Crack! The first impact strikes her bare buttocks. Cecile yelps and jerks forward across the tall, padded stool she’s currently bent over. A precarious position, head down, wrists secured with a soft cord to a low crossbar. Cecile’s legs are spread to maintain balance, the toes of her high heels only just touching the floor. A full-skirted evening dress is raised high around the woman’s trim waist leaving her naked buttocks exposed and vulnerable.
The tails of the martinet hit the crease between Cecile’s bottom cheeks, making her hips convulse at the smart, affording an enticing view of two ring-pieced labia. Despite, perhaps because of her predicament, Cecile looks beautiful; lustrous auburn hair, a sumptuous derriere and a narrow waist create an enticing vision of submissive womanhood.
This current ordeal/entertainment – depending on one’s perspective – commenced some 10 minutes previously within these luxurious environs. One cannot apply to join this Parisian club; membership is by invitation only, following a covert vetting by those already on an exclusive list. As is customary at Le Castille, a short time previously Cecile and her fellow subs reached into an inverted top hat and randomly chose a small envelope containing a number and brief instructions.
Entering room six, head down, hands meekly clasped in front she stood next to the stool and closed her eyes; schooled in such rituals and instinctively knowing what to do. Minutes passed, time seemed to slow during these erotic encounters, Cecile nervously fidgeted from foot to foot, silently willing proceedings to begin. The only furnishings in the windowless chamber were two wall-mounted mirrors on opposite sides and a wooden chest containing instruments of correction.
The door opened and sensing a presence behind her, Cecile was unsurprised to be blindfolded with a long silk scarf and pushed firmly forward across the stool. Next, her panties were pulled down with tantalising slowness, to reveal a perfect peach of an arse, a bottom made to worship, punish, or both. The choice wasn’t hers to make, instead the mystery person spent several minutes manoeuvring Cecile into the desired stance. Which – possibly all – of her orifices might they use when discipline was deemed complete, Cecile wondered?
Cecile’s spanker is a woman of a certain age, undeniably glamorous, familiar to those who move effortlessly within high society. Madame has chic, elfin-cropped silver hair and bounteous breasts; also wearing a formal evening gown she’s relishing every moment of Cecile’s chastisement. The unknown implement currently scourging the younger woman’s posterior is a martinet, adroitly wielded by an experienced hand; the tails striking accurately upon Cecile’s increasingly crimson-streaked bottom.
A martinet, you enquire? Archetypally French, it’s a multi-tail whip with a short wooden handle and 12 leather thongs, each around 30 cm long – something of a connoisseur’s choice.
The tails strike her sensitive thighs, eliciting a cry from Cecile, stoking an inner fire, and making her visibly wet. She dares not close her legs for fear of falling, tied hands unable to shield her bottom.
Her punisher approaches closer, leaning forward to slip their hands under her décolletage and pinch Cecile’s engorged nipples. Generous breasts press against her back, an audible rustle as clothing is adjusted followed by the feel of nylon-clad legs between Cecile’s bare thighs. Something stiff yet flexible nudges her labia; a strap-on perhaps – is she to be fucked by a woman?
“Merde,” an exclamation of momentary frustration from behind her as Cecile’s punisher struggles to find the optimum angle, then a sigh of satisfaction when she succeeds. Slender hands hold Cecile’s hips, pulling the bound woman backward onto the artificial phallus insistently pushing into her slickly accommodating pussy Whereas a man might now lustily plunder her depths this woman fucks her subtly, takes Cecile to the brink, then pauses, prolonging the exquisite sensations. Both are panting, the artificial phallus sinks deeper, assuming a greater urgency.
This is not Cecile’s first rodeo, she’s been fucked with a dildo before, fucked herself for that matter. Something about the sensual weight of this woman’s body, the scent of her parfum, and barely suppressed gasps of pleasure all combine to make this instance exquisite. Cecile is clearly in capable hands, someone who understands the rewards of sensual intercourse – whether giving or receiving. Finally, the mix of sensations overwhelms her senses, mouth slightly open, eyes closed, Cecile moans as a climactic shudder rocks her world, ecstatically surrendering to a very vocal orgasm and momentarily feeling guilty that the mystery spanker has not experienced similar joy.
Expecting to be freed Cecile hears the stranger walk to the door and admit a second person. A brief murmured greeting, heavier footsteps approach and the whipping resumes. Concentrated where thighs and bottom meet, striking already sore skin and eliciting outraged complaints. Thankfully for her burning bottom, it doesn’t last long. Unexpectedly the newcomer, Cecile senses them to be male, tweaks the little jewelled butt plug peaking enticingly from between her hot and stinging moons.
Apologies, was this not previously mentioned? Quel dommage. The smooth steel plug is the ultimate symbol of Cecile’s compliant subjugation. When getting ready for this erotic assignation she’d deliberately decide to insert one. Carefully spreading lube onto the narrower end with a manicured finger, Cecile crouched on the bed, reached back and, feeling wanton, pulled her arse cheeks wide apart. Delicately applied a little more KY to her rosebud, and insistently slid the plug inside her tight bottom hole. Wincing at the initial discomfort, then sighing with pleasure as the cool sculpted shape prepared her for something larger….
