2 comments/ 9570 views/ 0 favorites Mme Sylvie's Special Event By: Thomas Drablézien Some readers might find my use of Madame or the abbreviation Mme in this story a little formal or old fashioned. This I have done quite deliberately for two reasons. First, the story takes place in rural France where the old fashioned rules of politeness are still observed. With the family, close friends or children forenames and informal (2nd person singular) pronouns are the norm. However outside this circle, Monsieur, Madame and formal (2nd person plural) pronouns are considered the correct form of address unless one is asked to do otherwise. My second reason, I hope, will become clear during the course of the narrative. I have also from time to time used a few French expressions in the text. Some I have explained, the others I hope can be worked out from the context. Madame Sylvie de Bellecorps was a very kind and generous lady. Rather too generous some of the women would say, as they gossiped in the hairdressers' salon or the village shop. Mme. Sylvie, as she was generally known, had been one of the principal subjects of village gossip for over twenty years. How is it though, that someone could be accused of being too generous? Should you ask any of these gossiping ladies you certainly wouldn't receive an answer. Their attitude to outsiders was if you know you don't need to ask, and if you don't know they are certainly not going to tell you. So what clues can we get from looking at Sylvie de Bellecorps herself? She stands a little taller than the average height for women of that region. She is slim without being skinny, her long legs lead the eye up to a nicely rounded bottom and her figure is curvaceous but, not out of proportion to her slender frame. Her long black hair she often wears in a loose bun on the back of her head. In short, she is attractive but unremarkable. At first glance, similar to many women one might see in any street, in any town, anywhere in France. To learn more we need to look more closely. Imagine, if you will, that we are sitting outside the Bar du Marché sipping cold beer in the warm spring sunshine and looking out over the market square of Puy Saint Martin; the village in which the lady in question lives. From a house on the other side of the square a woman, Mme Sylvie, emerges and walks purposefully past us and towards the village shop a hundred or so metres away down Rue Grande. What do we see? Firstly, our eyes are naturally drawn to this attractive young looking woman in a light, slightly clingy, summer dress crossing the empty square. As she passes us, our eyes follow and we notice that her bottom wiggles alluringly, this natural movement accentuated by the way that she walks. What else might we notice? By the way this lady holds herself, she appears a little taller than her stature. Her walk and her posture speak of an unshakable self-assurance, of total ownership of the space around her. Perhaps this superiority of bearing, and the air of haughtiness might be because she is the daughter of a once aristocratic and still highly respected local family. However, any of her friends and neighbours will tell you that in her everyday dealings she is just as down to earth as anyone else, not at all as haughty as she might appear. No, her walk tells of something else, something feline, and predatory almost, but this predator does not need to go out hunting. Just like a spider, she only has to wait for her prey to come willingly to her. Here, with the aid of a little inside knowledge, I could tell you that her walk may speak of ownership, but it shouts. "Here I am boys! Come and get me if you think you are man enough!" What of this soubriquet 'Madame Sylvie?' She is not married, however she is of an age where strangers would address her as Madame as a common courtesy. But, to call her Mme. Sylvie, that was different and a little special. Not plain Sylvie or Mme de Bellecorps, always in the village she is called Mme Sylvie. This could merely be a hangover from the time when the peasantry would call their younger superiors by Monsieur, Madame, or Mademoiselle appended to their forenames, but those days have long since past. A teacher perhaps? Well, yes and no, as we shall see later. There is another class of woman who adopts the title of Madame, certain 'Professional Ladies.' No, neither was she a 'Professional Lady' - well not of that sort. Mme Sylvie earned her living as Sous-directrice, under manager, of one of the supermarkets in the nearby town. That soubriquet had been applied to her by some sharp-tongued gossip several years ago. It stuck and soon came into common usage within the commune of Puy Saint Martin. So why had this name been given? The explanation is simple: Mme Sylvie made absolutely no secret of the fact that she was happy to welcome many guests, both male and female, between her legs. She had been, and still was, something of a wild child, a free sprit. As a child, she would habitually run and play naked in the fields that surrounded her home. It was often quite a struggle for her mother to persuade her to get dressed