A PARISIAN DANCE
by P J Perryman
I knew him during those hot bohemian days before the war. Pleasure was our sole pastime then, for the sound of jack boots on the Champs Elysees had yet to pollute the air. Elegant women in bonnets and tweed strolled through the cobbled streets by day, drinking wine in the street cafes, idly passing the hours in the midst of gossip and scandal.
By night we floated gracefully through the ballrooms of Paris, dressed in fine silk and satin, spinning in merry circles on highly-polished marble floors. Night after night we waltzed while dreaming of passion and falling in love.
One night in particular, drunk with youth and more than a little champagne, I slipped away from the ballroom and headed for the great library, the promise of a little quiet, and a large, comfortable chair. The music faded as I closed the great oak door. Once it was shut, I lowered my head to its great panels and breathed in the scent of the aged wood. A tiny giggle escaped my lips as I thought of the young men who tried to woo me, who sought me and badgered me for my attention. Thus far, I’d succumbed to none of them.
A familiar voice startled me out of my girlish fantasies. “Ah, Gabrielle. There I was, thinking about you. Now, here you are.”
I turned to see Enri sitting in the very chair I sought. The owner of the house was dressed formerly in a dinner jacket, which he wore well, having a natural ease and certain je ne sais quoi. He smoked a cigar, which he held loosely in one hand propped on the arm of the chair, careless of where the ash fell. I lowered my eyes and stared at the dense weave of the patterned carpet and felt the blood rush to my cheeks which burned hotter than any fire. I never knew why he affected me so, but my mouth was so dry that I was unable to greet him as a well-bred lady should.
Enri studied me, and I was helpless under his gaze. “I watched you in the ballroom,” Enri said. The edge of his mouth curled slightly — was he laughing at me? “You have a lot of admirers.”
Any response was lost in my throat. I took a timid step into the room, my eyes darting about, seeking many things and seeing nothing. I wanted to look at him, but I was afraid to do so.
He smiled and laid his cigar on a nearby ashtray. “Sit down.” Enri motioned to the armchair opposite him by the fire.
My legs were suddenly pillars of lead, not the freely spinning dancers of minutes before. “I should go,” I said while starting to turn away.
“No, wait. Come and talk to me.”
I was powerless to resist his invitation. Enri brought his hands together, the tips of his fingers balanced under his chin. I sat across from him, my legs tight as though they were bound together, while I was lost in a no-man’s land between comfort and awkwardness. I waited for him to speak, saying nothing.
“Brandy?” he said.
“I don’t drink it.”
“Oh, but you will with me.” He didn’t wait for my answer, but poured two glasses from the decanter on the table beside him. I squeezed the rough fabric of the armchair as I sat stiffly, and hoped I wouldn’t embarrass myself; the last time I drank brandy it made me sick.
He leaned over and put the glass in my hand. “Drink,” Enri said. I took a tiny sip and the warm liquid instantly set my tongue on fire. I looked down as my eyes began to water.
But Enri saw everything. “Drink it all,” he said.
Trembling, I brought the glass to my lips, drinking the brandy so quickly that it barely touched my lips. I coughed a little as the alcohol set my stomach alight.
Enri didn’t laugh. Instead he rose and took the glass from my hand. “Do you have a lover?” he asked. The question took me by surprise “I’m thinking not,” he continued. “And yet...”
The “And yet” piqued my curiosity. Enri was much older than I — he had the assurance of age, but the swank of a much younger man to go with it, and I hung on his every word.
Enri walked behind me. I heard him step over to the door, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. My heart began to pound in my chest and I put my hand to my bodice, afraid of what he’d say or do next. “And yet, there is something about you, Gabrielle, something I’ve seen in your eyes. There’s a darkness to them, a depth, and — if may I say so — a hint of passion, as well.”
“Enri, you shouldn’t say such things.” In spite of my own words, I didn’t want him to stop speaking to me. A decent woman would not sit alone in a locked room with an older man, but I stayed anyway.
