Discovering Giselle

She paused, looking at me in, I thought, a challenging way.

'You look utterly fantastic!' was all I could say-

'I thought I might try to give you a clue as to what we started to talk about last night.'

'The only clue I am reading is in my trousers,' I said, and she laughed gently when she saw how my cock was already tenting out the front of my chinos.

I took her in my arms and kissed her, but after a few moments she pulled away.

'No, Andrew, I thought you wanted to talk?'

'Yes, Giselle, I'm sorry – it's just that you have this effect on me, you know.'

'I like that, but make me a coffee – I want to get it off my chest.'

'It's your chest that's the problem,' I called over my shoulder as I made for the kitchen, and I heard her laughing again behind me.

We sat together on the sofa, her skirt so tight that she couldn't move.

'What I'm going to say may mean the end of us, you must realise,' she began.

I couldn't see that possibility, and started to say so, but she held a finger to my lips.

'No, listen, please. You know I like anal sex, so I'm not a normal girl.'

I could see that she was trying to find the right words, and decided I'd best help by keeping quiet. I sought her hand, but she pulled it away.

'Basically.' She said, 'I'm a slut,' Again she shut me up with that finger. 'I love pain, restraint, discomfort – hence my skirt and shoes this morning. So, my dear Andrew, if we are to have a future, you may as well know, you are going to have to be my master.'

She looked hard at me, that challenge again, then she got to her feet.

'I'm going to let you think about it. I think you may well be masterful – what I need – and last night you were terrific.' Her expression softened at the memory. 'I shall be at home when you've had time to think about it – you've got my number, and my email address.'

I watched walk out of the door, incredibly sexy in that tight skirt – and those heels!

No way was I going to let her get away.

I sat for a time, nursing a too-early cognac, and thought.

I had, of course, read 'O' – and been mightily turned on by it, more so than by the film, although that too had its points. I had fantasies about what might have been, at several points in my past. Judy had left me, probably because sex was boring – what if I'd taken her anal virginity? What, still more, if I'd tied her up and spanked her? Christine had suggested, none too subtly, that she had 'other ways' of deriving pleasure. A torrid affair with Lisa had come to an end, when I might have simply gone a step further, and introduced a second female to our bed. I had been too conformist, sure, but I had felt there might be something pure about my love for Giselle – for it was love that I felt for her, I was in no doubt. At first, I had been almost afraid to touch her, so frail and immaculate was her beauty. So what was I going to do? Why, try to be her master, for sure. But could I be cruel to her? That was what she would want, after all. What price, purity?

Having thought for long enough, I started to compose an email. It went something like this:-

My dear Giselle,

I have given the matter much thought, and my mind is made up. I expect you to follow my instructions to the letter.

You will come to my home tomorrow evening, and live with me indefinitely, always provided I am satisfied with you. Between now and then – you should have time tomorrow lunchtime – you will go to an equestrian supplier and purchase a coach whip and a crop, both leather. You will bring them with you, as they are for your pleasure. You will bring such clothing and accessories as you require, but you will not wear underclothes, nor any kind of trousers.

I shall meantime purchase other items that will be necessary.

You will come to me wearing a loose dress, or skirt and blouse, and nothing else. Your arrival will imply consent to be punished as and when I see fit.

If you have any queries, you can telephone me – otherwise I shall expect to see you tomorrow evening.

As I'm sure you are aware, I love you with all my heart,

Andrew.

I read it through twice, thought it struck the right note, and pressed SEND.

I scarcely slept that night, and had to go for a long walk early, before the shops opened, to settle me down. Then I went down to the metro and made my way to Montmartre. There I soon found a sex-shop, and selected items I needed. I bought two sets of nipple-clamps, an anal vibrator, a large butt-plug, and leather ankle- and wrist-restraints. The Goth girl at the counter didn't turn a hair when she parcelled them up for me. I found an erotic lingerie shop, and bought two sheer, hip-length white nightgowns with fur trim at neckline and hem, a matching long negligee, and, on a whim, a black lace body-suit. A jewellery shop provided me with a stainless steel collar, set with little stones, and bearing a discreet ring to which, I thought, a leash might be attached. Pleased with my purchases, I stopped off for a relaxed lunch, then went home to await Giselle's arrival, more than a little nervous in case she had second thoughts. I busied myself making some preparations, fixing a ring-bolt in the beam which crossed my lounge, then going down to the hardware shop for a metre of heavy chain and a snap-link to hang from it.

