2 comments/ 20745 views/ 18 favorites Lost in Paradise By: Buzzmeagain He watched her sitting on the towel, struggling to rub the sunblock on her back, then approached her. "Forgive me for I am so forward, but may I help you with that?" When she hesitated, he said, "I won't do anything you are not wanting of me. This sun can be hard on the skin of the tourist." "How do you know I'm a tourist?" she asked, deciding on a leap of faith and handing him the bottle as he knelt beside her. This was the man she'd been watching plunge in and out of the soft waves, tan and robust, about 40, like her. Except she, admittedly, was not robust. She felt wan in spirit as well as skin, recently divorced from a distant husband, on her own for the first time in 16 years. "Ah, but you are pale, yes?" asked the man, gently rubbing the lotion across her shoulders. "I am Marcel." "Lara." His touch felt good. The hot sun had apparently readied her senses, and it had been a long time since she'd been touched more than in cursory hugs from family. He slid her bikini straps down, left them there as he continued rubbing down her back and sides. "How long are you here? You are not free yet?" He motioned to a group of women not far away, laying in the sun bare-chested. "A month or two. What do you mean, free?" Lara thought at first he was referring to her divorce. "Women here go free of suits," he said. "Especially women as beautiful as you." Though she'd kept fit, she was taken aback by the comment. But Marcel had continued, talking about the local customs, about blending into the land, the sun, the sea. "Communing," as he put it. He had finished with the lotion on her back and she thought of asking him to put some on her legs, though she'd already lotioned there. Just then he grasped her hand and pulled. "Come with me to swim!" he enthused, and she did. They swam and dunked and splashed, and Marcel slapped her behind a few times in an impromptu game of tag. He was virile, excited and spirited. Lara found herself giggling and easily joining in his enthusiasm. She felt a weight lift. When some of Marcel's friends showed up, he introduced her as "my luscious Lara" and they all swam into the deeper water, talking and laughing. When they returned to shallow water she allowed herself a long game of "pollo," riding Marcel's shoulders and trying to dislodge a young man from another's shoulders. She enjoyed her thighs clamped around Marcel's head and chest and sides, his arms gripping her legs-when he wasn't pushing at his opponent. They finally said their goodbyes to his friends as Lara claimed she had to go eat. Marcel squeezed her ass as she came out of the warm sea. "Why are you doing that?" she asked, pleased but not sure if she should be offended. "Because your ass is so delicious, like the rest of your body. And you like it, no?" "I suppose so," Lara said, smiling, pulling on her beach shirt, a thin flowery style that hung mid-thigh. She gathered her towel and lotion. "There are many ways I can touch you and you would like," Marcel said matter-of-factly. Lara felt a heat deep down. "Shall we eat?" he asked. She hadn't expected him to go with her. "I have to shower and change." "Nonsense. This is a beach community and it is daylight. Indeed, you have less sand and more clothing than most." He flicked at her shirt, in doing so nudging her nipple, which immediately stood out, electrified. "Okay," she assented. Marcel put his arm around her waist and guided her past the towel drop at the cabanas. "Leave the lotion as well; it will be here tomorrow, no?" He took her to an outdoor hide-away not far from the beach. As they ate, it became increasingly crowded around the tiny tables and they had to sit more and more closely together. Lara thrilled at the heat of Marcel's arm and his thigh pressing against her amid the din of strangers, many speaking different languages. "Eat this," Marcel ordered her a few times, putting some delicious morsel or another to her lips. After the second or third time, he didn't even use a fork, only his fingers, so that Lara was tasting them along with the delicious food. Soon, he left his fingers to linger on her lips, tracing them. Lara felt the urge to bite them, to suck them, shocking herself. How long had it been since she'd had any urge? How long since she had felt anything? But wasn't this the point of her trip, to shed her old closed-off, unattended self? She gave in and licked his fingers the next time he presented them. He kept them in her mouth, easing them in and out. He moaned and the sound made Lara moan. Then he quickly replaced his fingers with his own mouth on hers, and soon they were passionately kissing. "I will carry you away," he whispered, holding his hand out to help her stand, then stooping to pick her up by the legs so that she was above the crowd, her hands on his shoulders, his face beside her belly. He carried her through the throng like