"What time should I arrive?"
"I'll pick you up at 6 PM precisely." The corporal pointed at a clock on the mantelpiece.
"Yes, very good. Yes, I have seen the clock."
"That's good then," said the sergeant. "Oh, and one more thing. It might be a good idea to close all the latches on your windows at night. And double bolt the door. There is an insane asylum not far away and they have reported the escape of one of the inmates."
"Oh dear," said Janice. "That's disturbing news."
"I shouldn't worry too much. One's that are truly dangerous are mostly guillotined now." The sergeant made a quick slash across his throat. He then made an evil leer, which crunched up the scars of his face so that they looked like cracked sandpaper.
She cleared her throat. "I thank you both for the warning. And perhaps you can also tell me how I can take care of myself in this dangerous country of France."
"Oh yes, that's right!" said Debussy. "You aren't from these shores. That's what Murat told us." He cocked a thumb back at Thomas. "The corporal here--he's not of these shores either."
"Oh? Where are you from, Thom--I mean, corporal?"
"Please. Call me Thomas," answered the corporal. "I am from the United States. Virginia, in fact."
Oh yes! Well, that explained it, didn't it!
And it hit her.
"So that means... You know English!"
"I do, ma'am," said Thomas in English. "And I do enjoy talking it."
"You must excuse me, but being where I am from, that is a language I learned. And I do enjoy speaking it!" said Janice.
The sergeant raised a thick, greasy eyebrow. "I sure enough know that talk as well, woman!" he snapped.
Her head shot back.
How did this soldier know English. And American English at that!
"Of course!' she said. "Forgive me, sergeant. You must have served... in the American Revolutionary War."
His eyes glittered like agates. He held up his hook. "You see this hook, Janice?" he said in French. "Blown off by a British cannon. But by God, my saber made short work of the cannoneers." He pointed over at the corporal. "Thomas here--he was an indentured servant I liberated and who taught me English. Fifteen years old he was and never was there a finer soldier in the American Revolutionary war!"
Thomas smiled sheepishly. "I did my best. And in return the sergeant taught me his lovely language."
"French! French! Is there a more beautiful language," said the sergeant. "There are so many ways, Janice, to make love in French." He leaned over and with his good hand, grabbed and squeezed her left breast. He let go with another leer and a wink. "Well then, I am assured that the meal tonight will be fine. And there will be others there for Thomas's food. They always come for Thomas's food.
Thomas, for his part, had seemed to not even notice the fondling of the breast.
He merely smiled at Janice, looking eager to please.
"I do hope you will enjoy it."
Janice was bemused.
"I'm sure I will. Thank you... for the invitation!"
"Right," said Sergeant Debussy. "We've got rounds to make. Soldiers' asses to kick. Corporal! Harch!"
The smile left the corporal's face and he spun around and marched out the door.
The sergeant turned around and smiled lecherously at Janice. "Delicious." He licked his lips. "Absolutely delicious!"
And then, with the help of his crutch, he hobbled off into the bright daylight, chuckling throatily to himself.
CHAPTER THREE
"Janice," said the young college student of the 21st Century. "Janice, I've got a surprise for you."
Janice jumped up, surprised. She'd been bent over a French book absorbed in some very nice philosophical poetry. "What's up?"
"Me, soon!"
"Huh?"
His name was Walter. Walter Michaels. He was a good-looking, fresh-faced Kansas kid, towheaded, brown hair and sparkling green eyes. Hint of freckles. He wasn't into French or any kind of languages. He wasn't much into studies. He was into partying. That was why he was in the Alpha Phi Psi fraternity, which was why he had his own room. Where they were now. Janice liked it because of the privacy and because his upper window overlooked some lovely elms and a very pretty part of the state university campus. Quiet, during the day--nights were often raucous with beer parties and such--but then she could retreat to the library or her dorm for study or television or whatever.
Now, Walter held out a bag. It was colorful, with circles and squares. It was labeled ‘PLATO'S PLAYBOX’.
