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All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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"...and another advantage to using our Carte Bleue service,
monsieur, is three months free access to our bank's MINITEL
services," the proper French banker said to me as I scrawled my
signature on the dotted line.
"What's a MINITEL?" I asked, the name sounding vaguely familiar.
"Monsieur," he responded, slightly offended that I wasn't aware,
"it is France's newest technological achievement. It is a small terminal
one uses in the home to access a variety of data bases, such as your bank
balance here with us, a telephone directory listing, theatre and cinema
schedules, and much, much more," he continued proudly. "You can shop for
things electronically. You can even reserve seats for sporting events using
your Carte Bleue and your home MINITEL terminal."
"Sounds wonderful," I said, wondering just how much of all that
would be available to an American with little command of the French
language.
"Ah, oui," he beamed again, "it is wonderful. In some ways,
monsieur, we French are not always following behind you
Americans, n'est-ce pas?"
"Surely," I said, and we discussed how I was to go about getting
this marvelous device for my apartment.
"In fact," he continued," all that is required is for you to go to
your closest post office, and tell the clerk you want one. He will
direct you to the location where you can obtain a terminal, and
also arrange for a technician to install it for you. All completely
without charge."
What a deal, right? "So, what's the catch?" I asked him.
"No catch, monsieur. You simply pay for the time when you use it,
on your phone bill, that's all. You may even discover some of our
wicked--how do you call them--ladies of the evening. In France,
monsieur, everything is available on our MINITEL system," he said
with a grin.
Riding home on the train, from the giant skyscraper complex just
outside Paris where all the biggest office buildings are located,
returning to my 'bachelor pad' in the city, I couldn't help
remembering the banker's last words to me. "Everything is available
on our MINITEL system.
* * * *
How right he was! A few days later, terminal installed, I spent my
first evening exploring MINITEL. The procedures for using it are
remarkably easy. I turn on the terminal, dial one of three network
telephone numbers, wait for the answering tone, push the connection
button on your terminal, hang-up the phone, and that's it!
The next thing to do is to select the service you wish to access.
These are advertised all over town, and are also listed in the
directory provided by the phone company specifically for the
MINITEL networks. Even with my limited abilities in French, I could
see that some of the services looked more appealling than others.
For example, a full page ad, in color, picturing an incredibly sexy
pair of red, moist lips and telling me to dial E-R-O-S seemed as
good a place as any to begin. So I began.
After a couple of seconds, a sensuous drawing of a beautifully
voluptuous woman began to appear on screen, one line after another.
The lacy bra she wore only half covered her breasts. From a list of
choices, I selected "DIALOGUE DIRECT" and hit the SEND key. The
next message asked me to type in a pseudonym, so I responded with
A-M-E-R-I-C-A-N-- why not?-- and entered my 'name' into the system.
Immediately a new screen appeared, with a full list of names of
other people "talking" on the network that evening.
Each pseudonym had a number in front of it, so sending a message to
any given person was simple. A quick scan told me I wouldn't be
interested in talking to PENIS or GAI-BOY or GROSBITTE(French slang
for cock). I studied the list a bit more carefully, with the help
of my French-English dictionary, and selected what I presumed would
be a woman, who called herself CHRISTINE THE HUNTRESS! Intrigued, I
entered her number. A blank screen appeared, and I typed in my
message. PARLEZVOUS ANGLAIS? JE SUIS AMERICAN, ET MA FRANCAIS EST
PAS BIEN.
A few seconds later, I received a reply. YES, I SPEAK ENGLISH. ARE
YOU REALLY AN AMERICAN?
YOU BET! I replied, enjoying the fun of a new game. WHAT ARE YOU
HUNTING FOR? I typed.
IF YOU ARE REALLY AMERICAN, she answered, WHAT IS THE CAPITOL OF
THE STATE OF NEW YORK?
ALBANY, I responded, amused. AND LANSING WAS STILL THE CAPITOL OF
MICHIGAN THE LAST TIME I CHECKED. NOW TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE HUNTING
FOR!
