The French Exchange Ch. 03: Resolution

"Hands on head" Mme A called, as she continued to beat me from behind with the slipper. The two girls gripped my elbows again, and pulled and pulled and pulled.

"Hands on head" chanted the crowd, the ballerinas now standing as well, oh so tall and willowy they were, clapping in unison.

"Hands on head!"

I clung on to my modesty with all the strength I could muster - more in fact. Mme was clearly surprised by my determination not be exposed. "What's the matter, boy - you have so little to hide, and those girls will not be at all offended, they have seen much bigger

penises on their baby brothers!"

She then grabbed my hands and started to prise my fingers back. I was sure she would break my fingers if she had to. I relaxed my grip. It was all over. The chanting stopped.

There were two or three sends of silence. Then a girl's voice, one of the star pupils of course: "Is that it? Oh please, tell me that's it! It's ...impossible, it's impossibly funny!"

Other, coarser voices piped up: "Look, he has a baby's pee-pee, it is so cute! I want to touch it!"

"So do I, we all want to - I bet we get the chance soon"...and so on.

They knew I could hear them, and their words stirred me again. My face was burning with the shame of it all, but my member was shameless. It was now stretching up again, vibrating, a blind mole sniffing the air, until almost vertical, again reaching its fullest extent - and was harder than I had known it, or so it felt to me. A couple of these bad girls made eye contact with me as they said these things, and one even winked at me: all of this made my hardness even harder, if that were possible.

"They were right, it is only 5 centimetres erect!" said one girl, trying to gauge the size by holding two fingers out. "I wish we could measure it, it is perhaps 6 along the underside!"

"Yeah it's SO cute isn't it? Why hasn't he got any pubic hairs?"

"Probably," said the nastiest of these girls, short and stick thin with long black hair, who was now making exaggerated yawning gestures, "Probably because he's a stupid little baby boy. I think we should take him into town, strip him off, and show him to all the other girls. Yuk, he makes me sick!"

Mme A shushed them, and pointed at me. "Now you have seen for yourselves the source of all our woe. This character has been here six weeks and almost every night he has dirtied his bed; the whole house reeks of his urine! For this reason I insist we now remove any other fluids in his system. It will probably help if we extract any seminal fluid he might have, though I doubt if there is much. Has anyone here ever milked a cow?"

"I have!" yelled one of the angelic star pupils, "It was such fun!"

"Well I think you should start then - the principle is the same - just tug on teat a bit. Girls, bring him over here so that Brigitte here can get going."

The three girls marched me across the room, between the chairs of this packed audience. I still had on my old t-shirt which was not long enough to preserve my modesty, so as I was guided through that crowded kitchen my tiny genitals were bouncing around at eye-level, far too close for comfort, as I was filed past the six seated star pupils, all of whom were doing their best to pull prim, not-interested faces, or looks of absolute disgust.

We reached the milk-maid. Actually you could never imagine her milking a cow, with her pale, thin face, her scraped-back dark hair, narrow shoulders and thin arms. Her eyes, however, were shining, filled now with the communal madness that had gripped this room. So there I was, with my again soft and rubbery little part wobbling away, pointing directly at the alabaster face of a perfectly formed young dancer, less than a foot away. You must understand that when one has such a small member, it never really points down, but is bolstered up on the small, tight cushion of one's scrotum.

The poor girl grimaced, lifted her right hand towards my naked middle, then burst into a fit of quite filthy laughter - not at all what you might have expected from so pure looking a ballerina. She doubled up, and so did the other ballerinas. The rest of the room followed suit - and the milk-girl flicking my penis with her fingers so it once again bounced and bobbled in that ridiculous way, and of course the laughter re-doubled, and so she did it again.

The suddenly she grabbed it with her thumb and three fingers, right at its root. And she began tugging away, not too hard, and sure enough it stiffened up and curved upwards again, and she moved the tips of her fingers further up this narrow shaft and began tugging at the head. I felt sure she had done this many times before, she knew her stuff. The other star pupils crowded round, and the party girls also tried to get closer, as though they were all watching some fascinating scientific experiment. A dozen pairs of young female eyes focused on that small stick of flesh with its reddening tip, as it flickered between her expert fingers.

She began whispering rhythmically, "Come, come on, you can do it you can do it, nearly there, nearly there..."

After a few minutes she threw up her hands in exasperation and cursed me, "Oh shit, he's never gonna come, he's just a little boy, in fact he's the smallest I have ever seen and I have three baby brothers!"

Everyone was shrieking with laughter and many other hands tried to replace those of the now tired milk-maid. It was the party girl with dark hair, the tiny one who I had taken a dislike of, who grabbed me next. She was much rougher, which made it much less likely that I would come for her. I was beginning to feel pleased that none of these stupid girls turned me on enough to make me come for them.

But then the girl with the bare midriff was pushed into place in front of me by her friends. She was so beautiful and looked a bit reluctant, so her friend guided her fingers to the once again soft, now hot and red member. "Lick you ringers first," said someone, so she did and then gingerly touched the tip of it, and pulled back the foreskin, and then put three fingertips onto the head, and squeezed a bit, and pushed back a bit, and pulled forward a bit, squeezing all the way, and a deep electric surge ran up and down and deep into my groin.

