An Evening in Paris (Epilogue)

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Master treats his sub to devious delights.
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Stirring beneath the downy layers of covers, I stretched out luxuriously, reveling in the shelter of his body, pressed ever close to mine. While I slept, he had nudged his erection between the red cheeks of my ass, only to taunt me with the notion that he might allow me to have him soon.

He was wide awake, and staring down at me as I opened my heavy eyelids. I was still a filthy mess from the events of the day, but he smiled as he helped me to sit.

"We need to clean you up before we leave this evening," he said, giving me my cue to follow him to the bathroom, where he had already filled the huge tub with warm water and fluffy bubbles.

Immediately, I spotted the enema he had placed on the marble vanity, its bright green bottle and thick nozzle now so familiarly inviting. Behind me, I could feel his presence, and I waited patiently for him to speak.

"Chin up, precious. I want to look at your pretty eyes this evening" he said, catching my gaze in the mirror. "Now, tell me what you want right now."

"Will you give me an enema?" I asked quietly, thinking of all the time he had spent trying to convince me that I would adore the sensation -- even come to embrace it. For so long, I had rejected consideration, and, sweet Master that he was, never forced me to engage in any activity I deemed uncomfortable or intolerable. However, after he had continuously expressed the pleasure it would bring him , I hesitantly acquiesce to the activity.

Now, even with my astute recollection of the pain that followed every administration, I craved the primitive gratification brought forth from the clear liquid in the bottle. "Please?"

"That's a request I can't resist," he said, his finger tracing the crack of my ass deep into my dripping cunt. "Lean over the vanity."

As I bent over, my breasts hung into the bowl of the huge sink. I parted my legs, and opened my ass to him, finding great delight in the joys of my subordination. Teasing me with the white plastic tip, he caressed my tiny hole, then pulled it away so that he could apply a thick gob of jelly against my most tender spot.

The nozzle slipped easily inside, and the cool rush of water comforted me. His right hand squeezed the bottle with an even pressure, filling me slowly as his left hand held me still. I breathed deeply, taking slow careful streams of air into my lungs, just as he had conditioned me to do so long ago.

After emptying the contents inside me, he pressed his finger over my hole. As we waited for the cramps to begin, he reached around to rub my tummy, soothing the pain before it even began. My body tensed with the sudden effects of the enema, and I clenched every muscle in my anus tightly to hold my bowels inside.

"May I shit for you now?" I winced at the pain, which was minimized by steady, circular pressure of his palm against my stomach.

"Yes, you may."

He held my arms as I squatted to the toilet, then reached down to stroke my clit as I filled the bowl. Rocking against his finger, I felt so open, so exposed to his domination. The spark of my orgasm, fluttering into my belly against the cramps, liberated of all my senses to his desire.

"Cum now," he commanded. "That's my good girl -- cumming and shitting for me." His finger moved faster, holding me on the brink of absolute completion. "Keep cumming for me, my wet little one."

My bowel was now hollow, but I suddenly felt my bladder enlarge with the pressure of its fullness.

"May I pee...please?" I heaved, my breasts jiggling as I humped against his hand.

"Go ahead," he said, without bothering to remove his finger from my clit, "but keep cumming for me."

"Ohhhhhhhhh..." I rocked against the steady jolts that had seized and surged through every muscle in my cunt -- from which flowed a steady yellow stream. Gyrating, pumping and grinding, I squinted my eyes to hold back the unexpected tears. "Still cumming..."

His middle finger plunged inside me. Then a second. And a third. All slapping against my G-spot as I began to tip over the edge, succumbing to the tensely exquisite release that radiated through my core.

Catching me against his chest, he kissed the beads of sweat upon my forehead, while I quivered in his arms. But I couldn't rest for a second, uncertain of when we might have the chance to share another unexpected evening like this -- alone together -- again.

Sitting back on the toilet seat, I brought his hand to my mouth. "Your fingers," I whispered, my breaths stilted. Suckling gently at the tips, I drew each finger between my lips to taste the gewy wetness of my arousal mingled with the sour taste of urine. He had so generously allowed me to revel in my own pleasure. Now, I wanted to demonstrate my respect by licking his fingers dry.

His cock was still hard, the veins gorged with his own desires, but I knew he wouldn't allow me the privilege of taking me in whatever manner he chose just yet.

When at last he drew me up, he led me over to the huge bathtub, and braced me from falling as I stepped carefully into the shallow water. For a moment, I wondered how I could possibly leave this hotel and have dinner with him in one of the glamorous restaurants he fancied in the clothes I had worn earlier in the day, but I was prepared to swallow my chagrin -- for him -- if he chose to continue my punishment.

