O-a Little Later

As O had been speaking I had been watching her face, and the body language that went with her story. My hand had been on her breast, playing with her long, firm nipple, enjoying the movement of her breathing. I had risen a couple of times to put more of the sweet apple wood in the fireplace and had changed the tape reel.

The day was moving into afternoon, with a fine cloud cover softening the sunlight. I made her stand, which she did slowly, as she had been kneeling in an uncomfortable position for over an hour as her amazing tale had unfolded from her lips.

"Come here, present your breasts to me." She pushed them towards my mouth, until my lips could suck in their tip. My hands pressed around one and I sucked in as much as my mouth could take- she sighed and her head went back in rapture as she pushed forward more to ease my use of her. My left hand went to her skirt, found the slit, went inside to feel her wet lips. Her crest rose and firmed to my touch. I ran my fingertip on the rough scar of the damaged lip, wondering what the original had looked like.

"Was there a photo of your rings? I am curious, to see how they looked on you." I admired the wetness on her breast that was close to my face. There was something odd about the nipple near my eye- had it been pierced at some time? The bodice had a small gusset that supported her breasts and pushed them outward. I wondered if the bodice was over a corset- her waist was small enough for this to be true.

"I want to take you to bed now. Where is it?" She drew in her breath and stood more erect. She moved smoothly, like a dancer, towards the door to the study where I had used her body previously.

"Suivez-moi, s'il vous plait, monsieur" she asked and glided through that room to a short hallway, where she opened a door on the left. She went to the large iron-framed bed opposite the door, where she turned down the covers and lit the small ornate lamp beside the bed. The drapes were partly drawn and the room was dim. She stood beside the bed, awaiting instruction. Her eyes were cast down, but her breath was coming quickly and her face and chest showed a pink glow.

"Hang this up, then I need to use your toilet. Where is it?" She took the jacket I gave her and put it in the closet that was behind the door. She gestured for me to go through the door on the side wall, where a bathroom was, with a large tub and a Turkish-style squat toilet. Between the bath and toilet were a bidet and a hand basin, all with ornate turn of the century plumbing fittings, robust and likely to last several lifetimes, but not pretty or feminine in any sense.

She knelt beside the toilet and took a small towel from a shelf nearby. I was a little surprised at this, but went along for now. The difficulty of using this type of toilet was perplexing me, when she softly murmured, "My Master usually passed water in the bidet, monsieur. Forgive my suggestion". I thanked her for her timely advice and did so, with relief. She then reached out with the towel and dried my member, taking time to ensure it was thoroughly done. She then used the tapware expertly to clean the bowl. I was becoming a little aroused again, then remembered a phrase from the book.

"I would like you to remove your dress and hang it up, then come and use the toilet. Are you wearing a corset?" She nodded so I said "keep it on, for the moment, please." She rustled through the door to comply and I followed to see how she would be revealed to me. The dress was unhooked with a small difficulty at the side, coming free from her body with ease once unfastened. She placed it over a valet stand where a man's suit would normally rest. As she stood straight again I drew in my breath. Truly this was a magnificent woman, the years had not diminished her glory. Her legs were slim and firm, with narrow ankles, enhanced by the slight heels on her shoes. Her hips were like a violin's and her bosom was an artist's dream. Between was a very narrow black satin corset, tight and shiny. Her waist was narrower than the dress had shown and the skin at its upper and lower edges was clearly under stress.

Her breasts still stood proudly, I was pleased, as childbirth and feeding can take their toll. She walked proudly past me, though her eyes remained downcast. I went to sit on the edge of the bath and watched as she squatted on the toilet. She was slow to begin her stream, and blushed fiercely as she eventually drained her bladder. I passed her the small towel, which she used and cast into a hamper. She went to the basin, where she found a small vial into which she dipped her longest finger and touched it expertly to her anus. She then washed her hands well and dried them on another small towel.

The complete submission that she showed was enhanced by the clear signs of shame and humiliation that were visible on her skin. She could hide nothing, privacy was only for the free, not her. That she still had shame was a small surprise to me, considering her story so far.

She walked before me to the bed, where I asked her to lie back and spread her thighs. As she did so I took off my trousers and placed them on the chair near the bed. My shirt and underwear followed. I undid the clasps on her shoes, which I threw across the room; "you must be completely naked for me, when the word is given to you". She nodded and did not ask about the corset. I turned her as I looked closely at her sex. The scarred lip was ugly, with a ragged edge that hung below the other, yet it was of healthy flesh. Her pubic hair was a very dark brown, reflecting that on her head. Her armpits were also furnished with hair, a French style that would be sad if lost.

I inhaled her scent- strongly sexual and heavy with pheromones, yet I could still smell the perfume she must have applied those hours before when she prepared herself for me. What a gift she was offering me. On every visible centimetre of skin were those tiny silvery lines from years of whippings. A tempting thought grew in me. I buried my face in her vulva, sucking that wounded lip into my mouth as she began to move her hips beneath me. I nibbled at her lips then worked to her clitoris, while pushing a pair of fingers inside her. My lips, then my teeth began work on her swollen crest of flesh, drawing rising moans and gasps from her mouth.