SORRY, she replied, BUT SO MANY FRENCHMEN WILL SAY THEY ARE
AMERICAN JUST TO GET ATTENTION. I HAD TO BE CERTAIN. I AM VERY WELL
KNOWN IN FRANCE, AND MUST BE DISCREET. THAT'S WHY I PREFER AMERICAN
MEN, she continued. TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, I AM A WEALTHY FRENCH
ARISTOCRAT SEEKING MALE SEX SLAVES FOR MY CHATEAU IN THE COUNTRY.
Quickly I typed, EXACTLY WHAT DO YOU DO TO THESE "SLAVES"? DO YOU
ALLOW THEM TO FUCK YOU?
OF COURSE, she replied, as my cock began to swell. BUT ONLY AFTER
I'M THROUGH USING THEM. DO YOU UNDERSTAND AND ENJOY S&M? OTHERWISE,
IT IS RATHER COMPLICATED TO EXPLAIN.
I DON'T KNOW. SHOULD I? I typed. I DON'T THINK I'D ENJOY BEING TIED
UP AND WHIPPED.
PITY FOR YOU. I CANNOT FIND JOY IN VANILLA SEX, ONLY SEX WITH
FLAMING BOTTOMS, she answered.
WHAT DO YOU DO FOR A LIVING? I asked.
I AM A FAMOUS MANNEQUIN AT ONE OF THE FASHION HOUSES HERE IN PARIS.
EVERY FRENCHMAN KNOWS ME, WHICH IS WHY I MUST BE SO DISCREET. YOU
HAVE SEEN MY PICTURES, I'M SURE. BUT I REQUIRE MY SPECIAL KIND OF
SEX, AND AM CONSTANTLY SEEKING NEW SLAVES. IN FACT, AT THE MOMENT I
HAVE OPENINGS FOR TWO NEW SLAVES FOR A COUPLE OF MONTHS. BUT
PROBABLY YOU WILL GO HOME TOO SOON FOR MY PURPOSES.
I'LL BE HERE FOR TWO MORE YEARS, I answered, feeling like a
thirty-eight-year-old job applicant trying to land a position where
the work was a bitch, but the bonuses outstanding.
PERHAPS WE COULD MEET, was her next line.
TELL ME HOW! I replied, asking for her phone number.
GIVE ME YOURS, AND PERHAPS I WILL CALL YOU, she said. IF SO, IT
WILL BE WORTH IT. I AM VERY TALL, WITH GREEN EYES, LONG LEGS, AND I
DRESS IN BLACK LEATHER. I DO NOT NORMALLY WEAR PANTIES. I AM
DEMANDING, BUT ALSO EXTREMELY UNINHIBITED SEXUALLY. AFTER I HAVE
WHIPPED YOU, I WILL DO THINGS TO YOU THAT YOU WILL REMEMBER FOR ALL
YOUR LIFE. I AM, AS YOU WOULD SAY, VERY ORALLY ORIENTED. I CAN DO
THINGS TO YOU WITH MY TONGUE THAT YOU CANNOT IMAGINE.
By this time, my cock was so hard and hot, I had it out of my pants
and was slowly rubbing the pre-cum that seeped from it over the
head, while it twitched with excitement. I knew that what I was
about to do was pretty stupid, but my cock said go ahead and give
her your phone number, anyway. When my dick is as hard as it was
that night, it has a way of taking over functions normally handled
by my brain. I keyed in my number.
CALL ME RIGHT NOW, OKAY? MY COCK IS SO HARD AND WET, IT'S GOING TO
EXPLODE ALL BY ITSELF IF I DON'T HEAR FROM YOU IMMEDIATELY!
PERHAPS. PERHAPS TOMORROW NIGHT, her message read. I MUST GO NOW.
THINK OF ME AS YOU MASTURBATE YOURSELF, TONIGHT, she said, adding,
MY SWEET LITTLE AMERICAN SLAVE, and signed off.
"Merde!" I said to myself, looking at my watch, shocked to see that
it was after midnight. Frustrated, I went to bed, and yes, I
jacked-off as I fantasized about what it would be like to really be
whipped and then fucked by a beautiful French fashion model.
After I came, my brain took over the controls again. Sure, I
thought. She's probably a seventy-eight year old retired English
teacher with a vivid imagination.