when they were supposed to be going out, and more especially when it was time for young Sylvie to go to school. At school she was always the first to show off in the 'I'll show you mine, if you show me yours' games that children will always play. She was sexually precocious, navigating the traitorous waters of her puberty a year or two in advance of most of her peers. Still very young, she discovered the intense pleasure that could be found through masturbation, and in her early teens gave up her virginity in much the same casual way as one might discard a fast-food wrapper. That barrier to her pleasure had held no significance to her whatsoever. At the age of nineteen, through the generosity of a bequest from a wealthy uncle, Sylvie, as she was still called then, left the family home and set herself up in the house on the Place de la Revolution where she still lived sixteen years on. With her inheritance, she was able to buy the house outright, along with her car, a now aging small Citroën, and the few luxuries that she enjoyed. On the whole, she lived quite simply and unostentatiously. Her salary from the supermarket easily covered the modest expenses of her everyday life. Her home was decorated in the dark rich colours typical of many French houses, but her decorations were executed with an added flair and an extra touch of richness that separated them from the mundane. Her bookshelves groaned under the weight of many volumes of erotic literature. Her walls were adorned with expensive, tasteful, erotic prints, and she possessed an impressive and wide ranging collection of pornographic DVDs. Some of her visitors remarked that her living room resembled the parlour of an expensive turn-of-the-century Parisian brothel; though they would never admit where they had gathered the comparative data. From my description some might think of this woman as an easy lay, 'the village bicycle' as some English might put it, but that would not be entirely fair. Yes, it was true that over the years Mme Sylvie had many lovers, both men and women. It was also true that many of these had been left exhausted by their efforts to satisfy her heroic libido. In her teenage years, it cannot be denied that she had been less than discerning in her choice of partners and almost scandalously indiscreet in the choice of locations for her frequent romps. Maturity may not have lessened her drive, but it had brought discretion and a more thoughtful choice of lovers. Her potential lovers would, at the very least, have to show in public a suitable level of respect and politeness, also not be the type to 'kiss and tell.' In private, however, their behaviour would depend on just what roles Mme Sylvie had chosen for her and her lover, or lovers, (she was not adverse to threesomes or moresomes), to play on that occasion. It was also unlikely that anyone who could not perform up to her expectations would receive a second invitation to share her bed. It was rumoured that hanging over her unusually large antique bed was a mirror almost as big as the bed itself. Though even when pressed hard, no one would confirm or deny that rumour, least of all the lady herself. Discretion was all part of the mystique that surrounded Madame Sylvie and her many lovers. Despite what might be said by the village gossips, Sylvie de Bellecorps was greatly respected and regarded as an asset to village life. Should husbands stray or wives get bored with the routine of the marital bed, it was well known where they might be found. And many a young man or girl had learnt to become accomplished lovers at her freely given tutelage. She was not these days indiscreet. She didn't flaunt herself by wearing slutty clothes. She dressed, in public at least, very well and quite modestly, although the power of her sexuality always shone through even her drabbest outfits. Mme Sylvie's hobby, as she called it, was an open secret within the community, but not one to be shared with outsiders. Her philosophy was simple, just like everything else she undertook, she strived to perform to the very best of her ability. She had made close study, and practiced a wide range of, sexual variations. However, she did have very definite limits, some more extreme practices she regarded to be unhygienic, dangerous or just plain silly. She was capable of playing many sexual roles, her lovers discovered that she would adapt her performance to suit the preferences, fetishes and fantasies that they held dear, providing that they weren't too extreme, plus just a little extra. One of her favourite roles was that of dominatrix, where the soubriquet Madame took on significant meaning. In this role she always insisted on being called Madame rather than Maîtresse, the French equivalent of Mistress. "Oui, Madame! Bien sûr, Madame! À votre service, Madame! Vous êtes trop gentille, Madame!" She would coach her slaves to respond to her most trivial instructions with precisely applied strokes of her whip. The fat and pompous Monsieur le Maire of the village, along with a select few other self-important men were regular visitors to her dungeon, which she had