see.'

I felt a tremor of fear run through me.

'It all sounds rather delicious really,' she went on. 'Shall we see how much control we have? You.' She pointed at me. 'I think you should put your hand on your friend's leg ... do it.'

Without meaning to, my head glanced down beside me to look at Clare's legs. I saw her short yellow skirt lying just above her pretty, pink knees, and watched in horror as my hand moved across to rest on her right leg, my fingers slipped gently between warm thighs. It felt strange to be touching her like this and I wanted to pull my hand away, but couldn't.

'...and move your hand up, push her skirt a little higher ... good.' Beside me, Clare wasn't moving and I couldn't see her face. Whether I liked it or not my attention was on her legs.

'Open your legs a little for your friend.' This was to Clare and I watched as her legs spread obediently to the command.

'Pull your skirt higher ... that's right, good girl.'

I saw Clare's hands grip the hem of her skirt and lift it high. I then gazed in horror as my hand slid up Clare's inner thigh until my fingers were brushing her white knickers. I felt hot and terribly uncomfortable to be touching her like this, and I dreaded the next instruction from our tormentor.

'You, girl. What is your name?'

'Clare,' came the whispered response.

'You may address me as Madam ... and what is your friend's name?'

'Josie, Madam.'

'....and have you ever seen Josie's breasts, Clare?'

There was a pause. 'Yes, Madam,' mumbled Clare's voice.

'Of course you have. Have you ever touched them?'

'No, Madam.'

'Well I don't think we can believe that. Josie, expose your breasts for Clare. Let us see if she remembers touching them.'

'Yes, Madam,' I heard myself answer, and then felt myself scoot to the front of the cushion and turn towards Clare. I couldn't stop myself. We looked calmly at each other as my fingers began undoing the tiny buttons of my blouse. Despite my fear, my hands weren't trembling and, all too soon, I was pulling the blouse open and pushing it to the sides. My fingers continued to the front-opening clasp of my bra and it quickly sprang undone. I pushed the cotton bra-cups out of the way and pushed my naked chest towards Clare.

There was silence as all eyes gazed at my breasts, the rapidly hardening nipples, and the blush forming on both my chest and face.

'You have beautiful breasts, Josie. Doesn't she Clare?'

'Yes, Madam.' Clare was staring, round eyed at my chest. My breasts are 36D cup, much larger than Clare's sweet little buds. I heard Madam Renard walk over behind me and then she was reaching down, cupping my breasts in her hands, taking the weight of them and offering the nipples forward. I watched Clare's face as she was forced to watch me being molested.

'I'm sure you would like to suck one of those big nipples into your mouth, wouldn't you Clare?'

'...yes, Madam,' whispered Clare. She slowly moved towards my left nipple until she was close enough that I could feel warm breath caress the puckered skin.

'Lick her nipple, Clare.'

I watched as my friend licked my nipple ... it tickled.

'Suck it into your mouth, Clare.' With her eyes locked on mine, Clare opened her mouth and slowly took my nipple into her mouth. It was warm and wet and I could feel her softly sucking. I wanted to groan. As Clare sucked one nipple, Madam Renard rolled and pulled at the other and I could feel my pussy getting wet - I felt so ashamed.

'Both of you stand up, and then turn to face each other.'

I felt myself stand and then turn towards Clare. She was still staring at my chest and I felt another blush colour my face as my breasts bounced slightly with the movement.

There was a chatter of conversation from the two French women but I didn't catch any of it as I gazed into Clare's eyes and wondered fearfully what would happen to us.

'Turn back to face me.'

'Yes, Madam,' we chorused, and without doing anything, my body turned and I was standing, hands at my sides, looking down at Madam Renard now once again seated in front of us. The only part of me that I had any control over were my eyes and I looked on as Madam Renard smiled up at us in delight. 'This is wonderful.' She clapped her hands in delight. 'Two delicious English girls to do whatever I wish with.' She stood up and walked over to me. 'Kiss me passionately, English slut.' I watched as her face came slowly towards me, felt my mouth open to receive her probing tongue, and then her lips, soft and sticky with red lipstick, were on mine - I felt myself respond hungrily. Her hands began squeezing my breasts, roughly mauling them before tugging painfully on each nipple. Finally, the kiss was broken and she stepped back and turned her attention to Clare. I couldn't see them but could hear the kiss and could see Claudette, the maid watching happily as her Mistress abused my friend.

