Fille de Joie

Fille de Joie

(Fee dah Shwaw)

Warning: This is not a work of fiction, although I have intensified some of the descriptions to enrich them. Nor is it a day-by-day reproduction of my Diary, but is the greater part of the main events from it, enhanced with many of my later thoughts and impressions. All names, but mine, of all characters, and all businesses, have been changed to protect the guilty parties, and no resemblance to actual persons or places is intended. The copyrighted names of all products belong to their respective copyright owners, and I thank them for their indulgence.

Valliére Matinée de'Souillonné


Hi. My name is Valliére. I am 27, and I am about 5' 4" tall, weigh about 120, with auburn hair, green eyes and my last bra size was a 36" C cup chest, with a 24" waist, and I'm 36" inches at my hips. My boyfriend, Glen, told me that I have to write this letter to you as part of my social conditioning and my ability to express my thoughts. You see, I grew up with very religious and strict parents, and I had only been with one guy before leaving home to go to college. My first 2 years in school made me feel like I had to devote all of my time to my studies just to keep up my grades, so I rarely attempted to socialize much. Finally, toward the end of my junior year, one of my girlfriends talked me into going to a party with her, because she said she was afraid to go alone. We went, and that is where I met this older gentleman, Glen, who was really young enough looking that I couldn't possibly have guessed his true age as being 33 years older than I. He was actually possessed of the mature outlook of his age at that time of 58. He was genuinely polite and charming as well, and it is him with whom I now live. And also live for, with all of my soul, heart, mind and body.

Glen rapidly earned my undivided attention at that party, as well as my deepest respect, with his worldly knowledge and his familiarity with subjects that I knew so little about, and I completely enjoyed myself, wrapped up in talking with him about so many things that my knowledge seemed to only have grasped the skeletal basics of. The evening sped quickly past, and, when I discovered that my girlfriend had deserted me, and as it was late, Glen kindly offered to drive me home. I accepted, and as we were riding in his car, he was telling me about some books that he could lend me to increase my understanding of some of the things we had discussed. I asked if he lived nearby, and could we get those books before he dropped me off. He said, 'Of course.' and invited me in when we pulled up to his apartment building.

My, what a scrumptious apartment, with nice furniture, and with the large living room's walls lined with artwork and bookshelves full of books and rare sculptures and carvings from many exotic countries. Being with this beautiful man in his beautiful apartment, with it's beautiful fireplace burning, with beautiful music playing softly in the background, surrounded with all his beautiful possessions filled me with feelings that I was previously unaware I had within me. I was completely unready for them. It was almost as if homesickness were tugging at my heart strings, making me realize that I had been missing out on the warmth and closeness of someone dearly beloved, and I felt almost overwhelmed by it.

To make a long story short, after two glasses of delicious wine and some intimate conversation involving our respective personal histories, I spent the night, as well as the entire weekend with him. Repeatedly, and insatiably, making passionate and demanding love with him and to him. I had an unprecedented craving, for me anyway, for his scrupulous and exhaustive ability of fulfilling the physical needs in me, which I had never before even suspected existed in me. Neither of us got more than 6 hours of sleep all weekend. I was not in the least prepared for, nor had I any former experience with, the total ecstasy he introduced me to and with which he rewarded my body. His sexual knowledge and prowess borders on god-like if it actually is not.

Glen has just read what I have written so far, and told me to cut to the chase, because no one wants to read all of my romantic platitudes, but would prefer that I get down and dirty, and give you the nasty details. One of the abilities I am supposed to be improving on with this letter to Literotica.com is talking dirty, with which I am simply unfamiliar, but I will try, and see if I can get better at it for him. I wish I had a thesaurus for dirty words. He is always telling me that if I like what is happening to my body, he wants to hear about it as vulgarly as I can express it. Loudly, repeatedly crudely, and forcefully, because that indicates to him how turned on I am. Which, in turn, causes him to try even harder to put even more effort into plunging me completely past my fear of total loss of self-control, into the realm of a sexually frenzied rapture of pure lust. The idea of which, frightens me even more than loss of control, although I do crave to experience it at some point. Glen tells me I cannot until I give all control over to him. Yet I can hardly understand how sex, excuse me fucking, can get any better than what we are already sharing.