specially constructed in one of her upstairs rooms. It always amused her the way that certain men of power so readily submitted to ritual humiliation. Yet, with her female lovers, she usually displayed a softer, less arrogant side of her sexual nature. Often she would spend time around her house, or in her secluded garden, naked. It was not unusual for her to answer the door to casual visitors quite nude. She would make no attempt to cover herself for her visitors. She was comfortable in her skin, proud in fact, of her shapely, well-toned and fully tanned body. She felt no shame in nudity. Besides, quite a few of her friends and neighbours knew her body intimately. This, however, was merely a hint at the deeper exhibitionist side to her nature. Her 'public' sexual displays were always performed well away from her home. Occasionally, perhaps three or four times a year, she would travel to Paris, Amsterdam or Cap d'Agde, to clubs where she could fully indulge her hedonistic tendencies. There was also another club, closer to home, of a similar nature that she would visit from time to time. However, over the many years that she had been a habitué of 'Le Club Chatte Noir', she had never met anyone from her local community there, unless she had invited them herself, and that was a rare occurrence. It could be speculated that another important aspect of Mme Sylvie's life, the one that brought her greatest respect within the commune of Puy Saint Martin, might have been a result of her aristocratic lineage, noblesse oblige, perhaps? She had a very strong sense of community, and if she had wished could easily have been elected to the Conseil Municipal, village council, or even the Conseil General, regional government. She held no political ambitions and therefore, never put herself forward for election. She was however, the driving force behind the Compité des Fêtes of the commune that organised numerous events during the year, not least of which was the Bastille Day*, 14 July, celebrations. She also actively supported a number of charities both local and national, and regularly arranged fund raising events for these. Her parties, too were legendary and she would hold five or six of these a year. They were not as you might imagine, parties of a sexual nature, not in the least. Her two open house parties, one at new year, the other at mid-summer, were regarded as social highlights of the year. The others were more select dinner parties for a few favoured guests. She was an accomplished cook and natural hostess. Mme Sylvie had never sought to make money from her special skills, she was truly a sexual artiste, but despite the time and money she lavished on her hobby, it remained exactly that, something she did purely for the pleasure of it. Circumstances though were beginning to mitigate against her strictly amateur status. It was not, even in these difficult economic times, that she needed extra income for herself. She observed, while leafing through contacts magazines that she regularly took, if she were to turn Professional, she could command very high fees indeed. No, the need to make money from her hobby came indirectly, from one of her charity interests. It was her favourite charity, one whose rasion d'être was to sponsor research into, and provision of specialist care for, women's cancers. They had put out a special appeal to fund a new research unit that would that forward the treatment of these cancers in Third World countries. No matter how hard she promoted this appeal, and the fund-raising events that she organised, there was just not the spare cash in her community to meet the target she had set herself to raise. It was because of this she decided this particular cause would need something special. The idea that began to form in her head would need special organisation and meticulous planning if it was to come successfully to fruition. Her first task was to secure a venue for her special fund raising event. This, she decided presented no special problems. She would visit Le Club Chatte Noir and talk to Henri the proprietor. She was sure she could persuade him to let her have use of his premises for one very special evening. What she had in mind would certainly not do the reputation of his club any harm. That evening, Mme Sylvie chose to sit in the bar dressed only in one of her tiniest thongs, not the usual sarong most women wore in the more public areas of the club. Not that the bar was a public area as such. Nobody could enter until they had paid their entrance fee and been buzzed in through the door from the lobby. The bar area was generally considered clothing optional, whereas in the more private areas nudity was the norm. Once she had divested herself of her street clothes and moved all but naked into the bar, she was greeted in the usual French way with hugs and kisses from her friends. She settled at the end of the bar and purchased an over-priced bottle of champagne, always a good way to get Henri's attention. Also, although he was gay, he had a good eye for female flesh, Mme Sylvie, or just Sylvie as she was known there, knew that her