As he lathered the soap all over me, bathing me as a father would a child, I found myself falling into his trance, coasting closer to that tiny corner of the universe where my only concern was to please him. Seeing me sink into this blissfully agitated state, he knew that I was incapable of questioning or reasoning. The strength of my trust in him surpassed all of my fears.

His soapy hands, which roamed in slick caresses all over my body, intended to gentle me, but he knew very well that even the slightest brush of his fingers easily ignited every spark of sexual tension that heated my veins. My breasts, my clit -- even the tiny red bud of my ass -- burned with a fire that soothed as it raged.

Finishing up, he shampooed my hair, washing away the traces of the men who had used me entirely for his satisfaction, then after a thorough rinse, he helped me to stand.

"I've got a surprise for later hidden in the bedroom, so I want you to dress in here," he said, rubbing the thick velvety towel over my breasts, pinching my nipples through the heavy, soft material just hard enough to edge me closer to cumming again. Then, he abruptly moved on to my arms and legs, systematically avoiding the trembling lips of my sex.

"You're so wet that it just doesn't matter," he said, turning away from me to hang the damp towel on the rack. Then, he left again to retrieve my clothes.

Sitting alone on the edge of the tub, I opened my knees, and placed my hands on my thighs. Upon his return, he held in his hands my outfit for the evening, so carefully chosen in his simple elegant tastes: a tiny black cocktail dress, accentuated with a short pleated skirt, a pair of thigh-highs with a slip of a fine lace garter belt to hold them in place, and a pair of black paten heels. "You may dress now." Again, he left me alone so that he could dress for dinner.

With an air of reverence, I rolled each stocking over my leg, then snapped the fine silk coverings into place before stepping into the shoes. As I slipped the dress over my head, I could feel the material teasing my bare nipples once again, and I reveled in the delight of dressing in the clothes he deemed me worthy enough to wear. Ever so carefully, I dried my hair, then fastened my tresses on top of my head -- just as he so adored -- with the handmade silver clip he had left on the vanity for me.

After finishing my make-up and spritzing myself with his favorite perfume, I opened the door slightly, and asked for his permission to enter the salon.

He sat on the couch, with a Scotch in hand, and surveyed every inch of my body with his unreadable eyes. Then, he waved his hand, beckoning me to move closer.

Again, I began to worry. I hoped I had fulfilled his expectations of me wearing the dress, and I began to fret that something just wasn't right. The guilt of disappointing him twice in a matter of hours would leave me shattered.

"One more thing," he said, his voice steady and his eyes still cool. "Bend over the couch, my sweet."

Dutifully, I lifted the pleated skirt of my short cocktail dress, and leaned over the arm of the antique divan, just as he instructed. I could feel the cold lubricant against my ass, then the soft pressure of the silicone plug as he pressed it inside.

"Just a gentle reminder for this evening," he explained, patting my raw cheek. "One more inch...there. Now, you may stand."

For dinner he had chosen a fine restaurant where I could never afford to dine on my own. The maitre d' recognized him immediately when we stepped through the door, and I had guessed that he had frequented the place on his numerous trips to France. If our host was keen enough to notice that I was not his wife -- who had likely dined with him, perhaps even at the same table he had reserved for this evening -- he was discreet enough not to question my Master.

"Every other woman in this room pales in comparison to you," he murmured as we settled into our corner table, "and every man has his hand on his cock at the sight of you."

Bashfully, I dropped my head and smiled. "Thank you."

"But you can't have a single one of them this evening," he continued. "Tonight, my precious one, you are solely for my pleasure."

Our conversation throughout dinner was light, quick chatter on how he wanted to spend the following day with me. We discussed which exhibits we might catch and the boutiques where he would take me shopping for lingerie. It was these sorts of moments, arguing over French politics or my utter distaste for Picasso, that often gave me the most satisfaction. He had once told me that he could never make love to a woman with whom he couldn't carry on an intelligent conversation afterward, and I felt ever so exalted in knowing that I was the object of his attention -- even if only for a short time.

When we returned to the hotel, slightly giddy from the wine we drank with dinner, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the gold framed mirrors that lined the lobby's thick walls. Looking at my reflection, I realized that the girl who had walked through the lobby just hours ago was unrecognizable as the face that stared back at me. Now, draped in the finest materials that money could buy, I was so proud to be his property to show off in his high-society circles.

As we strolled along, I curtailed my own amusement, thinking how carefully we had hidden our little sexual secrets from the naked eyes around us. Once back in the room, I undressed, leaving my thigh-highs and garter belt on, then bowed on my knees before him.

"Since you were such a good girl today, and took your punishment without complaint, I have a very special surprise for you." he said, petting my head with long even strokes. "Now, crawl to the bedroom."