this, telling the host on the way out to put the bill on his tab. Once out of the bustle, he set Lara down. They kissed more, pressing their bodies close, mashing themselves together. Lara's nipples were hard, poking through her thin garments. "Do you want?" he pulled away to ask. Lara nodded. "Good. I want also. I want you." He leaned in and they swallowed each other's tongues greedily. But Marcel stopped abruptly again. "But Lara you must tell me to stop if you do not want, and I will stop. Immediately. Everything. And leave you to yourself. Agree?" This alternate scenario sounded rather sad to Lara now, and she did not want this fiery enthrall to end. "I agree," she said. She playfully swatted his bulge, to emphasize and to check if it was for real, for it had seemed almost unrealistically large when pressed against her. At that, he picked her up again, this time flinging her over his shoulder, as they both laughed. He drummed at her rear end as he carried her to the bungalows. He drummed her so much her ass smarted and the heat of the smacks spread to the heat of her lust, the growing wetness between her legs. When she told him which bungalow, he set her down at the door. Before they were even inside, he pulled her shirt aside, pulled her bikini top off her breasts and began sucking, licking and tweaking her nipples, murmuring, "So beautiful." He alternated between breasts, kneading one as he sucked the other. Lara heard herself moan, low and animalistic. At that moment she didn't care about anyone passing by. She wanted him. Marcel stopped and pushed them through the door. He tugged off her shirt and bikini completely. Then his own. His erection pulsed, veiny and alive. He gently lay her on the bed and stood over her, his cock inches from her skin, his eyes gazing at her entire body. "You want," he stated. He fingered circles aroung her nipples, traced a path down her stomach. At her mound, he circled again, slid a finger through her wet slit. Lara moaned, involuntarily opening her legs. "Wider," he whispered. "Show me how wide you spread yourself to me." Lara complied; she was on fire, aching for him to be inside her, juices flowing freely. Marcel climbed on top of her. Slowly, deliciously, he entered her. They swayed and thrust and grunted. When he moaned, "I'm coming inside you!" she came also, grateful for his jizz filling her. They continued their tryst for the next two hours, before falling into a weary, satisfied sleep. It was only when a group of drunken revelers awoke her briefly as they passed outside did Lara realize that the door had been wide open, their extensive tanglings on display the entire time. ****************************************** In the morning, Marcel was gone. Lara had a moment of panic, then of resignation, before seeing his card. It had his address and handwritten: "Lara, I will be available at 3pm if you wish to continue this wondrous connection. Yours, Marcel." Lara showered, ate at a bistro, went to the beach and swam and read her novel, all the while thinking of Marcel. She wondered what he was doing. His card read, as he'd told her, that he was a photographer. Perhaps he had a "gig" today? He'd told her enough, and given to her enough, that she felt safe. And his friends had been nice enough; that was a good sign. Still, what had overcome her? She found herself happily replaying the events of yesterday and last night. She felt excited and relaxed at the same time. She'd been seen and cared for, something long lacking. She decided she'd continue, do something different for once, be someone different. She mumbled to herself, "This is the point, isn't it? To escape my old self, to take care of my lost self?" Lara arrived at the mid-sized house at 3pm. She pulled the conch shell hanging by a rope to ring the bell. No one came. She pulled again. Nothing. A pit of disappointment began to spread in her stomach. She began to shuffle away. Marcel shouted from the corner, "Lara! I am here!" She blew out her breath in relief and gratitude as Marcel strode toward her, two blank wooden picture frames beneath his arm, his other arm gesturing toward her. "How wonderful!" he shouted. He wore khakis and a belt, with a short-sleeve silky-looking button-down that accentuated his strong chest and arms. Lara immediately felt her face flush as she noticed this. Even in these clothes, wearing sandals, he was manly. Marcel kissed her firmly and opened the door. "Let me put these inside. So joyful to see you!" He was like a warm old friend. He set the frames amid others and returned to her, appraising. "This dress accentuates your breasts; what a nice gift to me." He reached out and squeezed her breast, quickly, then released. Lara blushed, stammered. She had chosen the dress for this very reason, she realized. "No matter," Marcel went on. "Did you swim today? Shop? Think of me? I have been waiting to taste you all day," he suddenly finished. He