Eight o'clock came and went, and my anxiety increased, until, at about half past eight, my mobile phone rang.

'I'm just around the corner,' came Giselle's voice, sounding more nervous than I felt.

I ran downstairs, and was waiting when the taxi drew up, and the driver unloaded a big suitcase and two boxes from the boot. I paid him, and managed the suitcase and a box, Giselle carrying the other box upstairs to my apartment. Once inside, we set down our burdens and I turned to look at her. She was breathtakingly beautiful, in a green and white printed silk dress, with a short flared skirt. Her hair was shining, thick and loose, cascading down to beyond her waist, and her feet were in silver-heeled stiletto sandals.

I took her in my arms and kissed her, but she pulled away.

'I'm sorry I'm late, master,' she said, her eyes cast downward, hands clasped together. Instinctively I knew she was asking me to punish her, there and then.

'So you should be, you little slut,' I said, when, for the moment, all I really wanted was to make love to her. I showed her the collar I had bought, and she looked up at me when I clipped it into place around her slender neck.

'It's lovely, master – I shall wear it all the time.'

'Yes, it is a symbol of your submission. Now take off your dress.'

She reached behind her and pulled down the zipper, shrugged the dress off her shoulders, so that it feel with a whisper to the floor around her feet. She stood, proud and slim, her young, firm breasts jutting as if in challenge, long nipples hard with excitement.

I kissed her, long and hard, inviting the studded tongue into my mouth, then, when I drew away, I said, 'You would like me to whip you, wouldn't you?'

'Oh yes, master.'

'You know I'm going to hurt you, don't you?'

'Yes.'

I let my hand stray downwards, and she parted her legs obediently as I found her crack. She was dripping-wet. I kissed her again, briefly this time, then fetched two of the restraints I had bought, and buckled them around her wrists. I led her to point beneath the ring-bolt, and soon had her wrists clipped onto the hanging chain, high enough so that she could just stand in her heels. I thought how lovely and vulnerable she looked, but knew that it was going to be difficult – my only experience of whipping came from fictional sources, and some stuff I had seen on the Internet. She sensed, I thought, my nervousness as I took the riding crop from her suitcase, and swept her heavy mane of hair over her shoulder, leaving her pale back, pristine and unmarked, available to me.

She looked over her shoulder at me, lips slightly apart, an unreadable expression on her lovely face, then, quite deliberately, she slowly said, 'Please hurt me, master.'

I swished the crop against her back without much force, and she looked over her shoulder at me with something akin to scorn. It was clear that she expected more, and I drew my arm back and brought the leather crop down hard across her slender back. She moved scarcely at all as the stroke fell, even though a pale red line appeared instantly across her flesh. I lashed her again, this time lower down, with more force, letting the crop fly freely. This time she gasped, and a red welt showed across her back, just above the swell of her buttocks. I was afraid I'd hurt her too much, but there was something in the way she swayed and squirmed in her bonds that made me carry on. I was learning technique, and now the crop seemed to have a life of its own, as it fell just below her shoulder-blades, wringing a little 'oh' from Giselle's lips. Soon her back was criss-crossed with red lines, and she was writhing as I thrashed her for what must have been the tenth time – I had meant to stop at six, but was almost ashamed to realise that I had a mighty erection at the sight of my new lover, now in pain.

I threw down the crop and, taking her head in my hands, kissed her deeply. She responded, driving her studded tongue into my mouth, her wrists still restrained above her head. I let her down, and she gasped, 'Oh, master, fuck me, please, NOW!' I led her to the sofa, pulled my surging cock from its prison in my trousers, and drove it home, into her sopping cunt. She cried out, and her shudder announced that she had cum – even as I entered her. I was shamelessly quick, and came after no more than four desperate strokes, flooding her with hot spunk – but I would swear she came again as I did so.

When we lay together, quite exhausted, I voiced my concern that I had done damage to her back, and all she could do was murmur, 'It was delicious, master. I came while you whipped me, then twice more. I have never known such pleasure.'

And I had never felt happier.

