That summer I flew to Montpellier to look for a furnished apartment where I would live for ten months with my family. My company co-owns a plant there, and they incentivized my temporary transfer in many ways. During my first month there (mid-July to mid-August), I’d be working only half-time but on full salary. The logic was to give me time to set up things for my wife and two children to arrive in time for the school year. The allowance for housing was quite respectable, and we wanted something that was a turn-key situation, where we would not have to furnish an apartment or house.
I’d done lots of spade work before flying over and had appointments to view various houses (villas, as the French say) as well as apartments or condo-type arrangements. On the third day, a young woman from one of the agencies picked me up from the hotel, and I was hoping that the third day would be the charm, because what I’d seen had not appealed to me. On first impressions, Mme Girard (Aurélie) struck me as really much too young and inexperienced to be able to help much, otherwise than unlocking the apartment for me to walk around. But it turned out that that afternoon was magic.
Aurélie was a beautiful brunette in her early twenties, fresh out of a university. In her dark blue pants suit, white button-down shirt, and kitten heels, she looked both business-like and, frankly, sexy. She was nervous, talked a lot, and (perhaps because she was nervous) was speaking a kind of mixture of English and French that was almost impossible to follow. I made clear to her that my French was fine. She smiled, relaxed, started talking more calmly, and complimented me on my speaking ability. As we drove to the rental location, she asked about my reason for being in Montpellier, about my family, and so forth, and I thought I should ask a little about herself. She had majored in economics and history of religion in a small Catholic university, and, in fact, had had all her schooling in a convent school. It was clear that she came from a wealthy family that had been pretty strict with her and had sheltered her from the world. Her father, I learned, owned the agency. No surprise there!
We took the elevator to the top floor of the building, and she opened the door to a magnificent apartment with distant views of the Mediterranean from the master bedroom and the combination living room/dining room. It was beyond well-furnished. The owners, who were away in Japan, had left some very pricey artwork on the walls (I would have taken it down and stored it, if I were going to rent to strangers), and the kitchen had everything necessary for cooking and serving large meals. It was a very quiet spot, and even with the sliding doors to the balcony open, the traffic sounds from below were muted.
Aurélie led me through each room and verified that the printed inventory she was carrying matched all that we saw. The inventory was perfect until we came to the closet of the master bedroom. There we found a large wooden crate with numerous objects that were not on the inventory. Aurélie looked in the box. She was puzzled and asked me, Qu’est-ce que c’est que tout ça? (What’s all this?). We took the box out of the closet to where the light was better. It was clear to me that the contents were sex toys and bondage gear. Aurélie looked as if she had never seen that kind of thing before. She took out a butt plug and said, Un jouet pour enfant! (A child’s toy!). Clearly she was not joking. And then she pulled out a studded leather collar with a leash and said, Apparemment ils ont un chien! (Apparently, they have a dog). Then she said that we should put this on the inventory.
I said, in my best French, “Aurélie, I think it would be more discreet not to list it. These are sex toys, and I think the owners would not like it to be in the record. Anyway, they decided not to list them.”
She frowned and repeated “jouets de sexe” ? as if she didn’t understand. I was sure that she was sincere and not putting me on.
“What’s it for?” she said, holding the rather large black butt plug.
I decided to ignore that question and instead picked up the leather collar.
“This is something for a person to wear. Judging from the size, it’s for a woman.”
She laughed and took it from my hand. Holding it near her neck, she said, “Maybe I should try it on…” When she did, the collar of her shirt was in the way. She took off her jacket and then started unbuttoning her shirt.
I was startled and asked her if she really wanted to take off her shirt. A stupid question on my part, since it was then completely unbuttoned.
“I wear much less when I’m out on the beach. I don’t even wear a soutien-gorge—what do you call the top of a bikini? My parents don’t know. They would think it’s indecent, but all my friends go that way.”
Throwing the shirt on the bed, she said, “Help me put it on, please.”
I detached the leash from the collar and fitted it on her and fastened the buckle. She went to the wall mirror and admired herself. She was wearing her dress slacks, white lacy bra, and the collar. It was an unforgettable sight.