"Look what I got, Janice," he said. His eyes shone with enthusiasm. "I was thinking about wrapping these up and giving them to you with a bow on top. But I kinda like the way this looks now, you know, and there are a few things and you can just dip your hand in and take them out one by one."
She found her bookmark and placed it in the book, spun round in the desk chair and had a closer look at the bag.
"Plato's Playbox! That's a sex store!"
"Duh."
"So... Does this mean you want me to have sex with you?"
"Duh."
"But I do have sex with you already."
He laughed. "Yeah. And it's not exactly vanilla sex, I've started to notice. Man me--just poke a nipple on a pretty girl in my face and I'm happy."
"I've noticed."
"But you--you like things a bit... different."
"You've noticed."
He laughed. "So start. Pick out something."
She'd been dating him all semester after meeting him at a party at the beginning of the year. She was focussing on studying, and he was cute, so when she figured she sort of liked him and that he had this nice room in a cool frat house, she figured that this was the guy where she could park her pussy for a while. Her first year had been just hook-ups, and got boring. By having a sort of boyfriend, she could get away from any kind of drama and even dressing up much and just relax into getting the stuff of college done with a few laughs and beers along the way.
Walter offered her the bag.
It was a big bag. She reached in and felt around. She felt something hard and metallic and cold and her curiosity piqued, so she pulled it out.
In a moment it dangled before them.
"Handcuffs!" she said.
"Yep."
"Hmmm," she said, not commenting.
She reached inside and rummaged around a bit more.
She pulled out something that was silky and long.
"A blindfold!"
"Yep!"
She put this on the bed beside where she'd placed the handcuffs. "Okay!" she said, laughing. She could almost feel her eyes sparkle. This just could be fun. Certainly it was a surprise from Walter, who tended to just get drunk on Budweiser, roll on top of her, stick his cock inside her and then hump all night.
All night wasn't bad. And he was cute. But this... this looked really interesting. In truth, she knew about her sexual proclivities, but she was simply so involved, so into her French studies that everything else was eaten up by it.
"Take a look at this one."
He brought out a chain. On either end of the chain were attached what looked like the sort of things her mother kept potato chip bags fresh with, only a bit smaller.
"What are those?" she asked, fascinated.
"Clamps. Nipple clamps!" he said.
"Oh my god. This is really decadent!"
"You bet--and there's more."
"Just a minute, Walter. This all cost money. You're a college student. I know your Mom and Dad give you an allowance so you don't have to have a part-time job or anything--but where did you get the money for this?"
He laughed. "Poker game last night! It got a little crazy and we started making big bets," he said. "I probably wouldn't have gone up on my full house as much as I did, but I was drinking cognac that Eric had brought so I was lit higher than a big fat candle."
"Full house!"
"Queens over sixes... but it won!"
"Jeez!'
; "So you get dinner out on me tonight, Janice." He grinned. "That is, if you would be so kind as to submit to my hairy and overwhelming..." He breathed out the last words like Peter Lorre on pills. "...Neeeeeeeds."
"Oh. Help! Save me! Where is my shining knight?"
He slapped her on her jeans. "Door is locked, bitch. You want to get out? I give you another--across your face."
She got a serious buzz off of that.
Between her legs there was a definite wetness growing, a slow warm seep.
"Okay, okay. So what else?"
"Yes, there's more--but I want you to beg for it. First, bitch..." He seemed to be a bit uncomfortable about calling her that, which was rather, well... sweet. "I want you to get into bed!"
She got up and went over to the bed. Easy.
"I'm in bed."
"Uh--Yes. Yes you are! But you aren't... right."
"Right?"
"Hey--don't confuse me. You're supposed to take it..." He went over and put the bag on the desk. Below the desk there was a small fridge. He opened this and took out a can of Bud.
Popped it open and drank. Did not offer one.
"Okay, that's better," said Walter. "Take off... Take off those jeans for a start."