stood before her as the heat spread throughout her body. Slowly he said, "What do you want to taste?" She thought of his fingers in her mouth. "I will get coctails for us, yes?" As they drank, he showed her his work, portraits and island scenes, some touristy and some more artful. "Now, my Lara, would you like to have fun?" He brought her parasailing, scary and thrilling and fun. They laughed and hugged and kissed. "What an adventurous couple," remarked the trainor. Lara smiled and Marcel winked at her and pinched her bottom, twisting a handful of her flesh. On the boardwalk after, they ate some tapas and Marcel bought heavy rum drinks for her. They jostled each other and kissed every few feet. They made out in front of street musicians. Lara began to feel tipsy, letting Marcel touch her more freely, one of his hands on her breast, kneading, while the other reached beneath her dress, caressing and squeezing her ass. She knew they were being indiscreet, that their crude display was noticed by many people, but she felt daring and freed. As they kissed, she even let her own hands roam hungrily across Marcel's body, and pressed herself into his bulging crotch. "You feel so good," she said. "I love your hard body." Marcel kissed her neck, nibbling, and whispered, "Do you want my fingers in your cunt?" The crudeness, the word, shocked her. And it brought more heat to her body. She was sopping now. She couldn't help but answer truthfully, "Oh, yes." "I will give you, my Lara. Let us go in here." He led her into a Tatoo and Massage Parlour and spoke in French to the man behind a counter, boisterously gesturing to Lara, accentuating with pats on her ass. When he finished talking, Marcel grabbed her hand and led her to a second room. They stood just inside the doorway. Marcel told her, "I have surprises for you. You will do something for me, yes? And I will do many things for you." He kissed her neck again, her mouth, pulling at her ass as he did. Quickly he tugged her panties down to her knees and began to explore the folds of her pussy with his fingers. "My beautiful slut," he whispered, again shocking and thrilling her. "I will touch you however I want...First like this," he said, thrusting his finger deep inside her, slick with her juices. He probed her noisily, insistently. She knew the man working in the next room might see them at any moment, could certainly hear and guess what was going on. It shamed her yet excited her. Now Marcel pulled her dress over her head, leaving her in just her bra, and instantly was kissing her and probing her again. This is too much! she thought through her lust and drunken state; anyone walking into the front door would see her naked body, Marcel thrusting his fingers in her pussy. Still, she couldn't pull her mouth away from his, couldn't pull herself away from his fingers ramming her pussy, now two, pushing deep inside, sliding out, circling her folds and her clit before plunging again. She'd waited so long. She cried out and came, twitching and moaning, her legs all but collapsing as Marcel held her up on his fingers, his other arm around her waist. She felt self-conscious, dizzy, alive, spent. "Lie down here, on your stomach," Marcel guided her to the padded table with a space for her face to rest: a massage table. She did as he said, wanting to float in the feeling, vaguely wondering if he was surprising her with a massage, and wondering if he would close the door to the room yet. "You are so naughty, Lara. You can't help yourself, can you?" Marcel began slapping her bare ass with each word he spoke. "You-" slap. "Are-" slap. "So-"slap. "Naughty-" slap. "Marcel, what are you doing?!" She started to tear up from the sting of it, the rising shame, the knowledge of the man listening outside the doorway. "Why are you doing this?!" she asked, panicked, sobered, struggling as Marcel pressed his other arm down against her back. "Because-" slap "you-" slap...He spanked her harder with every word: "Need. It. You. Wonderful. Slut. Lara. My. Whore!" She cried freely now, in confusion and pain and post-orgasmic relief. Finally, Marcel stopped spanking her. He rubbed her sore bottom, gently caressing. He leaned in and asked softly, "You came beautifully, Lara, yes?" "Yes," she sniffled. "You want what I give you, yes?" "Yes," she said, calming down as he continued to caress her bottom, her thighs, her back. Her head was spinning. She gradually relaxed and let the feelings wash over her, let herself sink into the table. Marcel took a bottle of oil from beside the table and rubbed that into her bottom, letting it seep into her crack. Marcel called out and Lara heard the man from the next room come in, saw his feet near the table. She saw him take a box of vinyl gloves from a low shelf. Then felt as these new, large and vinyl-covered hands rubbed her oiled bottom. The man grunted and spread her cheeks and rubbed oil there, fingered her