He walked to the patio doors that opened onto a private verandah. I studied his frame, silhouetted against the dark Parisian sky. It seemed like he withdrew a little into himself while looking at to the horizon. “They say a war is coming, Gabrielle.” He took a drink of his brandy, swirling the warm vintage around in his glass, a sort of echo to the tempest that was yet to come. Enri’s head snapped back, breaking his reverie, and he walked back to the fireplace and to me.
“Perhaps tonight is not the time to talk of war.” In one swift movement he drained the brandy from his glass and set it down on the mantelpiece. Enri stood over me, staring down at my tiny frame that was nearly lost in the mass of armchair. He took my hand and lifted it to his mouth.
“Do I frighten you?” His eyes held me as I felt the coolness of his lips against my bare skin.
“No,” I said, surprised at how low my voice became. “No Enri, I’m not afraid of you.”
“Can I trust you?”
The heat that never left my cheeks flared up again, and my eyelids lowered as I considered my answer. “Yes,” I said, though the words faltered in my mouth.
“Drink your brandy.”
I could refuse him nothing, and once again I took the warm spirit to my mouth, prepared to sip again.
“All of it,” he said.
I poured the hot liquid straight down my throat, feeling my head spin a little as the brandy mixed in my belly along with the champagne I’d already imbibed earlier that evening.
Enri lowered himself to his knees in front of me, and took the glass from my hand. He was so close to me. I could smell the lingering aroma of his cigar, entwined with mellow brandy and fabric starch. His smell was as intoxicating to me; his closeness excited me.
“You’re a curious thing,” Enri said, his voice only a whisper. His hands touched my ankles, and he gently stroked his fingers along the curve of the bones. I should have cursed his name and fled from the room, but I couldn’t. A new fire was inside of me, burning as bright as the brandy in an unmentionable place, and I had no desire to extinguish its flames.
As Enri’s hands gently caressed along the line of my calves, I shuddered at his touch. I‘d never known such delicious pleasure and I stiffened and pushed willingly against his exploring fingertips. Enri smiled and pushed the silk folds of my gown up and over my knees, exposing the pink lace of my garter. This seemed to excite him, and he lowered his head between my knees, kissing the crevice on each side.
I pushed back in the seat. I could now hear the music faintly playing in the background on the other side of the locked door. “Please, stop,” I whispered. “Someone may come.”
Enri stopped his kisses and though his hands still caressed my thighs, he eyes sought mine. “My darling, I will stop whenever you wish me to stop. But you don’t want me too … not really.”
“No, I don’t want you to stop,” I confessed.
“I could sense you wanting me as I watched you dancing.” Enri kissed the top of one knee, and then the other. “But if you are to have me, you must prove to me that you’re a good girl.”
I gasped in surprise. “How can I prove this?” I asked.
“Have you ever had a man before?”
“No,” I answered, and it was the truth. “I kissed the gardener’s son, Jean-Phillipe, when I was fourteen, but that’s all.”
A dark shadow crossed Enri’s face. He pushed himself up off the floor and towered over me. His eyes had turned cold. Now he looked at me as if I were some kind of whore, his excitement transformed into pure disgust. “I tho
ught you were pure,” Enri said. The coldness in his words broke me, and I was suddenly aware of how exposed I was.
I leaned forward to push my raised skirts back down my legs. “I’m sorry,” I said. I felt awkward, no longer a desirable woman but a silly child who’d disappointed the man she adored. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and must have looked like a piteous thing, not worthy of his time or attention.
“Hush,” Enri said. “You did wrong to kiss Jean-Phillipe. You should have saved yourself for me.”
It occurred to me that this was an unrealistic expectation but I was at a loss at how to express myself. A few moments ago he’d desired me, and that moment was gone, but now his approval was all that mattered to me in the whole world — not Jean-Phillipe, not the dance, not the war, not anything. “What can I do to make you forgive me?”
Enri took a moment to reflect, and then he took my hand again, urging me to my feet. “Come.” We walked away from the light of the fire and into a dark corner of the library. Enri kept an old fashioned chaise-longue in that corner and he led me there now. I thought we’d sit down on it together, but as we approached he turned me to face it, and leaned close behind me, pressing against my body. I felt his breath at the nape of my neck. His closeness excited me.