"Yes, I will," she said.
She pulled off the jeans. It wasn't super easy as they were kind of tight. Wintertime she tended to put on a few pounds.
"Okay, okay," he said. The shirt."
She pulled off her sweatshirt.
"Okay. Now... Now the bra!"
She was wearing a really ordinary white bra today, not lacy or anything. For some reason, though, he really liked that one, especially lately. He said he liked the way her boobs bunched up at the top and seemed to want to kind of spill over. She waggled them a bit toward him playfully.
"Slut!" he said.
"I suppose so," she answered.
"You'd like me to kiss those--uhm--sexy bags--uhm--wouldn't you?"
"Sexy bags! What--"
"Sorry. Better than ‘Dirty Pillows’."
"What, like in CARRIE--Stephen King. Jesus. No I'm not menstruating and no, I have no supernatural powers."
"Actually, weren't they PK powers?"
"PK powers?
"I mean, CARRIE was kinda science fiction then, wasn't it?"
"Look. I'm showing you my breasts for a fucking reason and it isn't to discuss stupid horror novels!"
"Silence--slut!'
"That's better."
"Take off that obscene halter and let me see your tits. Whore!"
"Okay. But if I'm a whore--what do I get?"
"I spent--jeez, come on. Play along. You get a dinner okay?"
She patted his cute cheek. Then she reached down to the fastener of the bra.
The thing was off in a moment, and her breasts swung free. Walter looked down at them as he always did, as though there were the eighth and ninth wonders of world. That was nice, but he kind of skipped a beat in the bondage play. As far as he could guess anyway. There was supposed to be a patter here, right?
"Don't. Please. Oh please, don't sully me with your--evil."
That woke him up.
"Yeah. Right. Okay. So here we go. Here's what happens next. Roll over."
"You mean get down on the bed and roll over?"
"That's kind of what I meant, yeah."
"Okay." She made sure her puppies yapped and wiggled a bit before she got down on the bed and rolled over onto her stomach. "Right?"
"Good. Now put your hands behind your back."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes--uhm... Master!" He seemed to pull the word out of thin air, as though he'd just invented it.
She obeyed, putting her hands on her bare back.
He knelt on the bed and started fumbling with them, drawing them together and fooling with the clanking handcuffs.
"You do have a key for those, don't you?"
"Silence, slut!"
"Yes, Master."
In fact, when he got the cold metal bands wrapped around her wrists, there was no problem whatsoever about shutting up. She liked the feel! She liked the cold feel of them, the demanding, certain feel of them as they clamped over her wrists. He pushed against her back as he tried to get them fastened and when he bore down, some of the air pushed out of her lungs and she liked it. She got a bit dizzy. She felt as though she was on some sort of strange and delicious trip.
Finally, the cuffs clicked home.
"There! Bitch! You can't move now. You are in my power!"
She didn't say anything. She just lay there, limply.
"So... well, try and get out of those cuffs!" said Walter.
She was just lying there, reflecting. These cuffs... They felt fantastic!
Hard and powerful. Cold and clean. She visualized what it might be like to have them stuck on her wrists... And she was intrigued and thrilled with the idea.
"You've got bedposts," she said, eagerly.
"Yeah, but I sure as hell don't want to break the bed. Besides, there's only one set of cuffs."
"So what--" She laughed. "Handcuff us together and run around the countryside like in 39 STEPS.
"Well, I guess we'd get to know each other better." He shook his head. "I did some research first."
He took them back from her and grabbed her wrists.
"Behind your back," he said.
She obediently placed her hand behind her bare back.
"No the deal is--I think you've got to tell me that you really don't like what I'm doing," he said. "The problem is that the guy doing it--me--is supposed to be able to get off on the fantasy results of the fantasy domination. So if you say "Stop it! Oh my God! You're hurting me!" that's supposed to be part of the turn on. I mean, if we slide into S and M. A bit. Part and parcel I guess. So, you've got to come up with a ‘safe word’ you want to use. You say it when things get too weird or whatever and you really, really want to stop whatever is happening and get out of the ‘scene’".