Madam Renard stepped back into view wiping the corner of her mouth with a satisfied air. She sat down in an armchair and crossed her legs.

'I think we must find you each a uniform like Claudette's, no? But for now, let us see what we have with you two. Lift your skirts for me, hold them up high.' My body responded, doing as it was told.

'... and legs apart a little more ... good.' I felt my hands go down to the hem of my skirt, grasp it, and lift until my nipples were brushing the backs of my hands. It felt degrading and humiliating. I looked on, wishing I could cry as the two older women stared at us. I could feel my nipples hardening and goose-bumps rise all over my body.

Claudette said something to Madam Renard and received a nod of approval in response. With a smile, she ran happily forward, firstly to Clare, then a moment later to me. Cold hands fumbled for the edge of my knickers and worked them down to around my knees. As she rose in front of me, her hand cupped my pussy. I had shaved all my pussy hair before leaving for the holiday, even the tiny strip that I usually left. The older woman's hand briefly made intimate contact and inside I screamed, turned and ran. Unfortunately, however, my body wouldn't allow it and I remained where I was, staring into her smiling face; my knickers around my knees, holding up my skirt as her finger started to-

'Claudette, ne soyez pas, villain! Don't be bad, come here this instant.'

'Oui, Madam.' Claudette returned sheepishly to her employer's side.

'Sit back on the couch girls and display your vagin for me ... how do you say? your vaginas please.'

I could feel Clare beside me as we sat back on the couch and brought our knees up, our knickers sliding down to our ankles as we opened our legs and displayed our naked, exposed vaginas together. Madam Renard stood up and came closer to inspect us.

'So pretty, such pretty flowers you have, girls. Touch each other, open each other for me.'

We moved closer together, our legs touching and crossing as we sought each other's naked vaginas. My hand moved over soft warm skin searching for Clare's pussy as her hand move across my leg, cool as it sought the base of my thigh. Her fingers were soon dancing softly across my pussy lips as she parted the folds of my vagina while I parted hers, feeling the moist warmth of her open flesh. A moan of desire filled me and was glad it never made it to my still lips. There we remained as Madam Renard and Claudette studied us. Reaching down, Madam Renard slowly dipped the middle finger of each hand into each of us. I felt it sink into me, my vagina welcome it, tightening, seeking to hold her fast. I was amazed to realise my sex was so very wet, how easily her finger had slid into me. She withdrew her fingers and sucked the glistening honey from each in turn.

'Mmm, delicious. To the window please, girls,' said Madam Renard, cheerfully. We both sat up and with knickers still caught around our ankles, made our way to the window where sunlight still shone through thin cotton curtains.

'Place your hands on the sill and push out your bottoms.' There was a smattering of French as our bodies complied with the request and I felt my skirt flipped up over my back as I pushed out my bottom. My body dutifully bent forward, and with straight legs and bare bottom I gazed out of the window at the courtyard with Madam Renard's little car in the same spot where we had parked just a short time ago. She came up between us and her hand began caressing the cheeks of my bottom, squeezing and patting, holding my cheeks apart to expose my anus and vagina. I knew she must have been doing the same to Clare.




Camping in France



'You are such naughty girls, you English.' She slapped my bottom hard. 'Such very naughty girls.'

Slap! Her hand came down again even harder. 'But here in France you must not just camp where you wish, Slap! My bottom tingled from the impact but my body wasn't moving.

'You must be punished.' Slap, slap, slap! It was hard, and it hurt, and I felt a tear come to my eye.

'You ... come here!' She must have been talking to Clare, as my body remained prone to her hand.

Slap Slap Slap!