anus. Lara cried out. Marcel soothed her, pulled a chair to her and murmured, "You need this, Lara. I know you. You want me. And I want you, all of you. I want that you do these things for me. And you know the wonderful things I do for you. Yes?" Lara nodded into the table, unsure, as the stranger still fingered her anus. "Good, you agree, now turn over." Marcel helped her turn onto her back. He pulled her bra straps from her shoulders but left them on her arms, then pulled each breast out of the bra cups so they were exposed, flesh swollen by the dishevelled bra pushing beneath them. Red-faced, suddenly aware of her whole body bare and shining beneath the bright lights, Lara glanced at the man standing beside the table and pleaded to Marcel. "I don't want anyone else to see me, please, Marcel." "Ah, forgive me, Lara, but I should have introduced you. This is my friend Jacques. He is helping me, my dear Lara. Do not worry, you are so sexy. Let him do this job, he has seen many person's bodies. He is professional." "A professional what?" she asked meekly as Marcel signaled to Jaques. Marcel lifted Lara's legs and pulled her so her ass was at the end of the table. He began pushing her knees to her chest, her feet above her head. "Let yourself be sexy," he said. The cool air wafted across her oily bottom as Jacques positioned himself in front of it, squirting more oil. As Marcel held her legs against her from the side, effectively pinning her to the table, he used his other hand to smooth the hair from her forehead, pressing her head to the table as he did so. The man-Jacques-rubbed his gloved and oiled finger around her anus. Around and around, then dipping just the tip inside. She did not want anyone playing with her ass, and was afraid. She knew she could do nothing about it, though, since she couldn't move and Marcel was not letting her go. She tried to relax. This was a foreign sensation for her. But it did not feel bad; it was actually pleasurable, she realized. Jacques worked more of his finger into her anus. He turned and twisted and then plunged his finger in and out, meanwhile rubbing his other thumb across her clit with each plunge. Marcel murmured, "Give in, Lara. I want that you feel good. Let yourself make your noises." She did. She groaned and writhed. She felt a flame building and began to buck Jacques' sliding finger in her ass. But suddenly he pulled his finger out. Disappointment surged up. Marcel still loosely held her legs back and Jacques intently stared at her privates, licking his lips. Her whole body, and especially her pussy, were pulsing with heat. To her surprise, she wished Jacques would finger her again. Jacques complied, working his finger back into her anus. Marcel watched her face carefully. But this felt different. This was bigger. It wasn't a finger, but an object, hard and rubbery. "Oh my god, no," she said. She struggled to no avail; Marcel still pinned her legs against her, pressed her against the table so her ass waited for its assault. Slowly, Jacques pushed the object into her ass, which got wider as it went deeper. He pulled it out slightly, dribbled oil, then pushed further each time. Her anus was stretching, gaping around this thing that was wider and wider the further it entered her. Tears rolled from her eyes. "Relax and enjoy the feeling," Marcel soothed. "It won't hurt if you relax." But it did hurt, a searing pain. Marcel rubbed her clit as the object pressed her insides, and this combination of sensations electrified her pussy. To her horror, she was dripping wet and aching again for release. All while her ass was being sorely violated by a stranger while Marcel, whom she'd only known 2 days, mercilessly flicked her clit. Her orgasm threw her over a cliff. It was quick and intense. She flew and flailed and moaned loudly, nearly screaming. Her insides pulsed and grabbed to haul anything they could into her depths. In her woozy cum-state, she felt a plop as the object lodged in her ass. Her ass felt uncomfortably full, stretched to the limit beside her pulsating pussy. "It is a plug for your tasty ass," Marcel told her. "Keep it in until I tell you, for the next few days..." Days! Her horror wrenched her from her peaceful state. "...Take it out only to expel, then clean yourself carefully and push it back in with the oil. You remove it with the ring..." Jacques picked up a mirror and flashed it for her to view her ass. There, sticking out of her own widened, oily anus (her ass still fiery red from the spanking, her own juices spilling down on it), was a loop of bright purple! She couldn't believe this was her. She sunk into herself as Marcel let her legs down and moved her up the table. Jaques left the room and she heard him washing in a sink somewhere, though dimly, for Marcel was again massaging her clit, reanimating her with mini electrocutions. "What I do for you," Marcel said with a final flick of her nub. He