We slept curled up together, not a bit like master and slave, just two lovers, and I awoke to the smell of coffee. We had breakfast, and, as she was getting ready to go to work, I felt I had to say something about the night before.

'Are you...' I started.

'I'm just fine, master,' she cut in, 'And I am proud of my stripes.'

She pulled the silk blouse she wore out of her skirt's waistband, and showed me the livid red lines that crossed her back, then she bent down to kiss me and was gone.

Where did we go from there, I wondered? On a whim, I surfed the web for BDSM images, looking for ideas. There was an awful lot of faked-looking stuff, but I did get one clue, and went out to a DIY shop, where I bought saw-horse. Back home, I shortened the legs at one end to give it some inclination, then drilled a wide hole near the low end, through which I inserted the biggest dildo I had bought, taping it firmly in place. I admired my handiwork, then hid it away in the closet.

When Giselle got home that evening, I first told her to put on the fur-trimmed negligee I had bought. She looked stunning, standing there waiting to be punished, and I couldn't resist having her put on the cruellest nipple-clamps I had obtained. I screwed them down tightly myself, until she yelped with pain, and involuntary tears ran down her cheeks. I led her into the bedroom, and dragged out the sawhorse. As she stood looking at it, her lovely eyes wide, I applied a little KY gell to the dildo, then told her to take off the negligee. Naked now, she straddled the horse, and, when I saw that she was about to lower herself onto the waiting dildo, I pulled her feet forward, and readjusted her position, so that it was her arsehole that would be impaled, rather than her vagina, as she had intended.

'Oh master, but it's so big,' she moaned, but she was already wriggling the end of the massive dong into her smallest orifice, and groaned with pain and pleasure as she sank onto it, taking the entire length deep inside her.

'Now fuck it!' I ordered, meanwhile taking the coach whip she herself had bought from its leather case. As she started to ease herself up and down on the great shaft, I lashed her hard across the buttocks with the thin whip, which I knew would sting horribly. She cried out at each stroke, and her rhythm increased as I matched it with fierce blows. After perhaps ten terrible, fiery strokes, she screamed loud and long, and I knew that a terrific orgasm had swept through her shuddering body. She slumped along the bench, quite spent, and I fell to my knees, cradled her in my arms, and kissed her for several minutes.

'Thank you, thank you, master,' she said, tears still streaking her beautiful face.

I was still concerned – desperate not to lose her – that I was doing everything I could that she needed.

'Giselle, darling...' I started, hesitantly.

'Yes, master?'

'Is there anything else you'd like me to do for...I meantoyou?'

She thought for a while, stroking my prick through my trousers as she did so.

'I just love to be whipped,' she said, hesitantly, then, almost in a whisper, 'perhaps if I could watch on video?'

'Of course, my dear.'

'And you could whip me wet – that would hurt very much, I think. But master,' she went on, feeling the urgent bulge in my trousers, 'you are very excited, yes?'

For answer I slipped my ramrod-stiff cock out of my trousers, and groaned with pleasure as she took me between her luscious lips, deep into her throat, sucking me as nobody had ever done before. I felt no need to control myself, and came quickly, spurt after spurt, the relief and ecstasy unbelievable, as I stroked Giselle's silky hair.

'I love it that you get so excited at my pain,' she said, when I had recovered, 'I know it sounds strange, but being hurt, by my master, is everything to me.' She was looking into my eyes as she spoke, sincerity shining from her.

'At first, I was afraid of hurting you too much,' I said.

'I know, master, but I can stand much more.'

'If, for instance, I had you marked, like 'O?''

'That would be the most wonderful thing,' she said simply.

Next day, I spent a lot of time thinking about what Giselle had said, and by the time she got home, I had rigged up a video camera and a screen, so that she would be able to watch her arse being caned. The camera was at the foot of my spare, single bed, and the screen propped on the headboard. I showed it to her. 'Not tonight though, my love, you must still be sore from last night.' She agreed reluctantly, eager as she was to try the system out. As it turned out, it wasn't to be the next evening either, as we were both invited out to dinner by her boss, a suave guy in his forties, and his wife.

'What should I wear?' asked Giselle.

'How about that very tight skirt? And if you need something else to go with it, we can go shopping at lunchtime,' I suggested.