"What. Like ‘aardvark’?"
He laughed. "Hey, this is serious business, bitch! But sure, that will work."
"Aardvark it is then."
Her arms were behind her and she felt the cuffs go on. Clink. Click.
"Now. I’m putting the key right here on the side table. See?"
"Yes."
"Just say ‘aardvark’ and you're out of those."
She lay there. It was hard to moved. She felt a bit trapped. But that was an oddly liberating feeling. What was Walter going to do?
"Okay. Now, turn over."
He helped push her over. She lay there on the bed, naked except for her panties.
He held her right breast, pinched the plumpness of it between his fingers.
He leaned over to her ear. "Nice!" He bit her earlobes.
A shot of thrill moved down there.
From the bed, Walter drew up the nipple clamps. Right nipple first. Clamp!
"Ooooh!" It was weird. It was much different than fingers. There was just the right amount of pressure to be just within the threshold of pain. She could feel waves of increased sensitivity spread throughout her body.
Then the other clamp.
"Oooooh, boy!" she said.
This one increased the pain, but not unpleasantly. There was an initial shock, but then it all waved out into a glow of awareness.
She looked down at her breasts, held together with the clamp. Walter gazed down upon his handiwork, pleased with himself.
He slapped her cheek. Not hard, but gently. Enough for alarm and a faint sting.
"Feel good, bitch?"
"Yes."
"Did I do a good job?"
"Yes. Yes."
"Okay. Let's get those panties off?
"Oh my God. Clit clamp?"
He laughed. "You don't deserve that!"
"I'm not sure how to take that."
"Anyway you like, bitch. But you're going to take it!"
He was pretty fun, Walter was. He wasn't entirely convincing as a dominant, bu
t he was trying and after all, it was part of her responsibility to bring some fantasy and imagination into the mix.
"Yes sir. Just... Just don't put the blindfold on."
"Blindfold. You don't deserve to see my swelling cock and hard taut muscles, my gleaming ass!" he said. He went over to the bag of tricks, then remembered that she’d put the mask down on the bed. He picked it up and waggled it in the air before her.
"Blindfold. You don't have a damned say in the business," he said. He bent forward and put it on top of her head. Tied it. But he did not slide the actual concealing part over her eyes. He let that hang securely over her forehead, as though the thing were some sort of hat and not a blindfold at all.
"Right," he said. "I want you to see this."
First, he pulled off his pants. His cock was already at half-mast, just a friendly, ordinary, white, male, American cock, sort of pale and small in casual times, but more than erect and ready when called to action. The thing sort of wiggled back and forth as he went to the bag and pulled out the next item on the show.
"A whip?"
"Flagellator, really," he snapped. "Whips are bigger." It was a collection of straps, black and dangling from a central hub. He brought it down on the side of her thigh, and she immediately saw its effectiveness. It kind of snapped--all of several of the leather parts--in a hail of stings against her skin.
"Ohhh," she said. It wasn't so much the pain as it was the surprise. Those leather snaps worked well. They blended in perfectly with the steady throb of the pain of the nipple clamps.
He reached forward and brought a thumb across her panties. He pulled the thumb back and smelled it, then placed it his mouth.
"Ready, I think. Ready."
He gave her another slap of the whip to her side just for good measure, then set it down.
With both hands Walter gripped the top of her panties. They slid down surprisingly easily, rolling down as though she'd been oiled up. With practiced ease Walter slid them down her legs as she lifted them up. No reason to ruin a perfectly good pair of panties!
When the panties were on the floor, he yanked her legs apart and grinned down at the patch between her legs. She'd asked him if she wanted him to shave it, but he'd demurred. It was lovely, just very lovely indeed the way it was, he'd said.
His thumb went back, rubbing across the top of the vulva, a bit rough and invasive but exciting rather than painful.
The French Affair Boxed Set Page 8