pulled a strap across her waist and cinched it, then another across her shoulders. Marcel left the room. For a brief moment she was afraid he would leave her there! Then she heard him whistling and washing also. Lost in Paradise Ch. 02 Lost Chapter 2: Humiliated on Their Night Out They walked the promenade bouyantly, arm in arm. Lara was proud to be with Marcel and he obviously enjoyed showing her off. People looked at them and smiled; Lara could see in their faces that they thought, What a handsome couple! as they watched them pass. She was glad she had forgiven Marcel for pushing things too far last time. He had taken such good care of her since then. Marcel stopped and kissed her. "They all want what we have," he said, then released her into a dance twirl, which she executed with a happy laugh. They watched a group of boys drumming on various objects skillfully, and Lara talked about her drumming circle back home, and a line dancing class she had joined for awhile. Marcel said, "Such creativity. Ah, to dance and drum with you, what fun." He stopped for a rum drink, but declined to get Lara one. "We don't want you getting drunk and out of your head, as you did last time," he said, swatting her ass. "No, but you can," Lara joked. Still, she felt a pang of guilt and shame for how far she'd gone in public, and with strangers witnessing, participating actually. Of course, Marcel had been the one to take it too far, right? It hadn't been her fault, had it? They watched a street magic show, then continued to the chic restaurant Marcel was treating her to. The maitre'd led them to a private round booth in the back. They ordered their entrees and Marcel ordered wine to go with dinner. They chatted and debated and flirted. They ate with gusto, for the food was amazing. Marcel moaned in delight and encouraged Lara to do the same. "Olive oil for you," he said huskily as he dipped his fingers in it, then touched their oily tips to the base of Lara's neck, rubbing circles there so that her nipples hardened and she wished they were in private so Marcel could circle them wth oil in the same way. He repeated the process lower on her neck and some of the oil began to drip down into her cleavage. Lara took a napkin to dab it, but Marcel ordered, "Leave it." "But..why?" "You look so sexy, Lara, with a shiny throat like that." She smiled, pleased, and they kissed heatedly. Marcel sat back and eyed her, smiling. "Yes, so sexy I want to take you now. You look to be splattered with cum on your throat and dripping between your breasts." Lara's smile faltered and she felt a trepidition mixing with her lust. "In fact, let you show off a bit more," Marcel said, unbuttoning her blouse a few buttons, to the bottom of her cleavage. He spread her shirt wide. "They'll see!" Lara quickly pulled the shirt together, worried that it would reveal her bulging breast top where Marcel had forced a tattoo on her. The tattoo said SLUT, and Lara was ashamed every time she saw it or thought about it. "Very well for now," Marcel said. "You don't want to show I have branded you. But leave the buttons open so your cum-stained cleavage peers through." Lara burned with shame at the words, but Marcel kissed her again and ran his hand along her thigh, whispering, "Do you know how sexy you are? How every man wants you?" Lust and gratitude mingled with Lara's shame. "Now, my Lara, I have a gift to you. It is a necklace; turn around and I will put it on you." Excited, Lara turned her back to him and lifted her hair off her neck. Last week, while she healed from her tattoo, Marcel had given her diamond earrings! Perhaps this was a matching necklace! That is why he had told her to wear no neck jewelry tonight! Lara felt Marcel pull something thick around her neck and fasten it with a loud click. Confused, she felt at it with her hands. It was tight around her neck, a leather band with metal studs pressing into her skin. She didn't like how it felt and tried to undo the clasp in the back. She could not. "What's this?" she asked, feeling a heavy metal lump in the back affixing the two end rings together. "It is a lock, my pet. To keep this necklace around your cum-stained neck. How sexy you are. Go take a look in the lavatory." Panicking, Lara rose and went to see in the mirror, rushing past patrons with her head down. In the bathroom she saw what it was: a dog collar. A black leather collar with silver studs encircling it. It looked no different than a fancy dog collar for a pampered bitch. Furious, Lara twisted it around so the rings and lock were in the front. She tried to pull the rings up or down, twist them through the leather and undo them, but they were embedded. She tried prying and twisting the little silver lock, but it was surprisingly strong and heavy. She looked like a dog! She couldn't walk around like this! Her face burned. Lara took a wet paper towel and wiped the oil that Marcel had dripped down