Before Glen's, the only cock I had ever touched was not even 6". Glen's is 10 plus, inches long, and a bit over 2 and a half inches thick, making it not quite six and a half inches in circumference. Yes, Ladies, I have been busy with my little seamstress' tape measure from my sewing basket, but good Lord, after being so thoroughly reamed out, and turned into an over-boiled veggie, I had to know all about the cause of it. It feels as if he is pushing a cannon through me. Coitus, excuse me again, fucking had always been a rare event for me, that I only infrequently rewarded my hometown boyfriend with on very special occasions, and which lasted for only some few seconds, never allowing him to ejaculate in me, pardon me, cum in me, poor Joe.

Now, I cannot seem to get enough of Glen's huge cock, often 10 or more times a day. I want, no, not just want, I need, all of the cum that he can produce, In me, on me and running out of me, because now I feel that sex which doesn't result in me having all I can get of the man's cum, is sex that doesn't give me my full reward, and therefore doesn't fulfill my craving. Since Glen has released the sexual beast within me, I am now always very wet and juicy, even without the cum. The best lingering feeling of my lifetime to date is being so full of cum that it drools out of my cunt and ass, dripping off of my cunt lips and creating a slimy slick down the inside surfaces of my thighs.

Enough, even, to ooze down to my knees when I stand or walk. Some of it even dripping in long, gooey strands of viscous ropes down to my ankles, or the ground, or pooling on the surface of wherever I am sitting. It often collects beneath my hairless, naked, inflamed and bloated cunt, where it makes a slippery puddle under the cheeks of my sexy, plump little ass on wherever I am sitting, as none of my skirts or dresses are long enough anymore to prevent my cunt from being in direct contact with those surfaces, and I never wear pants or panties any longer. I love having a bellyful of it sloshing around in my tummy when I move. Yum! I absolutely and completely revel in it, and I LOVE it, THRIVE on it, feeding my inner feminine fantasy of the carnal conquest of mankind with it!

I had never had a cock in my mouth before, having been raised to be a naïve, small town girl, afraid of germs and dirty people, and anything to do with sex or the enjoyment of it, and so I had never even considered it. Glen talked about everything I was in fear of, with facts and logic that he pointed out to me from many different medical reference books, encyclopedias, and anatomy books, and got me through all of my silly home-taught delusions about many, many "taboo" societal opinions concerning sex. I am still learning, but this new knowledge has fairly completely put to rest almost all of the silly misinformation I had been fed with as a little girl growing up.

He has taught me to not only suck his dick, (not using the "whore's cheat", as he calls it, of sucking just the head, while rubbing up and down on the shaft) but to take it completely into my throat. He held my nose, and by extending my tongue and inhaling deeply, simultaneously pushing my head forward until the head of his cock is completely past my "gag reflex" point, and is entrenched deeply in my gullet, so that my nose is buried in his pubic hair with him no longer needing to hold my nose, I can take his full length. And then I have to relinquish all control and relax, rather than fighting him, and let him do all of the work in what he calls "face fucking" or "skull fucking" me, while I concentrate on massaging the head and shaft of his cock with my reciprocally fucking throat and jaw muscles and my tongue. This ultimately gives all the control I need over him back to me completely, as his wild pleasures become the source of my pleasure, and I become the oral energy controlling both of us.

Although it has taken me several months to perfect this new talent with any level of skill, I love every aspect of it. From the feel of the granite hardness that yet feels so pliable, so soft and satiny at the same time, to the tastes and smells that accompany the act, the throb and pulse of the blood pounding through the cock being amplified into my body by the tightness of my throat and esophageal and chest muscles, the silky friction of the thrust and pull of the tissues in my throat as the spongy head applies firm, yet gentle pressure on them traveling in and out, as well as the pride I feel in being able to accomplish a skill, which Glen says that more than 90% of all women cannot do at all, let alone with a tool the size of his. I love the trust that I have in him that makes me feel so comfortable in giving him complete control over me, which ultimately results in all of the intense pleasures being mutually prolonged between us.