“Pretty chic, no?” Then she added, “I think better without the soutien-gorge. Could you unsnap it, please?”
My heart was pounding, and my hands trembled a little as I unhooked her bra. I apologized for being clumsy.
“Oh, you’re not clumsy at all. The boys I date, they are clumsy and rough, but you seem very gentle. It is because you are a mature, married man. You have the habit.”
There she was, looking superb with her pretty, perky medium-sized breasts with nothing except the collar as an accessory. I could feel a strong stirring between my legs.
“Let’s look at the other things here.”
She poked through the box and took out some cuffs. They were different sizes, and she chose two that fit her small wrists. She put them on and wanted me to admire her look.
“You look fantastic, Aurélie,” I said.
“But there are ones for a man, too. Why don’t you take off your shirt and put them on?”
It’s not as if I didn’t want to be doing this, but a little voice in my head said that I should act like a grown-up and get back to business.
“Aurélie, don’t you have other appointments you should be getting to?”
“No, I’m free all afternoon. And I’d really like to learn what this is all about. Is it all jouets de sexe?”
I explained that we’d call it in English “bondage gear” mostly, and that it was used for BDSM.
“I’ve heard BDSM,” she said. “One of my friends said she did it at a party, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was about. So tell me, please.”
I explained that I didn’t have personal experience, but I’d read about it and seen some films.
“So you and your wife don’t BDSM?” She looked surprised. And she was using BDSM like a verb.
“No. It stands for bondage and domination and sadism and masochism.”
She was unbuttoning my shirt as I said this. I went along with her whim and took off my shirt. She put on the collar and then the cuffs. Then she stood back and admired her work.
“See in the mirror! You look great! We match! But you say ‘domination.’ So who dominates who? If one dominates, why would both have collars?”
“Well, it’s all a game. And there are roles, and people can switch from dominant to submissive—the sub, or slave—and then reverse. But, of course, both a man and a woman could be submissive at the same time to some other person…”
“Let’s play! You dominate, and I’ll be your slave. What do you make me do?”
I didn’t want to go too far, so I tried to find something rather innocent.
“Aurélie, put your hands on my hips and then lick and kiss my chest.”
Without hesitation, she came up close to me, so close that I felt her nipples rubbing against my abdomen. An electric shock passed through my whole body. Then she moved back slightly and bent down and gave little kisses all over my chest. And then she licked and kissed my left nipple and then my right. By now my erection was at 90%. Without being asked, she pressed herself fully against me. As she did, she could feel my swollen cock through my dress slacks.
“Dieu! Tu bandes! (God, you’re hard!).
There was no way to disguise the truth.
“Well, Aurélie, that’s the whole point of the game. It’s to get aroused. Does that bother you?”
“Monsieur Green—can I call you Robert?—it does not bother me at all, because I am very aroused too. We are both playing the game, and it is working! What do we do now?”
“Shouldn’t we stop?” I said. “After all, I am married and your father owns the agency…”
“But no one will know, Robert! We are alone. We have the afternoon. And we have all these toys.”
She was right. This was the chance of a lifetime. If we were both careful, we could have a good time.
“For the next step, we’ll need to get out of our clothes. Or, at least, since I’m dominant, I should tell you to take off your shoes and your slacks.”
Apparently, in her convent education, she had learned to follow orders to the letter. She kicked off her shoes, undid her belt, button, and zipper, and pulled off her blue slacks. She stood in front of me, beaming, and asked, “How do I look?”
She had splendid legs. I asked her to turn around, and saw her nicely full butt. When she turned back towards me, I noticed the wet spot on her panties.
“Now, esclave, push your hand down inside your panties and touch yourself.”
She looked serious for a moment, and then her hand slipped past the waistband and disappeared. Her fingers did their magic, and she closed her eyes and was quiet. I let her go for about a minute.
“How does it feel?” I asked.
“It feels sinful,” she said. “So good! I learned in school that every time you make yourself feel good, it’s a sin.”
“Do you often sin, Aurélie?” I asked.
“Yes, every night. But no one has ever seen me like this—until now.”