her neck and cleavage. Glancing at the tattooed SLUT showing at the rounded top of her breast, she quickly buttoned her shirt to just below her neck. She turned the dog collar back around and fluffed her hair around it. This was the best she could do to hide the humiliation Marcel was forcing upon her. She hurried back to the booth. "Take it off! It's a dog collar!" she half-hissed, half-pleaded to Marcel, who was beaming at her. "It is a pretty necklace for a pretty woman," he said, reaching to unbutton her shirt. He spread the neck open to display the collar, as well as part of her tattoo. "I wouldn't want us to fight about these buttons," he said, snapping one off in his fingertips, "and accidentally pull off them all, leaving your blouse unclosable." Lara searched his eyes for mischief, found only resolution. "Pull your hair into a ponytail," he ordered. She hesitated. She didn't want her neck that exposed, but she didn't want Marcel to make it worse."I'm thankful, Marcel, but it's embarrassing." "As it should be. Now tell me, Lara, why did I engrave your slut breast and give you this collar? It is because you are my whore. I enjoy giving pleasure to you, all that you need. And you must give me something in return. Now, I wish to show this collar and I am becoming impatient. Put your hair up away from your neck or I will take you home and shave it off!" Lara knew his threats were not idle. She hastened to get a velvet scrunchie from her purse and pull her hair up in a ponytail at the back of her head. "Thank you, sexy Lara." He kissed her and ran his hand across her nipples, back and forth so that they poked through her blouse. Despite her frustration, she could feel herself getting wet. He kissed and caressed, and she kissed back, warming up. With impeccable timing, the waiter came by. They stopped groping and untangled. Marcel asked for desserts, a bit more bread and olive oil, and a small glass bottle of Peregrino water. When these arrived, he told the waiter to charge his account and that they were fine to be left alone now. "Of course, Sir," the young waiter nodded. Lara was sure he sneered at her collar as he left, at her SLUT-branded breast beside the missing button. Marcel said, "Now, this is your choice: you may remove your bra and I will rub oil on those hard nipples of yours through this lovely white blouse. Here, in this booth before we walk out through the restaurant. Oh how thin this blouse is, yes?" "What else could you possibly ask me to do?" she asked, then immediately regretted it. "Or you can remove your panties and give them to me now." In a huff, Lara began to stand and move out of the booth. She'd had enough of his twisted demands, his controlling whims, his public displays of her. But a quick movement from Marcel, a click and a tug at her neck, and she was pulled back down to sitting. "What the hell?" she said, noticing a strap in Marcel's hand. "No collar comes without a leash," he said calmly, holding it up for her to see that he had attached it to the back of her neck. Stunned, she reached up-- "Don't bother trying to remove it. Only I can do that with a key. One for the leash, one for the collar. It would be sad for me to lose them, no?" Lara couldn't believe this. What could she do? He wouldn't let her stand or leave on her own? Marcel began to coo and caress her thigh, her neck, her breasts. "You know I always do what I must for you. I know what you need, Lara. Haven't I shown you a good time? Haven't I taken care of your needs again and again?" He continued to stroke her. She quickly heated, her body betraying her. "Now, please choose, panties or bra, and for now I will remove your leash from your choker." Lara chose his second proposition, the less public outrage. Beneath the white tablecloth draping over her legs, she shimmied her panties off, down her legs, then passed them to Marcel. He sniffed them conspicuously and stuffed them in his breast pocket like a handkerchief. "Ah, a bitch in heat is a beautiful thing," Marcel crooned, leaning in to kiss her neck. Despite herself, Lara felt hot and wet, her nipples hard. "Now, hook your left leg on the outside of the table leg, and this leg between mine, and spread your legs wide for me." "Marcel..." she started to protest this too. "Lara, such restraint I must have with you! What you have me endure!" He flashed the leash poking from his pocket. "I can lock this leash to your collar and lead you from here like the bitch in heat that you are, or you can open your legs now and keep them open!" Lara did as he'd instructed. "Keep them spread. Wider. Wide, like a gymnast. Make your pussy available to me beneath this table, while we eat our desserts we have forgotten, and moan in pleasure at their deliciousness." He handed Lara a fork and motioned for her to eat her dessert, though she had no appetite left. Marcel ate his and moaned, "How decadent." He put his fork down and emptied