In turn, these mutually expanding levels of sexual gratification further intensify until our shared peak is reached, and we physically can no longer delay the inevitable division of our collective mental and emotional oneness in the mutual time and space that our combined efforts and caring have enshrouded our inner beings with, until together, with the outcome of this very intimate endeavor, in our reciprocal climaxes, our joint perceptions of our unity are slowly separated and drawn back into our individual and divided personal awareness's once more.

I was obliviously ignorant of, until Glen's gentle tutoring revealed to me, the idea that cocksucking could easily give me an orgasm merely because of the intensity of the feelings, that intimate closeness resulting from being fully alert to each little change in your partner's internal and external positions, movements and immediate needs, and the effort that goes into positively responding to these, or any discomforts or detractions. The dirty names he calls me, and the nasty things he says to me and about me during the throes of our heated bouts, when I cannot VERBALLY respond to them, seem to sink more deeply into my consciousness than they would if my mouth weren't so full and delightfully busy at the moment. This, in turn, contributes to fulfilling some lust-starved insistency in me, and prodding an even greater increase of my efforts.

This helps me to let go of any lingering inhibitions, and focus my efforts on becoming the dirty little slut he needs, wants and tells me to be, and that focus allows me to release my passions so much more completely, that I have cataclysmic orgasms as he explodes within my mouth. I think also, that the power I have over him in controlling when and how much he cums down my blow hole, as well as just being able to cause such an explosive climax in someone so much older, and so far more experienced than myself, who has cum countless times in his life, in countless exciting scenarios that I can't possibly reproduce, even if I had the encompassing imagination, knowledge, the capability and the means, is a large contributing factor to my cunt gushing so volatilely at the same time as his pistoning cock is bursting into my meat crammed throat.

Glen began his conquest of me with gentle little kisses, concentrating on an area of my body with an ever increasing fervency, until I was gasping and moaning with a need I couldn't identify, yet couldn't deny, bringing out in me a writhing, twisting, restless urgency that he built upon and expanded with his relentless attentions then spreading out over my entire body, but practically ignoring my engorged nipples and my ravening cunt. He further compounded my cravings by adding in fluttering, lingering, tickling touches with his fingertips, not concentrated on any particular erogenous zone, but turning my whole body into one unending erogenous entity.

He tantalized my sensitivities until the slightest touch anywhere on any part of my skin sent me into a swirling vortex of ever-magnifying need. Until I was wailing and practically screaming with my insatiable desire. Only then did he attack my actual erogenous areas, bringing me to the point of feeling that my entire being had become a rapaciously craving, slavering vagina, ready to swallow all of mankind, all of its cocks, and all of its cum. At this point he finally took me, burying his full length in me completely, but making such sweet, gentle love to me that I had to be the one to become forceful, reverting to animal savagery to satisfy my voraciously devouring lusts. That was the first time I ever raped anyone.

That's what I meant about getting the control back by giving it up to him, if I'm making any sense. I know that I'm putting all of this down almost as disjointedly scattered as my brain thinks it, and it is, probably, very hard to follow, but please bear with me. I believe that I have a few pretty important notions to get across in black and white, for women starting out with the same crippling lack of information I started with, but I am finding it to be pretty difficult to express them clearly, and I hope that it doesn't all come out just sounding jumbled and stupid, instead of being able to help form the attitudes of some of the women out there who need to understand why their men seem either preoccupied with sex, or go the opposite route and become uninterested in their woman, giving their interest over to a job, or something, or someone even more detrimental to a conjugal relationship.

Okay. While we're out walking together, whenever I think about having just gotten him off so intensely before we left the apartment, I love the dirty, slutty little hot to trot and sleazy, bad girl feeling that I get rerunning his peak reactions over in my mind, which makes me feel like gaily skipping down the sidewalk beside him, full of joy and pride and mischief, like a little brat. It's a feeling I cannot even begin to convey, but the yearning for more of the fuel that feeds it has become a driving force behind the effort I put into turning his fantasies into reality, and which is due to knowing that I am, what Glen calls, "a world class cocksucker with no known equal." As we are out and about, up inside of my head, I'm singing a little tune of, "I can get you aww-off, I can get you aww-off. Like you've never kno-own, Like you've never kno-own." to every guy we walk past, and feeling very smug and sparkly about my fuckably nasty little self, which really gets my juices flowing.