Obeying his command, I made my way slowly toward the closed door, dragging my hands and legs just as he had taught me.

"My toys!" I exclaimed with the excitement of a little child uncovering her gifts under the tree on Christmas morning when I spotted the display of dildos, clamps, and anal beads.

"Get your toy, precious," he said, as he cupped my chin in his hand, then snapped my collar around my neck.

With each movement, I could feel the dampness slipping down my thigh, knowing that soon he would permit me his cock. I could envision the thickness of him so vividly, and licked my lips in anticipation. Taking his beloved rod into every orifice of my body was the most esteemed privilege he could grant me.

I searched for the largest of the vibrators, then placed my lips around the fat head of a ten-inch silicone shaft to draw it into my mouth. Sucking it tightly between my lips, I returned to the floor on my hands and knees, and waited for him to permit me to return to his feet.

"Good girl," he said, stepping up to my side. "Now, clean up your other toys, put them away -- in a drawer -- and return to me."

While I hurried to gather the assortment of gifts he had bought specifically for me, he removed his jacket, then his tie, shirt, belt and trousers with an almost casual air, as if we had all the time in the world.

The tender pull of the clamps around my nipples brought me a welcoming rush of pain, and he tugged at the chain just once to allot me a moment of pleasure before issuing his next demand.

"Kneel on the bed for me."

Climbing up on the fluff of covers that had been so elegantly turned down, I braced myself on all fours, and spread my cheeks wide to his liking. As he pulled the thick plug from the depths of my bowel, I knew what he had in store. "So open," he said, teasing the thin, over-sensitized rim with the tip of his finger.

In the beginning of our relationship, even the insertion of my pinky finger lubricated with my own wetness, had been too much for me. Throughout the months of our telephonic and electronic affair, he had readied me for our first encounter by instructing me which anal plugs to use, stretching my tender pink hole and initiating me into a new level of pleasure.

On the day of our first meeting, I surprised him over lunch, telling him that I had managed to fit the largest plug inside, and later that afternoon, I gave him my two most precious gifts -- my virgin ass and my pledge of absolute submission.

In and out, he drove his fingers through the constricting walls of my cunt, all the while taunting my ass with the tickle of the head of his cock. Occasionally, he would pull away slightly to nudge his glistening fingers inside my anus, slipping slowly until the delicate skin gloved him to the knuckle and readying me for his plunge with the residue of my own arousal.

His ingress was quick, shoving inside me with the force of five men, and I bucked backward to take him completely inside. As he began to pump so steadily, I felt as if my clit were hanging from a ledge, treading dangerously close to the edge of culmination. Just knowing how much time he had invested in training me to relish in the delights of sodomy brought me incomprehensible joy.

Yet before I could catch my breath to beg him for release, I felt the slap of his hand against my bottom -- first the right cheek then the left -- and he ordered me to take my vibrator into my mouth. "That's it...suck it harder... just like you sucked those two men this afternoon."

Again and again, I felt the sting of his hand as I worked my jaw around the pseudo-phallus, pretending that it his cock inside my mouth -- the same cock that reamed so deeply into my most delicate passage. With each stab, his balls heaved against me, slapping me where his occupied hands couldn't reach.

Then -- without warning -- I could feel the gentle, steady hum of a second vibrator that he stuffed into my cunt radiating through the orgasm I fought so hard to control. Against the plastic in my mouth, I groaned, my muffled cries pleading with him to allow me just one more chance to cum.

"You're so full," he said, increasing the pace and the depth of his thrust into my ass. "All of your holes are full now."

Pressing my bound breasts flat against the comforter, which I clutched in my hands, I matched him stroke for stroke, riding him all the way to my salvation. Squeezing him with my ass, I clutched the vibrator in my cunt and bit down upon the one in my mouth. I needed this so desperately...so desperately...and only he could gratify me the permission for release.

"Cum." It was an order I had long ago learned to obey, and one that I embraced with the utmost veneration. Just as I thought I might collapse in the throes of sizzling sparks that fluttered through my cunt, my ass, my body and soul, he exploded inside me, filling me with load after load of his cum.

When he stilled, I continued to tremble, feeling the aftershocks of oblivion settling over me. Gently, he withdrew, simultaneously removing the vibrator from the gaping, dripping hole between my legs. Rolling me over, he took the other toy from my lips, and smoothed his hand over my hip. "Easy...settle down, my precious."

Dazed, I stared blindly into his eyes through the blur of my tears, then sat up and habitually bent my head to take him between my lips. I licked like a thirsty cat lapping milk, cleaning him of every last drop as I nursed from his softness.

When I had cleansed him to his satisfaction, he eased me away with his tender hands to reward me with the delicate press of his lips against my beaded forehead.

"You, my precious, are such a very good girl."

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