Naturally, I didn't get a phone call. Even so, the next night as
soon as I got home and poured myself a glass of wine, I sat down at
my new toy and dialed the EROS network again. I was disappointed
upon finding no lady huntresses on-line, so I talked to a few other
sweet young things, with names like COQUINE and NICOLE and
SALOPE-- French for "bitch"--it's amazing what one can learn with
the aid of a good French slang dictionary. I found couples seeking
other couples, or bi-women, lots of gay men, a few lonely women
just looking for conversation, and a few straightforward hookers,
who wanted to meet me, if I would agree to "help them out with some
francs." I finally signed off and had a late dinner.
* * * * *
The next few nights, my mystery lady still declined to make an
appearance. Then finally, about 10:30 , as I was preparing to sign
off again, she reappeared. As soon as I saw her code name, I sent
her a message. HI--WHY HAVEN'T YOU CALLED ME?
She answered, SO AMERICAN, I STILL EXCITE YOU, YES?
OF COURSE, I replied. BUT I WANT TO HEAR YOUR VOICE. CAN'T WE AT
LEAST TALK? PLEASE CALL ME, OK?
I LIKE TO HEAR MY MEN BEG, was her message, then HANG UP. I WILL
CALL.
I disconnected, and waited a very long, sweaty five minutes. When
the phone rang, it seemed like a bomb going off next to me. I let
it ring once more, then lifted the receiver.
"Hello," I said deeply, trying to sound as cool and sexy as
possible.
"Hello, American," a delicate French accent answered. "Are you
happy to speak with me, at last?"
"Yes," I said, unzipping my pants, lying back on the bed. "Very
happy," I sighed, taking my cock out,stroking it slowly.
"You are excited. I can hear it in your voice. Perhaps you are
touching your, how do you call it, your big American cock, yes?"
"Yes, I am touching my big American cock, and it's getting bigger
by the second," I breathed, telling the truth.
"Really?" she said, mocking me with her voice.
"Yes, really," I answered seriously. "If you were here, you could
see for yourself."
"And what would you do for me?" she asked.
"Whatever you asked me to," I answered, half seriously.
"Would you like to meet me?" she teased.
"Of course. How? Where? When? Tell me, and I'll be there," I said
quickly. I meant it by now. My cock was swelling under my steady
attention.
"I can tell by your cute accent that you must be American," she
said. "Be in front of Cartier tomorrow night at eight o'clock, and
we will pick you up. Look for a dark blue Jaguar sedan. Hold a copy
of your silly colored newspaper, USA TODAY, under your arm. Be on
time, or we will leave without you. Is that clear?"
"Yes," I answered, "I'll be there."
"Yes. You will," she said with a laugh, then hung up.
The next evening, feeling very self-conscious, I was standing
outside of Cartier at 7:45, wondering again just what I was Letting
myself in for. At eight, her car still hadn't shown up, and I began
to feel even more foolish. A moment later, a blue jaguar did pass
by. It circled the block, pulled up slowly next to me, and stopped.
The back door swung open, and her voice said, "Get in."
I climbed into the car, and could hardly believe what my eyes were
reporting to me. She really was beautiful. She appeared to be about
28 years of age, close to six feet tall, wearing short blonde,
almost punk-cut hair. A short, black leather mini-skirt revealed
long gorgeous legs. She wore spike-heeled, black leather boots, and
patterned black nylons, held up by black garters. The white skin of
her thighs was exposed, and looked very soft and touchable. A black
chiffon blouse, very transparant, revealed small, but well-rounded
tits. Long dangling gold earrings accentuated her high cheekbones.
"So, American, you are happy now?" she asked, grinning at me.
"Very," I answered, noticing for the first time the huge black
Great Dane peering at me from the front seat. It looked nearly as
mean as did the driver, a stocky, bald black man.
"Don't mind Brut, or Andre. They will not harm you. Only I will
harm you, my pet," she said, stroking my cheek lightly with a
black-suede-sheathed hand. I was beginning to have sincere doubts
about the wisdom of this entire undertaking, which she must have
noticed.
"Here," she said, handing me a pair of black bikini panties. "These
are mine. I wore them especially today, just for you. Sniff them
for me."