I love it, and I get that same feeling, when he calls me his nasty little cocksucking whore-slut, or cum-slut, or jizz-pig, fuck toy or whatever, earning her load of spume, while I'm getting that humongous cock of his to spew deeply into my neck. He doesn't mean any harm by saying these things, they are only words he is using to rev up his engine and lubricate mine, but by saying this nasty stuff, he is actually comparing me to women who are professional experts at getting men off, and that makes me proud to think that he ranks my abilities that highly. I mean, come on they are Pros. So, it's a kind of backhanded praise, but it works because it makes me feel dirtier, and it makes me feel like trying harder to be the dirtiest he has ever had. It's all a matter of perspective. I just know I'm not getting this across to you all.

All of this, in turn, makes him more and more dependant on me for the brain-food that supplies his fantasies, even though he acts mildly disapproving of my childishly playful antics. Sometimes he even spanks me, which makes me even more mischievous and naughty in order to earn more spankings, because my cunt heats up and gets all runny in direct proportion to how much he warms my ass, but I don't think he's figured that out yet, although he'll know it as soon as he reads this. As a matter of fact, I wonder what he is doing that he's not looking over my shoulder right now.

Feeding his fantasies pushes them along to their fulfillment, and both of our subsequent excitements, pleasures and satisfactions. My becoming the consummation of his fantasies causes him to become reliant on me for their further culmination. As I concentrate on my efforts to take him to new levels, and as that reliance on me becomes more and more extensive, so does all of the evidence of his devotion to me. This allows me opportunity for even more command and control of him in daily life, working myself into every pore of his body, every nook and cranny of his psyche. This system goes on in successively increasing episodes.

The more caring energy we each devote to the other, the more benefits we both receive. And man's primal care is sexually oriented. Every Man's! I know, you girls have all heard that the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but if you don't feed his fantasies first, he's only going to thank you for the meal and be on his way. No guy wants a gal that he can't fantasize about! So your primary effort needs to be becoming the starring female character in all of his mental movies. Especially the triple X rated ones! Do you see where the advantage in all of this is Ladies? I don't try hiding any of these selfish realizations of mine from him, because as Glen says, the level of the trust between us has built up to such a superior level, that we can neither one of us thrive without the love and nourishment of its increase and continuance, and that growth is what a relationship should be about.

That cum which every man strokes his ego over, proudly thinking that it is his genetic signature, and is the symbol of his virility, is, Glen says, actually a miracle directly from God, which carries the genetic qualities that God assigns it, and which is His gift, hourly renewable, on LOAN to each man. Sperm is God's procreative essence, with which to form new humans in His image, all of us whom He has foreseen before earth's creation, let alone before each of ours'. This makes this gift of His extremely precious, which should make it an exceedingly desirable treasure that all women should eagerly try to attract and acquire, though most females act highly unreceptive to it, and like they do not want to be bothered.

Who knows, maybe they don't want an important part of God to cherish within their bodies. That type of poorly conceived notion, contrived to make a big impression on others of just how righteous the woman is, indicates a lack of reasoning which seems selfishly senseless to me. We can't any of us be righteous, as we were all created to be imperfect sinners, none of whom can EARN their way into Heaven. What? Do you think it's dirty? This creative essence, as a Holy Gift, cannot be dirty! Is it too messy, or what? All of LIFE is too messy! What's a little more? I mean, it certainly tastes good, and it is a great source of the most easily digestible protein on earth, as well as being an inexpensive, and a very fun, skin softener, and if nothing else, it washes off easily. Well, I used to be that stupid about it too, but that was simply youthfully naïve ignorance. Glen also says that God made the process of expending his gift so enjoyable in order to prevent men from jealously hoarding it, Him already knowing just how greedy each man is.