overt display would be a useful tool in selling her idea. "Dearest Henri," She purred in her most seductive voice, while he fussed with the champagne bottle and glasses, "I need to mount an extra special event to raise money for charity. Can you help me?" "Naturally, for you Sylvie, I'll do what I can," he replied charmingly, taking the glass of champagne that Mme Sylvie had offered him. "I need the use of your club for an evening, let me explain..." She went on to outline her plan, though not in full detail. There was still much to do before the final form of the event could be set. With a little negotiation, some gentle flirting, and most of the bottle of champagne going into Henri's glass, she managed to secure the club and persuade Henri to handle the advertising that would be essential to the event's success. The advertising would be by posters displayed in the club itself and other similar establishments that Henri knew, announcements on the club's own website and postings to various specialist internet forums. There would be no posters on the streets of course; it wasn't that kind of event. That evening, as well, the title for the event was decided: 'Madame Sylvie's Charity Fuckathon' The name of the charity that was to benefit from this event would not be advertised of course. It was agreed that might not be such a good idea. That piece of information would be passed discreetly through word of mouth and only to those who could be trusted not to blab. There had been such events before, but never for charity. Mme Sylvie had researched that point carefully. Usually these things were done to break some record of sexual athletics or to promote the flagging career of an ageing porn star. An added twist to this event was there would not be just one performer. Mme Sylvie hoped she could find a whole troupe and they would perform in unison. Her next problem was to find suitable performers. She did not want to engage professionals for this undertaking. She wanted talented amateurs like herself. Her search proved to be difficult. One or two of her more adventurous female friends showed an interest, but these were not enough. She needed more for the grand event she had in mind. To widen her search she turned to the Internet. It took several weeks to assemble her troupe of performers. First there were the notices placed on contact sites, although she was fairly specific about the location, several respondents proved to live too far away, were unwilling to travel and accommodate themselves at their own expense, even despite the fact this was going to be for a very worthy women's charity. Next followed the exchange of e-mails filling in more details of the nature of what was expected from the performers. And lastly, she conducted face-to-face interviews to be absolutely certain that the candidates were both suitable and knew exactly what was going to happen on the night of the Fuckathon. At last Mme Sylvie had her troupe, the date had been set and the advertising updated to give firm details of time, date and location. Just a few more details needed to be attended to and everything would be in place for the big night. One of those details was costume, although the normal dress code for gangbangs, (after all this was fundamentally what it would be), was nudity. Mme Sylvie thought that costumes would add that extra glamour to the event. The costumes would have to be functional and appropriate and above all allow freedom of movement and full access to those essential parts of the performers' bodies. She soon found what she was looking for. Every element was readily available from several retail outlets. Her only stipulation was that she and the rest of her troupe should be dressed as nearly as possible exactly the same. Pubic hair was another of her considerations. Whatever the normal habit of each of the performers, on the big night they should all be shaved as smooth as American porn stars. This sense of uniformity was a homage to the style of the 'Crazy Horse Saloon' and other famous Parisian cabaret bars of the 1960's and 1970's, some of which still exist, but in a watered down version as tourist attractions, not the raunchy cutting edge places they were in their past. Lastly, and purely for her own interest, Mme Sylvie tried to work out how many participants, both male and female, she and her troupe of six, could service in the four hour event, and how much money she might hope to make. The more she tried, the more complicated her calculations seemed to become. Her head began to hurt. Maths was never one of her stronger points and statistical analysis, certainly not. She could make a good guess that she might raise several thousand Euros in that one evening. Mme Sylvie's Special Event The day of Madame Sylvie's Charity Fuckathon dawned. During the afternoon, the troupe of performers assembled. They tried on their costumes and made any adjustments that were found to be necessary. Mme Sylvie inspected the state of her ladies' pubic areas and sent them off to shave again if their smoothness was not of the required standard. Early in the evening, dressed