That moment has arrived. Monsieur, for it is indeed a man – tall, distinguished and, like all males present, wearing a DJ – carefully pulls the plug from Cecile’s arse leaving it gaping in lewd invitation. Cautiously he eases his cock into the void; first engaging just the head he teases her rosebud, letting Cecile adjust to its presence before penetrating further.
“Oh my! That’s so big,” she whimpers.
Meanwhile, the mystery female has changed ends, crouching before Cecile to free her bound wrists. They embrace, exchanging long, lingering kisses that stifle Cecile’s impassioned moans as her most intimate opening is expertly shafted. The woman caresses Cecile’s hair, body, and breasts, murmuring reassurances, holding her in place as the man’s ardour builds and he thrusts determinedly, the full width of his girth stretching her back passage.
“Oh, mon dieu,” Cecile moans, “please don’t stop!”
Holding her hips the mystery gentleman withdraws his erection almost all the way out, then drives in hard. Each thrust results in a loud cry as he reams her gorgeous arsehole. Lost to arousal they reach a mutual crescendo, Cecile’s whole body convulses, he spurts, she squirts, and the walls echo to cries of pleasure and sexual release. In the confusion of limbs, the blindfold momentarily shifts allowing a fleeting glimpse of her Sapphic lover. In a flash the covering is replaced, clothes are hastily adjusted, footsteps recede, and the door closes. As wetness seeps down her thighs Cecile is left satiated and alone.
Shakily she staggers to her feet, Cecile rarely losses control so completely, yet feels exultant rather than shamed. Vanilla sex is good, but you can’t beat (she laughs inwardly at the pun) the real thing. Adrenalin and dopamine surge around her system, this extreme stimulation is not like a drug, it is a drug. At the last moment, she remembers the plug and pops it into her Dior bag, prior to exiting the salon where participants socialise before and after playing. Cecile is on a mission to reciprocate the intense pleasure her mystery female lover has been instrumental in bestowing. Who is she, does she switch? Cecile plans to find out.
Emboldened by their encounter at Le Castille, our heroine is determined to track down her mysterious paramour. With a few discrete questions and a couple of modest bribes, it’s not too difficult for Cecile to discover the whereabouts of her mysterious domme – lunching, as is apparently Madame’s custom, in a bistro opposite the publishing firm where she is a directeur. Cecile slips quickly into the seat opposite and fixes the woman with a conspiratorial smile.
“Forgive me,” says Cecile, “but I can’t stop thinking of you.” “Really? Should I know you?” Madame is nonplussed, but not hostile.
“Je m’appelle Cecile,” she removes her beret, shaking out an auburn mane. The woman across the table at first looks puzzled, then realisation dawns.
“From Le Castille?”
“Qui. Room number six.”
“Alors! I cannot forget you either, not that I wish to. Je suis Elodie,” she proffers a hand. Cecile takes a moment to consider her companion anew, noting the understated way in which only the rich seem able to dress, today a simple off-the-shoulder top and long, retro print skirt.
“Since we, um, met, I’ve felt a little guilty; you gave me such pleasure yet gained little in return,” ventures Cecille. Elodie favours the younger woman with a seductive lowering of her eyelashes.
“Not at the time perhaps, but since then I have replayed our dalliance in my head; the erotic kisses, your wild reaction to being chastised and taken – it makes me wet even now.” By way of illustration Elodie covertly takes Cecile’s hand and slides it up underneath her skirt to the front of her damp panties. Cecile lets it linger, inserts a finger to tease Elodie’s shaven sex, eliciting a stifled gasp as her thighs clutch together in response. Reluctantly she pushes Cecile away.
“Non Cheri, this is not ‘When Harry met Sally’, don’t make me come in the middle of a crowded café.”
Cecile nods and tries another tack. “Do you switch?”
Elodie shrugs enigmatically. “I’m submissive to my husband, naturellement, to a woman never before.”
“And now…?”
“It is possible…”
“Desirable.”
“I think maybe,” one can almost hear her brain whirring.
Cecile presses her advantage. “I should like to take charge of your pleasure, and pain.” Elodie calmly considers this offer while the younger woman’s heart thumps wildly – wondering if she’s gone too far.
“My card, discretion as always please, Cheri. I am home alone this Friday, monsieur is in Zurich on business, also I think to fuck his mistress.”
“You’re alright with that?” Cecile can’t conceal her surprise.
“Complaisant,” shrugs Elodie. “I am free to do the same.”
“You have a lover?”
“Not yet – shall we say 8.30 pm?”
The apartment, on an upper floor of a prestigious old building overlooking the Sienne, is not easily accessed. Only when the concierge has called to confirm she’s expected is Cecile admitted to a marble-floored atrium, from where a lift smoothly whisks her upstairs.