“You promised me earlier I could trust you. Do you swear it?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Do you love me, Gabrielle?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Enri. I do.”
“Then bend down, and hold onto the chair.”
This request surprised me, but I’d just promised him he could trust me, and I desperately wanted to earn that trust, so I did exactly as he instructed. I felt strange and uncomfortable with my silk-covered backside facing up at him.
I felt Enri right behind me. He did nothing for a moment, but took his time and kept me waiting. I was going to be a good girl and not disappoint him, even though I could feel my face burning from shame. Then I felt his hand raise the soft silk fabric, and reams of material were tossed over my head, exposing my bare behind.
“You have no undergarments,” Enri said. “That is good.” I felt his fingers trace a line up the back of my thigh which sent ripples of passion through my young body. Curious, afraid and excited, I spread my legs a little apart for him, but when he got to my womanhood he didn’t penetrate me as I expected he would. Instead his hand came away from my skin and I felt an almighty crack as he spanked my exposed cheeks.
“What the—!”
“Silence!” Enri said. “You promised I could trust you, and your first words are words of complaint?”
“I’m sorry,” I whimpered. “I hadn’t expected you to slap me.”
“And I will continue until you’ve been properly punished for your transgression. If you don’t like it, Gabrielle, get dressed and take your sullied virtue back to the party. But if you love me, as you say you do, you will allow me to admonish you as I see fit. It is your choice, moncher. If you go, we shall never speak of this again, and I will never love you.”
I fell squarely onto my arms, my backside still raised as I considered his statement. I knew when I’d walked into this library that I might find him here, and if I was honest with myself, in my heart I’d hoped I would. This was not how I’d imagined our romance would commence, and I was confused. But the fire in my womanhood burned with such an intensity, and I knew that I wanted him, and only him, to conquer me.
I lifted the weight of my upper body back onto my arms and braced myself for what was to come. “Punish me as you see fit, Enri.” I said.
This time when his palm collided with my skin I didn’t cry out. Instead, I steadied my feet and spread my legs further to gain better balance. His slaps became harder and more focused, and then he paused for a moment, stepping away to fetch something from a nearby shelf. I heard the whizz in the air as a riding crop cut through the darkness, stinging the raw skin of my buttocks and thighs, and though the pain ripped through me like lightening, I refused to cry out. Three times the crop sliced the air, each swing harder than the first, and my rear cheeks burned with an intensity and pain I’d never felt before.
I felt his cool hand tracing his handiwork, feeling for the welts as they rose on my bottom. Ever so tenderly his hand caressed me while his fingertips circled closer and closer to my center, until at last they were drawn in by the heat of my vulva. Eager fingers explored the folds of skin that protected me, and he was soon coated in my wetness. I could hear the faint slippery ooze of my wet self, declaring my natural readiness for his more intimate ministrations.
Skilled fingers played and coaxed with my secret hair and then, sliding along the cleft, toyed with the small button at the crown of my vulva. The digits circled and flicked the hungry nub, then slid down and penetrated into the dark chasm directly below. I groaned in pleasure as my lover pushed gently inside me, and then moistened by my lust, he returned to taunt my wanton clit.
“Say you want me,” Enri whispered.
“I want you inside me.” I told him in a sigh. My breathing was now labored, and I struggled for breath under the mound of fabric that covered my head.
A pair of hands pulled down my dress before gently pulling at my hips, and I was turned around to face him. Enri’s mouth was pressed to mine and his tongue caressed me in ways Jean-Phillipe had never dreamed of. I knew I was not Enri’s first lover, but even I was surprised at the ease with which he disrobed me. As folds of silk tumbled to the floor, I soon stood naked before him, bereft of all except my white silk stockings — the sight of them seemed to please him immensely.
A ravenous mouth slipped down to my breast and in an instant consumed a nipple. He sucked me like an infant, and then I felt his teeth circle it before he bit down hard. I stifled my cry, afraid this might displease him, and didn’t resist as one hand cupped my breast as if forcing all of me into his greedy mouth. The other hand sought my clitoris and began to circle there with a rushed, almost violent urgency. He sucked one breast then the other until my nipples were red-raw, and all the while his hand turned and turned below.