'Lick her here.' I felt movement between my legs and then someone, Clare, began licking my bottom. At first, her wet tongue licked over each cheek, cooling the fire from the spanking, but then she was directed between the soft cheeks and her tongue was lapping at my anus. I blushed as I realised what my friend was being made to do and that I was actually enjoying the experience. I wanted to die but the tongue continued, pushing its way in past my tight sphincter. Her hands spread the cheeks of my bottom further, allowing more access to me, but then she was pulled away.

'You ... Josie, do the same to Clare.' I rose, and turned in time to see Clare stand up and bend over with her hands on the windowsill. Almost in a daze, I went down on my knees behind her, spread the cheeks of her pert little bottom and gazed at her puckered brown hole as my face came closer. It was musky. A feeling of revulsion was ignored by my captive body, my tongue came out, and I began lapping hungrily at her asshole.

'Her vagin as well, mon cherie. Yes, like that.' I licked from Clare's ass, down past her gaping wet vagina to her clitoris and the carefully trimmed, soft hair of her pussy before moving up again. The muskiness of her ass soon mixing with the sweeter taste of her vagina and I realised I was loving doing this to Clare, I couldn't get enough of her. My hands spread her bottom further but then a flush of despair filled me as I was pulled up painfully by the hair before I could do more.

'Back beside your friend, Josie.'

Slap, Slap Slap! For a few moments, our bottoms were spanked hard, the heat inflaming the cheeks of my bottom but also lighting a fire deep in my sex. I knew my vagina was now very wet and I was incredibly aroused and actually I wanted more - it was so confusing, and then Madam Renard stopped and was standing between us again, staring out of the window. It was as if all three of us were intent upon something in the chateau grounds, but in fact, Madam Renard was manoeuvring her thumb deep into my anus and three fingers into my sopping wet vagina. She began fucking both my holes and I knew she was doing the same to Clare. The fucking continued for some time before I realised Madam Renard was breathing heavily. In the reflection of the window, I caught sight of Claudette behind Madam Renard. She had raised her mistress dress and was licking and fucking her with a large glass dildo - a few moments later Madam Renard had a loud, powerful orgasm, removed her hands from Clare and I without saying a word, and then left the room.

Silence enveloped us and it seemed like an eternity passed. Eventually, Clare spoke.

'Josie? Josie I can move again.'

I tested my own abilities but still couldn't move or even speak.

Clare slowly stood up next to me. 'Josie? Can you still not move? Oh you poor thing.' I felt her hand smooth down my skirt, covering my bottom and I felt incredibly grateful to her. 'That was...amazing.' I felt confused. How could she think that ordeal was amazing? My confusion turned to shock as her hand cupped my left breast and squeezed. She rolled my nipple between her fingers and it hardened as my embarrassment took over again.

I was starting to get control now as the drug lost its grip on me. I slowly turned my head towards Clare and her face filled my view as she kissed me softly on the lips, her tongue forcing me to open my mouth.

She whispered. 'Stay as you are...please...just for a moment.'

I did as she asked and felt her cup my bottom, her finger slipped into my wet vagina and I finally heard a moan escape my lips as a second finger joined the first and began exploring the wet folds of my sex. 'We should get out of here ... leave.' Despite my words, I remained bent over, pushing my bottom out for her attention.

'But I want to stay.'

'What?' I stood up and slowly turned around. 'You want to stay here?'

'We can run any time. I want to be made to play more with you, Josie.'

'We can play on our own, Clare ... we don't need her to make us ... let's just get out of here.'

'Please, Josie...'

The door opened and Madam Renard walked back in. She stopped when she saw we had regained control of our bodies, and for a few moments, nothing was said. Claudette came back in carrying two uniforms on hangers.

The maid smiled at us. 'Show madam that you are good obedient maids. Lift your skirts for her ... do it now.' She clapped her hands. Clare and I turned towards each other and I watched as a small smile played across Clare's features.

'Please,' she whispered. We turned back to Madam Renard and slowly lifted our skirts in submission.

*

We stayed the summer with Madam Renard. I liked wearing the Maid's uniforms we were given, and we were forced to do even more awful things for Madam Renard ... should I tell you more?