On the sixth floor, Elodie awaits; composed, and attired in a flattering cut two-piece ensemble complemented by Louboutin heels. In contrast, Cecile is casually clothed in a simple summer dress and ballet pumps. Where Madame is carefully, and she suspects expensively, made-up, and coiffed Cecile neither wears nor needs, more than lipstick; hair piled loosely in a bun and projecting an aura of girlish innocence.
Elodie leads her into a sumptuously appointed appartement, closing and locking the door. In an atmospherically lit lounge with classy furnishings (rich people inherit, never buy) two glasses of red wine are already poured. As soon as the door closes the pair embrace fervently, ardent hands exploring each other’s bodies. Red lips sensuously parting, locking into deep kisses; tongues pushing and swirling, bodies shivering with pent-up passion.
Cecile gently pushes Elodie back onto a large, upholstered sofa. Sitting adjacent, eyes locked, each takes a large sip of wine, a palpable frisonne of silent expectation sparking between them. Social pleasantries are superfluous, both know the raison d’etre of this assignation. The only question is who will lead and who’ll be led? Cecile cuts directly to the chase.
“How does your man make you submit?”
“I choose to obey,’ Elodie corrects the assumption, “sadly too infrequently of late,” she adds wistfully. “Being a member of government takes so much of his time. To answer your question directly, he knows I adore strict discipline as a catalyst to arousal.”
“As I thought,” murmurs Cecile, “be assured I shall behave no differently. Her tone abruptly changes, “stand up and remove your skirt.”
Elodie does so while maintaining her sang-froid. Her putative lover’s hands run lightly up sheer stockings into the V of her thighs, eliciting a shiver of desire en route.
“These must go,” Cecile announces, decisively pulling down flimsy panties. “Sit back and spread your knees. Hold yourself open Elodie; present your pussy.”
Wordlessly the older woman complies, a pink flush of sexual excitement spreading across her cleavage. Cecile takes the knickers and pushes them into Elodie’s mouth.
“It may be necessary to stifle your screams,” she observes casually. Elodie has evidently been well trained, hands behind her knees, glistening pussy gaping invitingly. Feeling wanton, vulnerable and oh so turned on.
Cecile drops her mouth to Elodie’s pussy, probing and sucking at the nub of her clitoris. Opens her handbag to remove a vibrator and presses the oscillating end against love-slicked labia. Elodie’s crotch tingles as the speed increases, creating waves of overpowering sensation. Her hips buck wildly back and forth; the wetter she becomes the more intense the pleasure.
Slap! “Oh”, a muffled gasp of mingled affront and surprise as Cecile’s hand strikes her exposed vulva. Elodie moans, caught in a confusion of pain and pleasure. A second application of palm to pussy almost tips her over the edge. Slap… slap, stinging her clitoris, sending tremors through her lower torso. Cecile’s palm slides along Elodie’s silky inner thigh, the woman tenses and whimpers in anticipation of further exquisitely painful smacks, sure to leave livid red marks. Oh God, it’s too much.
Another impact, close to her labia. The next directly hits her wet horny cunt, throbbing and dripping with desire; thighs burning Elodie aches to be filled. Abruptly the spanking ceases and the vibrator returns, she yearns to orgasm.
“You aren’t allowed to come yet,” cautions Cecile, pulling Elodie’s panties from between her pearly white teeth. “I need you to make a noise.” Any remaining vestige of Elodie’s dignity disappears. She sobs in frustration, humiliated by her helplessness, hot tears sending rivulets of mascara running down her cheeks. Craving release, dishabille, and, in Cecile’s opinion, so very beautiful even in distress.
Cecile pushes Elodie’s knees even further apart. Sat directly opposite on the big sofa, thighs spread, she pulls Elodie’s legs over hers, shuffling forward until their pussies deliciously collide. A double-ended dildo from her bag of tricks slides easily into her own hot honeypot, then smoothly enters Elodie’s pulsing pussy. Quickly gaining confidence the pair lean back, arms taking their weight, hips thrusting lewdly forward. Elodie shrieks as her smarting sex is penetrated.
“Do you believe you’ve been thoroughly disciplined? Do you deserve to be fucked?” enquires Cecile wickedly. Elodie frantically nods her assent, hardly able to breathe, lost to lust, cunt swollen with desire – jerking noisily towards a violent orgasm. Seconds later Céline reaches an equally intense and abandoned climax. Lies next to Elodie, holding her until she ceases panting and trembling, bends to softly kiss her still smarting sex.
“Next time I shall pull your bottom cheeks apart and smack that tight rosebud,” whispers Cecile salaciously. “Maybe monsieur might join us and fuck your arse as consummately as he did mine, while you tongue my pussy?”
Elodie shivers at this erotic reverie, the girl has such filthy fantasies; but so too does she. A wicked image of a riding crop striking Cecile’s breasts enters her mind. Elodie smiles and reaches to retrieve their toys; playtime resumes…