I added a third finger, she was so wet and slippery that it went without in without much resistance, and gained a stronger, higher moan from her mouth. I withdrew my fingers again, the fourth finger had to be driven in more firmly, her muscles were tightening to resist me, yet there was no real attempt to defy me.

I lifted my head to improve my ability to work harder on her body with my hand. On the far side of her bed, on the wall were arranged the tools of her torture three whips and a crop, as placed by Sir Stephen those many years ago. I was shocked, and stopped my work- could this place be the very same apartment as that in the book? Then I looked closer and saw that the handles were hung from an ornate rack, in the same art nouveau style that many of the apartment's fittings used, rather than the nails mentioned in the 'Story'. Maybe not so, then. My temptations flowered violently at the sight of them and a decision began to take root in me.

I removed my hand, which had penetrated her to the base of my thumb. Her sex was so slippery yet tight that I felt that further exploration would leave my hand in discomfort. My member was in need of her body's sensation- I made her move to her hands and knees, a little further down the bed. I lay flat on my back and drew her mouth to my sex, which she hungrily accepted in those sensual lips. She had great skill and experience, yet I had other intents. I grabbed the back of her neck and drove her mouth on to my shaft, driving for the back of her throat. She struggled a little and gagged, yet did not resist me, accepting her role, as of long experience. The tightness of her had me quickly approaching my crisis, but I withdrew before completion.

I grabbed her head again and drew her up to kiss her mouth deeply. She seemed shocked and breathless, yet opened willingly. When I had finished exploring her with my tongue I moved around and drove myself deep in her vagina. She was still tight, despite my forcing of that path just minutes before. I could feel her muscles grip me firmly- whether from training or sheer talent I did not care at that moment. Her anus glistened and moved sensually as I worked, so I drove two fingers in there, made easy by her addition of lubricant. Her moans deepened at this and her hips worked more wildly. The spasms in her vagina brought me to completion, with several groans and shuddering in my muscles. I pushed her flat on the bed and kept my penis inside her as I lay on her. My sex softened and slipped from her.

Our sweat was soaking into the sheets, as was the fluid her vulva had emitted at the point of her pleasure. My hands were drawn to her breasts again, to tweak and squeeze them. As I became more forceful and drove my fingers deeper in the flesh she moved so they were pressing more into my hands. Though there must have been pain for her, she seemed to relish it.

"Now I want to know about your photography at Samois. What was the process when a girl came there and what were your photos like?" I had abandoned the idea of recording her words- the story was so memorable that the tape was superfluous.

She responded by asking if she might show me the results, rather than speaking about it. I agreed, then let her rise from the bed. She reached into the closet and drew out a robe which she held out to me. The air was cooling as the afternoon was getting later, so I was glad of it. She also must have sensed that I did not want to dress again yet, as I was not done with her for this day. Her skin still shone with sweat which was rapidly cooling though her upper thighs were still moist.

She led me back to the room with the fire, which had burned low, yet held its warmth. She added two logs to the fire and it soon increased its output of heat.

She asked me if I would like to eat, and I realised I was very hungry. She pressed a hidden bell, and soon an old woman's head came through the door. She briefly ordered a light meal with fruit to follow. The woman withdrew silently.

O went through another door and returned shortly with a large art folio, which seemed heavy. She laid it with care on a larger table, and opened the cover. Inside were large prints of monochrome photographs. I moved over to look closer, as she stroked the images, although she took care to only touch the edges.

The first photo was of O herself, as a young woman, leaning back with her buttocks on the edge of a table, which pushed her pelvis forward, exposing her vulva which was shaved. Her rings were clearly revealed, brutal irons, thicker than I had imagined and larger in diameter. A finger could easily be hooked into them, the two oval rings that ended in a silver disc. It was not possible to read the inscription, though the crossed whip and crop motif were discernible. The quality of the print was of the finest, the clarity and framing were superb so every fold and surface of her body was beautifully visible, yet without harshness.

The striking thing about the photo was not the brutality of the rings forced through the most sensitive, intimate part of a beautiful girl, but her expression of rapturous submission. Her eyes were downcast, her lips moistly ajar and her hands together out of sight behind her, whether tied or not was moot. Her breasts were proffered forward, her nipples proud. Any man would seize and possess her just from that expression alone.

"This shows my irons, taken a few months after they were fixed to me. This picture was added to my file at Roissy." I gazed at her younger form until the door opened and the older woman silently glided in on felt slippers, carrying a tray with petit-fours, pastry and a steaming quiche. "Would you like a drink, monsieur?" O said, I asked for café au lait. The woman seemed unaware or unconcerned by the nudity of her mistress and the obscenity of the photo clearly visible on the table. She vanished again, and O cut the quiche then passed me a dish with several delicious items. I was starving- it had been a long time since breakfast. I ate while wondering what the images within the folio might show me.

As I ate, she stood to one side and made no move towards the food. I put my plate down and put a few items on a dish. I took a petit-four on my palm and offered it to her mouth. She ate it gratefully and kissed my palm. I offered her more and she also devoured it. I poured a glass of water for her and gave it to her. Her hands stayed behind her as she drank.

I think there may be one more chapter to come, thanks for the support, folks. Glad you have found this to your taste.