At last, I could feel my desire burn to climax, and standing there in front of him I cried out. In an instant his mouth was on mine, consuming the very scream before it escaped my lips, drinking my release and drawing power from it, supporting me as my very legs gave way, not allowing me to surrender to my desire to fall.
I thought he’d take me then, but this was Enri’s game, and he wasn’t ready for the finale yet. Thus far he’d remained fully clothed. Now, he pushed me back gently on the chaise-longue and I felt the soft velvet cushions brush against my naked behind. I rubbed the fabric with my fingers, unsure of what to do with my hands. They were not idle for long.
“Suck me, hard.” Enri placed his hard cock to my mouth. The smell of him surprised me, and my mouth closed shut, afraid to take him in.
“You said I could trust you,” Enri said. There was a menace in his voice, and I knew the riding crop was lying nearby, concealed from my sight. It’d be unwise to fail him now. He took my jaw in his hand, and at his touch I relaxed a little and took his throbbing manhood into my open mouth. I tasted the saltiness of his skin, and my tongue probed curiously, mapping out its image in the darkness.
The skin at the tip seemed strange and leathery, like the inside of a mushroom, and my tongue swept over it, discovering a tiny chasm which I immediately knew was the eye. Gently, Enri guided me along the length of him, running his hands gently through my black curls, and I began to learn what pleased him the most. I lifted my hands to the mass of curls that surrounded his shaft, and then cupped his balls in my hand, applying the slightest of pressure, hoping this would pleasure him more. I was rewarded for my trouble by a deep groan and he pushed deeper into my mouth, until my nose grazed his firm thighs. His rhythm intensified, and I sensed his climax was close.
“Very good, Gabrielle,” Enri cried through gritted teeth, and I thought perhaps his release would come then, because I tasted a change in
my mouth. The throbbing shaft of his cock grew thicker and harder, and then he pulled away and climbed on top of me. He balanced with one hand while the other spread my own thighs apart, and once again, his fingers sought out the wetness at the heart of me once again.
He was mine now. I fell back on the wide chair and spread myself open to him. “I want you so badly, Enri,” I said. I loved the smell of him, the age of him, and in the pit of my womb I needed him to enter me and make me his. Impatiently I waited as his free hand guided his manhood into me, and I gasped in the delight of fulfillment as his cock entered me for the first time. I closed my eyes and felt the intensity of his entry, almost as powerful as the release I’d just experienced, and I pulled his body tight against me, communicating my need in the most primitive way.
“I want you,” I gasped. Every thrust felt like a caress and every groan bound us together. His lips sought mine, and at first his embrace was delicate, as if he prolonged the enjoyment of a fine wine. My hands clawed at the muscles of his back, willing him ever deeper into me, pushing him down to milk the organ of his love. I clenched the muscles of my womb, thinking only of how to please him, and yet pleasing myself immensely at the same time.
Enri rolled on his side, and pulling me to his chest, entered me from behind. At first he arched away and admired the view as his manhood pushed in and out of me. Then I felt a hand cross over my thigh, and once again those expert fingers sought my clitoris and played their little dance.
“I want you to come again, my love,” Enri whispered. “I want you to think of me inside you, fucking you, and how soon I’ll fill you up with my seed. Think only of your clitoris, your womb, and my cock inside you. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes, my love,” I hissed. “I’ll do anything you tell me too.” And at that moment it was easy to comply with his request. I closed my eyes to all thoughts except his touch, the electric tingles he sent through my nub. My mind was transported to a strange place, where only the physical demonstration of our love existed. I imagined him fucking me in every room I’d ever entered, in every position my mind had heard of, and yes, once again I felt the whip of the crop on my bare backside, his cock inside me all the while. Our tongues, hands, and bodies entwined as they danced as once in the most natural dance of all. In this explosion of fantasy I was quickly brought back to arousal, but this time I had Enri’s cock inside me and I cried out in ecstasy at the sensation of it.
A Spank in Time Page 4