Oh god this was too good, now I was lost, for this beautiful, serious, dark-eyed party-girl, whose eyes were now looking up at my face, and as I looked down at her I noticed how her small breasts were moving, very slightly, inside her tight top as she did her delicate finger work. She worked and worked at it, not roughly, but with a strange, serious application, hesitating occasionally to see if her efforts were going to produce any results. But as soon as she paused, I went soft.

And so, she was shoved out of the way and a new pair of hands got to work - these belonging to perhaps the naughtiest girl of this gang, the one who'd been speculating about my five or seven centimetres.

She extended the finger and thumb of her right hand towards my rising member, catching hold and pulling hard: "Maybe only five centimetres after all, but perhaps I can stretch it a bit longer, non?" Delphine triumphantly produced one of those little plastic rulers and said, "There, now you can check the measurements!"

She took the ruler in one hand, still pulling at me with the other, and lined the plastic alongside it. The faces of the 10 or more girls pushed closer to get a view, I could actually feel their breathing on my stomach and thighs. Maxine announced: "It is 5.5 cm!"

"Yeah, but you're stretching it - it's only 5 if you let go"

She grinned and then bent her face right down towards me. At first I though she was going to take me in her mouth - this idea made me rock hard in second - but she just spat a little saliva onto me and started, very vigorously, to stroke me, stroking, stroking in such a way that I lost control of myself, finally, and with a few shudders, a head thrown back, clenched teeth, and involuntary moan, a pathetic thrust of the hips...

Yep, I released, and a small quantity of fluid popped out onto this sweet girl's hand and arm. It wasn't much more than a teaspoonful, and it didn't travel more than six inches - remember, this was me in real life and not some porn movie - but there it was. "He's come!" yelled another of the party girls.

This time the laughter came in peals and peals, it built up and there was squealing and yelling, they really had never seen anything quite so funny as this tiny member trying to do what a man does, in its own tiny little way.

I thought maybe my ordeal would now be over for the night. But no - Mme. A seemed to have other plans. She was holding a large wooden spoon in one hand, and seemed to be rubbing something on its long, thin handle. She saw me looking and said: "Oh yes, you will soon know where this is going. You see, I know there's more of that stuff inside you, and it is these girls' job to get every last drop out of you."

"This little tool", she added, holding the wooden spoon up vertically, so that its handle, now coated in butter, pointed to the ceiling, "This will help you in this task, if used expertly. Do you all understand?"

Judging from the expression Maxine and Delphine's faces, rolling back their eyes, they knew exactly what she meant - though a few of the star ballerinas shrugged and gave vacant looks. It seemed another lesson on male anatomy was about to start.

Mme A handed the spoon to the most vacant-looking of all the dancers, a rather quiet one, fair-haired, even paler than the others, but with a very mischievous sparkle in her light blue eyes. "Now, stand behind W and just do what I say. Maxine, Julie, put one hand on each of his cheeks and part them as far as you can. And you, Margot, put the end of the handle up against that little hole, and push it gently, that's it, gently, gently, in it goes, in it goes..."

I felt the thin, greasy wooden handle gradually moving into me. It reminded me of a hospital examination I had once had, and just like that time, I very quickly developed a full erection.

"Simone, you take hold of him, just rub it a little, pull it a bit, keep in rhythm with Margot as she pushes the handle in and out and in and out."

Margot had certainly got the hang of this. Dark-eyed Simone, of all the ballerinas the one I most fancied, was sort of pretending not to be doing what she was in fact doing, but her little fingers felt good on me. Margot pushed the handle in a little further each time, until I suddenly felt this ridiculously gorgeous tingling deep inside of me. Poor Simone did not need to pull any more, for I again produced, this time sending a little jet of fluid over her hand and onto her delicate clavicle.

"Ugh" she said, recoiling and laughing. Everyone laughed and cheered. Margot gave another little stir with the handle and I convulsed again, and out came another trickle. Over the next 20 minutes I came twice more, until Mme A pronounced me dry.

Everyone in the room was now so cheerful, the party girls invited the star pupils to join them at disco in th sold town, and soon this huge group of excited, gorgeous girls was leaving the house. I was sent to bed, but could not sleep for hours. It was not just the soreness of my backside and my genitals, nor that strange feeling of emptiness; it was all the mental images of what had happened that kept playing and replaying in my head.

I heard some of the girls coming home much later, then drifted off. I woke next morning to a new sensation - a dry bed.

Three days later, I stood in the vestibule with my suitcase, waiting for the taxi to the station. One by one the sisters hugged me and kissed me; and so did some of their friends. Even Mme A gave me a stiff peck on each cheek.

Yes, we were reconciled: she had done what she promised, and had cured me.

That was not all those six weeks in the Arnaud household had done for me. I returned, reluctantly, to England, a changed man.

This family and their many friends had given me a deeply ingrained love of France and its women, and more than that - a yearning, burning, desire for humiliation at the hands of these women, which is with me to this day. Not any old humiliation, oh no. For me, it has to be in French, the one, the only true language of desire.