the glass water bottle on the table. He dipped the end in the olive oil then rubbed the oil along the neck of the bottle. "Keep your legs spread wide like that as you eat. Keep that pussy available to me. I am going to ease this bottle into your tight pussy. And you will love it." Lara whimpered and hung her head. "Marcel, you can't..not here..not with that." she murmured. "Shall I lead you out by your leash and home to groom the hair on your head down to stubble? Then pull you through town on all fours? Shall I tie you down and give you another tattoo?" She gave in. "No, Marcel," she murmured, splaying her legs wide beneath the table. Marcel surreptitiously took the small oiled bottle beneath the table and found Lara's pussy with it. He slowly pushed it into her wet hole, deeper and deeper and deeper. The large end slowed him down, but he kept pushing, until the entire fat bottle was shoved into her pussy. He kept his hand covering the end to keep it from sliding out. Lara was on the brink of cumming from this wide phallus in her wet horny hole. "Let us go," Marcel said quickly. "On the way out, keep that bottle shoved tight in your pussy and don't let it fall out, or everyone will know you for the slut you are. Take baby steps and walk slowly. I will stop and talk to as many people as possible on the way out. Come, it's a long way to the door." He helped Lara stand and quickly pushed the sliding bottle up beneath her short skirt as she closed her legs. She began wiggling in small steps away from the table. It was difficult to walk more than a few inches at a time, so that was what she did, shuffling quickly. Marcel stopped at each table and joyously greeted each patron, as though he were the owner or the host of a celebration. He was so charming that many people, who didn't know him, spoke with him at length as he drew out their stories and told his own. Of course he was delighted. Of course Marcel kept drawing people's attention to Lara and trying to include her in the conversations. Lara squirmed and smiled and said little, hoping none of the oil dripped down between her legs. She tried to hide the awkwardness of it by pretending she was drunk and unsteady and in her own world. Finally they made it outside. Marcel taunted, "Such talent! Such spirit! ...Now I will pleasure you." He pulled her into a somewhat dark alleyway and shoved her legs apart. He took hold of the bottle and plunged it in and out of her slick pussy as he rubbed her clit and kissed her breasts. As Lara felt her long-teased release building below, Marcel pulled the bottle out and stopped touching her. "Turn around," he said. "Bend over with your legs spread." She did, her hands against the wall, her ass in the air. Marcel unzipped his trousers and pulled out his hard cock. He rubbed it between her legs and across her pussy lips, pushing just the tip inside as he reached around and rubbed her clit. "What do you want?" he asked. She rasped, "I want you inside me." "You want it all, you whore," he said, shoving his cock in as far as it would go. He rammed her from behind as she bent over and held herself up against the wall. He grunted and thrust as his seed spewed inside her. She cried out and came hard, letting the waves of warm exertion pulse through her, weakening her knees. Marcel held her with his hand at her mound and slowly lowered her to her knees. "You needed that, didn't you? Oh how badly you needed that." He turned Lara aside from the wall and raised her chin. "Now lick my cock," he said. He took his dripping cock and pushed it into her mouth. She licked him until he was soft again. Marcel put away his cock and kissed Lara's forehead. "Thank you, my Lara," he said, helping her to stand. He brushed off her knees and encircled her waist with his arm. "Shall we promenade, you dirty girl?" Lara nodded, choosing to ignore the fact of the collar she still wore, hoping Marcel would forget about the leash. She was spent and worn out, though with a salty-sour taste in her mouth. Marcel added, "We can get some drinks on the way back, stop by the ocean perhaps. And tomorrow we can take care of your 'grooming'." Lost in Paradise Jacques wheeled in a cart, filled with inks and needles, spray and gauze and other things. "Welcome!" she heard Marcel say in the front room. "Would you boys like a show?" As Jacques sprayed something on one of her breasts and lay an icepack on it, Marcel led a jostling, joking, drunk group of 5 college-aged boys into the room. "We are their new friends!" he exclaimed. They quieted and nudged each other, staring at Lara strapped to the table. She wanted to hide, to run, but could do neither. Marcel took hold of one of her legs to spread it wide. He motioned for one of the boys to hold the other; after slight hesitation, the boy did so carefully, pulling it gently to the side. Now Jacques had an electric razor at her pussy, suddenly buzzing and pressing against her