'I've got just the thing,' she said, 'just so long as you like it.' She disappeared into the bedroom, and was gone for perhaps thirty minutes. When she returned, she had put her hair up in a French knot, had made up her eyes and lips, and was wearing a black corset.

'Do you like it?' she asked, twirling around coquettishly. I replied truthfully that I thought it was lovely. It was cut high at the back, so that her round buttocks were free, and it was laced, criss-cross fashion, up the back.

'Tighten it for me, please,' she said, and I pulled the ends of the laces.

'Tighter, much tighter!' she said, and gasped when I did as she asked, effectively reducing her already slim waist to almost nothing. When she turned to me, I saw that the tightness of the garment had had the effect of thrusting her breasts upwards, and the half-cups at the top of the corset only just covered her nipples – a little of her brown aureolas was on view. Attached to long garter straps were black seamed stockings, and her feet were in outrageously high stilettos. She stepped into the skirt she had brought with her, and, when it was zipped up with the hem-to-waist zipper, it moulded her slender legs and hips like a glove. She would only be able to walk with tiny steps. She had put on the tight amulet she had worn once before. A transparent black blouse, buttoned up the back, completed her ensemble. I stood back and admired her – she looked the very image of restraint, and I wondered just what effect she was going to have on our hosts – her boss had only seen her dressed for work.

'Do you like me like this?' she asked.

'I'm so proud of you,' I confirmed.

We arrived at the ritzy block where Paul and his wife, Nadine, lived, and their maid, a petite black girl, opened the door to us, and showed us into a spacious lounge. Nadine came out of the kitchen to greet us. She was a slender brunette, with sharp features – not exactly pretty, but with a certain attractiveness. She wore a filmy, translucent harem suit, apple green in colour, and as she moved around the room, putting some soft music on the expensive-looking stereo, and getting drinks, I couldn't help speculating as to whether or not she wore anything underneath it. That she wore no bra was apparent, as her nipples poked out at the thin material. When she passed me a drink, I noticed that her extra-long (porcelain?) nails were bautifully decorated, and that a tiny ring hung from her right pinky, and from it dangled a chain about two inches long, with a little jewel set in the end.

'Did you see her nail-decoration?' whispered Giselle, when our hostess went out to the kitchen, 'I want one of those!'

Paul came in, having been to the wine-shop, and praised Giselle's appearance. Th maid served our dinner, and, as we sat at the table, I couldn't help noticing that Paul's eyes never left Giselle. If she was embarrassed by his attention, she didn't show any sign.

'I was wondering, Nadine,' she said, 'where did you get that delightful little chain in your nail?'

Nadine told her, then said, 'But it's not half as nice as your tongue-stud, Giselle, I've been thinking of having one done for some time.'

Paul grinned. 'It must make a blow-job even better,' he said.

'Paul!' exclaimed his wife.

'No, that's alright,' I said, 'and yes, it does. Would you like to try it out?'

'Yes, of course, if you don't mind,' said Paul, and Nadine stood up, flinging her napkin to the floor, and strode out.

'I'm sorry if I've upset her,' I said.

'She'll get over it,' said Paul, standing up himself, and extending his hand to Giselle. He led her to one of the two couches which faced each other, and they sat together, whilst I took up position on the other couch, eager to watch.

A pang of jealousy was inevitable when Paul released a stiff, thick weapon from his fly. He really had an impressive organ, I was forced to admit, and Giselle stroked it tenderly, then slowly lowered her head, and licked the whole length of it, causing Paul to moan as her silver stud grazed his crown. My own prick was leaping, and demanding to be taken from my trousers, and I obliged, as Giselle rounded her lips and slowly, slowly, eased Paul's mighty prick into her mouth. So intent was I on the scene before me that it was a surprise when I sensed that Nadine had slipped onto the sofa beside me, and suddenly her long-nailed hand had replaced mine, stroking my shaft expertly. I reached over her shoulder and cupped a small, firm breast as she did so, feeling the nipple harden under the soft material. I couldn't remember ever having had a hand-job so erotic, as I watched my beautiful love-slave sucking the engorged tool of her boss. As he stiffened, and drove one last, shuddering stroke deep Giselle's throat, Nadine quickened her rhythm, and Soon I spurted copiously over her hand and her suit. She raised her face and kissed me deeply, then stood, and abruptly went out, while Giselle was busy swallowing every last drop of Paul's cum.