I did as I was told, as she slowly spread her legs, and began to
fondle her totally shaven, glistening pussy. Between the view and
the essence I was inhaling through her panties, my cock began to
stiffen again, and she knew then that she had me.
"Lick my cunt, slave," she said, as she grabbed my tie and pulled
me down by it, until I was on the floor of the auto. Her fragrant,
open wetness thrilled me, and I eagerly did as she had commanded.
Her fingers tugged at my hair, her nails dug into my scalp as I ate
her there in the back seat of her Jaguar. I still could hardly
believe this was actually happening to me.
"Andre, take us to the apartment. I want him now," she said. In a
short while, we stopped, and went into her apartment. Once inside,
she led me back to her "playroom," locking the door behind us.
She undressed me and led me to an exercise bench. I was tied to it,
face down. I watched as she undressed, leaving on only her
garter-belt, stockings, and boots. Humming to herself, she selected
a cat-o-nine-tails from a selection of various whips that hung on
the wall. Then she positioned her cunt directly in front of my
face.
"I am going to whip you, now, while you bury your face where it
belongs," she said. "When you have made me come twice, I will stop,
and then you shall have your reward."
The next half-hour was a strange combination of pleasure and pain.
Each time she struck me, I began to cry out, but the sound was
muffled as she used her other hand to press my face into her pussy.
After a while, the action blurred and the whipping and cunt-lapping
merged into a singular experience. The more she hit me, the faster
my tongue moved, and the more of her pungent juices I drank, the
more I wanted her to whip me.
She came the first time after about ten minutes and I moaned in
protest. I didn't want this to end.
"Beginning to like it, aren't you, little slave?" she purred. "Dig
deeper!" I was happy to obey her, and curled my tongue as far into
her oozing pussy as I possibly could, back where the secretions
were really thick and musky.
I could tell I was getting to her, not only because her thighs
began to tremble, but the strokes across my ass were sharper; I
heard the slap of leather against flesh reverberating across the
tiny room. When she came for the second time, my cock felt hard
enough to bore a hole fight through the bench that held me captive.
After a short rest, she walked around by my feet, and lay face-down
between my legs. She spread the cheeks of my ass, and licked the
dark valley that lay between. Then she flicked all around the
puckered center, and then forced her tongue inside me. The little
gurgling sounds she made in her throat excited me more than
anything I've ever known.
When I was about ready to burst my bonds, she stood up and untied
me. She then reached under my waist and tipped me over so that I
fell to the floor. I screamed in pain as my ass hit the ground, but
I had only a second to conplain as she swooped down instantly, her
mouth covering my throbbing erection.
All I can say about that evening is that she certainly delivered on
her promise to do things to me that I'd never forget. She lovingly
carressed the head of my cock, then focused her tongue along the
little groove. Next she washed the entire shaft, top to bottom,
with quivering, wet strokes, before taking the bulk of it between
her lips. She slowly slid her head down until my cock was lodged
deeply in her throat, with her face buried in my pubic hair. Just
as I began to fear she might pass out from lack of oxygen, she
pulled back like a diver suddenly surfacing, then dove back down
again, this time to lick my balls.
She sensed that I was close to exploding, for she slipped my cock
into the warm nest of her mouth once again, this time sucking and
licking both, and providing me with the promised thrill-of-a-life.
She wrapped her fingers around the base of my cock and bounced her
face up and down, faster and faster, her lips tightening, her
tongue working its magic, until I could no longer contain it, and I
erupted, my sperm cascading into her mouth as she gulped and
swallowed.
Afterwards, she slid up and lay in my arms and we dozed off,
together, there on the floor. Later, we got up and showered. Her
chauffeur, now doubling as a waiter, brought us bread, wine, and
cheese.
I never saw Christine again, although we do "chat" occasionally on
the MINITEL. I've met several other women through the computer,
though, as well as two or three couples.
I've met airline hostesses, female advertising executives, one
woman who owned a boutique, a computer sales-woman, and at least
three secretaries. I don't date all of them, of course, but do
manage to keep my evenings full of adventure, or at least promise.
Someday, I may even convince my friend, "the Huntress," to invite
me to her apartment again. I keep my fingers crossed.
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