again in their street clothes, they transferred to Le Club Chatte Noir. The club usually held two sessions, one in the afternoon, and another in the evening, extending through to the early hours of the morning. During the two-hour break between sessions, the club was set up for the Fuckathon. Normally, for the spontaneous events that happened from time to time, the more private areas upstairs were used. However for this evening the dance floor of the main bar area would be the arena. The floor was cleared, tables and chairs stacked away. Six gynaecological examination couches that had been acquired and modified for the evening were set up in a circle. All the head ends facing towards the centre, and each with sufficient space around them to allow free circulation of the participants. The heights of the couches were adjusted so that a man of average height could comfortably stand to perform. A number of low boxes were also provided so that gentlemen of lesser stature could reach without straining. The head ends of the couches were lowered so a man or a woman could easily position themselves at the head of the performer to receive fellaito or cunnilingus. The rest of the club was left to function as normal, although it was not expected to be getting much use during the main event. The rules of the event were simple. Each of the participants would be given a number and they would indicate on a sheet next to their number the amount of donation they would give. Fifty Euros per orgasm was the suggested amount, but each could give within reasonable margins, as much or as little as they could afford. The idea after all, was not to try to rip-off the participants, but to get them to donate to charity. Stewards, found by Henri, would supervise and mark off on the lists each orgasm achieved, and then calculate the donations to be collected. Cardinal amongst the rules of the Fuckathon were hygiene and safety. All participants, male and female must be showered and clean before entering the arena. All men must, and this was an absolute rule, be wearing condoms, freely provided by the club, before attempting penetration, oral, vaginal or anal. On the part of the performers no holds, or holes, were barred. The entire troupe was willing to perform anal sex, although this was generally less favoured in France than other places. Each would prepare themselves before the event with douching and copious amounts of lubricant. In terms of security, the club was pretty much self-policing. Anyone appearing unsuitable was barred entry to the premises. Inside, an unspoken but generally agreed etiquette was applied. Any unwanted advances would be gently but firmly repelled. It was expected after that the rule of 'look but don't touch' would be respected. Anyone being a nuisance or consistently 'not taking the hint', might find themselves black listed and refused entry in future. Henri had raised the door price of Le Club Chatte Noir for the evening. That extra and a percentage of his normal take would also be donated to the cause. To help the party atmosphere he was also providing a limited amount of free, cheap, champagne. All was now set, the couches that the performers would be using had been draped in cloths to disguise them, and the 'arena' surrounded by extendable barrier tapes. These barriers would remain in place with two entrance and exit routes opened, and manned by stewards during the performance, to ensure the orderly progress of participants in and out of the arena. Madame Sylvie and her troupe, ten in all, had changed into their costumes, all except one item, which would be donned immediately before the main event began, and covered up with sarongs. They now relaxed either at the bar or in the room upstairs that had been set aside to be their 'green room'. Why ten in the troupe you may ask? The answer is simple, although only six of the troupe would be performing at any one time, the object is to clock up as many participants' orgasms as possible in the allotted time. This is not a trial of endurance for any of the performers. Over those four hours, it was expected that all ten girls that made up the troupe would enter the fray several times. The doors of the club were opened at the usual hour and the premises began to fill up. There would be another two hours before the Fuckathon was scheduled to begin. They hoped by then that the club would be full, and the sense of anticipation would be running high. During this waiting time it was discovered that someone was taking side bets on the outcome of the Fuckathon. Just how many people could be serviced by six women in four hours? The side bets would be tolerated as long as the bulk of the pot was also donated to the cause. This was greeted with a certain amount of grumbling by those involved in the betting, but soon was settled amicably and every one was more or less happy. The start time arrived, and the bar was heaving. All ten of the troupe had withdrawn from the bar a few minutes before the allotted time. Now, they donned the half mask that was the final element of the costume Mme Sylvie had devised, adding an