mound, her swollen lips. She closed her eyes and endured. It almost tickled and she might have enjoyed it, if not for the public circumstances. The buzzing stopped and the boys all laughed. Lara looked at Jacques. "What did you do to me?" But he ignored her and prepared something else, chatting with Marcel in French. Marcel said happily, "To guide the lost!" The boys laughed riotously, poking each other and touching their bulges. Marcel said to her, "See what power you have?" The boys continued to stare with wide grins. She realized they could see the purple ring protruding from her full red ass. She tried to squeeze her legs together, ashamed. But her legs were still held open by Marcel and the boy. Marcel explained, "Jacques has shaved an arrow upon your otherwise bald pussy." The boys laughed again. Marcel added, "Oh, your shaved wet pussy lips are so enticing, I could lick them right now!" But Lara pulled her legs, and Marcel allowed them to close. Jacques was wiping something on her breast, then sprayed something else. She heard a different buzzing as he brought a needle to the top of her breast. She cried out in pain; dulled as it was, it still was excruciating! He was searing her breast with a needle! Marcel smoother her hair and kissed her cheek. She squeezed his other hand so hard her fingers felt numb. "Lie still, my Lara. I will make it up to you." She squeezed her eyes and clenched her teeth. She was so weary and it was so painful! Finally, the torment ended. She opened her tearful eyes to see the boys staring at her breast, glancing at each other and giggling. Two of them high-fived each other and laughed. Jacques dabbed at her with ointment. Marcel held a mirror to show her her swollen red breast top. With horror, Lara read the thick black word forever engraved there: SLUT. Her eyes darted around the room. Her face burned in horror and shame. She sobbed. How had she come to this? Who was she? Naked, on display to strange men. Pussy juices dried on her thighs, pussy shaved bald except for that horrible joke. Strapped down, red sore ass filled to bursting with a foreign object jammed inside. Her marred breast slick with ointment and branding her forever as a slut... Jacques taped gauze across her wound as Marcel undid the strap across her shoulders. She sighed in relief, wanting just to get out of there. But it wasn't over. "Pay now?" asked Jacques, and Marcel nodded, glanced down at Lara. Jacques moved near her head and pulled his massive cock from his pants, inches from her face. "Come on, Boys!" Marcel said, gesturing to their bulges and to her. "Join in! You know what she is, now. Go ahead, let loose on her!" "No!" she protested in panic. When would it end? But it was no use. They were so over-eager, all of them practically bursting. They shoved themselves around the table and pulled out their dicks, pumping furiously, knocking into her skin. Jacques was rubbing the wet tip of his cock on her face. When she tried to turn away, he pulled her hair and turned her head roughly toward him. He forced his cock between her lips and shoved it into her mouth. He thrust vigorously, cramming her face against his pubes. Her neck was twisted and her throat gagging around his erection. She felt hot sticky splashes across her body as the boys moaned in sequence, then Jacques' pulsing cock in her throat. He came deep and hard. She choked on his cum but had no choice other than to swallow. When Jacques finally popped his cock from her mouth, she felt a new batch of hot jizz hit her face, her eye, her hair. She realized it was Marcel as he said above her, "You cock-sucking slut, you are mine to do with what I want." He rubbed his cum into her face with his cock, spread it across her lips and cheeks, it against her nose. "Tell me you are my slut, Lara." "Yes," she whimpered. "I am your slut." "Let's go home, then. Goodbye, Boys. Goodbye, Jacques." Lara felt relief, a shameful gratitude, when the group left and Marcel uncinched the second strap, resanitized her breast and patched it with fresh gauze. He helped her stand up, rubbed her shoulders, pulled her bra on and helped her into her dress, some gobs of cum still wet and soaking through from her skin. Marcel didn't bother to clean her. He touched her cum-stained face and smoothed her sticky hair. He put her pumps on her bare feet, then led her outside, wobbling. He walked her through the crowds, cum-stained and leaning on him. She knew she walked erratically, her ass sore, her anus abused, her breast mauled, even her pussy worn out. Her legs and face shone with dried cum. The plug and its ring grated as her naked ass cheeks rubbed against each other, for her panties had been left behind, a souvenir for Jacques. For the next week and until she was healed, Marcel cleaned her and massaged her and pampered her, and she thought maybe he was trying to make it up to her as he'd promised. And then they went out again...