extra element of mystery and anonymity to the whole ensemble. There was a blast of triumphant music and Henri announced over the PA: "Mesdames et Messieurs! Madame Sylvie's Charity Fuckathon is about to begin! It is with the very greatest of pleasure that I present for your delight and orgasmic satisfaction, Madame Sylvie's Pussycats!" The troupe paraded in to roars of approbation from the crowd. The six who were to start proceedings entered the arena, the other four assembled by the bar, ready to relieve their sisters when need arose. The six cast aside the coverings of their sarongs, revealing for the first time their full costume. They were clad almost identically. Torsos were covered with black satin basques, cut away at the bust to support but fully expose their breasts. The basques terminated at the hips, leaving a bare expanse of naked smooth flesh encompassing their genital areas and the tops of their thighs. All of the girls wore lace topped, black, very sheer, hold-up stockings and red four-inch stiletto heeled shoes. Their arms were covered to just above the elbow with off-white lacy, fingerless, long gloves. The whole ensemble was finished off with the black Pussycat half-masks. The only thing missing was the pussycat tails, but these were rejected, as they would only have been a hindrance. The overall effect of these six semi-naked women posing in the arena, with the dance floor lights playing over them was jaw-droppingly stunning, and instantly triggered even louder applause from the assembled crowd. When the applause had died down a little, The Pussycats assumed their positions. Lifting their legs onto the stirrups of their gynaecological couches, they settled back and signalled they were ready to begin. Proceedings started slowly with the first few men admitted into the arena. Most were sporting full erections, and at the stewards' suggestion, had already donned condoms to aid the smooth flow of the events. Other men needed a little manual help to bring them up to full speed. It was quickly decided to bring on a couple of the reserve Pussycats to provide a little 'fluffing' service, so that all the male participants would be fully ready when they entered the arena. The procedure was simple: each man would start at the hand, move to the mouth and then to the vagina or anus to go for the gold. If any man could not stay the full course, well that was just too bad. His orgasm was counted and another eager participant quickly replaced him. When the women started to enter the play, this slightly complicated matters. The Pussycats knew that they would need their mouths and at least one hand to successfully service a woman. This still left one hand free to ready the next man who would replace the one pounding away between their legs. Soon a steady rhythm was established, and men and women were joining and leaving in an almost constant flow. Even the loud music that was being played could hardly drown out the moans, groans and ecstatic screams of all those involved in this monumental gangbang. Some men were just too eager to join in and were masturbating furiously while they waited their turn. Some of these took their self-manipulations just a step too far, and had to drop out and re-await their turn once they had recovered. After about twenty minutes, the first of the Pussycats signalled that she needed relief. One of her sisters replaced her almost seamlessly, having spent a little time rehearsing the changeovers before the club had opened. The retiree went to the bar to rest. The girl who relived her had been on 'fluffing' duties, so another of the reserves stepped up to take over that role. Mme Sylvie's careful planning had paid off and the event was running like clockwork. Pussycats came and went smoothly as each reached the limits of her endurance. Mme Sylvie herself managed more than the others: six half-hour sessions over the four hours, with just short rest breaks in between. She was one of the first in and the last out. Also, with her special little tricks seemed to be processing more of the participants than any of the other Pussycats. Nobody could keep count of how many orgasms were achieved in that mighty Fuckathon, except that is, the stewards whose job it was to keep tally. A sudden final rush with all ten of the Pussycats joining in to push up the final score, Mme Sylvie's Charity Fuckathon drew to a close. With the last of the participants serviced and ushered out of the arena, the Pussycats stood wobbling slightly on their high heels, joined hands and took their bows to tumultuous applause and cheers of all gathered. Their curtain calls over, the Pussycats walked rather unsteadily out of the bar and upstairs to their 'green room', where they collapsed in elated near exhaustion, for a very well deserved rest. Henri sent up champagne, his good stuff, and sandwiches which he had held in reserve to aid the ladies' recovery. Eventually the club began to clear. The Pussycats, the for-one-night-only troupe of sexual superstars, showered, redressed in their street clothes, said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.