French Teacher Changes Occupation

As the months passed, I got used to being tied down and used like a whore, but there was nothing I could do about it. The more they fucked me, the more I began to enjoy the sessions with my Master, an excellent lover. On some occasions when he did not tie me, I'd ask him to do so. Why? I don't know why. I guess the loss of control made the whole experience more exciting and bearable.

I often asked the Master to spare me his disgusting brother, but most of the time, I was forced to accommodate both of them within the same hour. Once I rolled over to show my refusal to his brother, and the bastard spit on my ass and sodomized me. I never turned over again and learned to let him have his way with me to avoid the pain.

Sometimes Achmed was so intent on sodomizing me that he would ignore my vagina and lift my legs so he might enter my rectum. Even then I was forced to suck his dirty cock clean when he finished.

The Master seemed to enjoy watching his brother having sex with me, saying,

"I only stay so my brother would not be rough."

On those occasions, I was only penetrated by Achmed. I noticed that while Achmed was fucking me, the Master would be playing with himself. When his brother arose, the Master would come closer and spray his snowy cum into my hair, saying, "It is the best hair conditioner there is." I would shower off immediately after they were done. The fresh sperm did seem to work well with shampoo. I was forced to serve the entire year at their mercy.

When my contract was up, an official from the French consulate came to check on me and was kind enough to escort me to the airport. When he asked me if I was well treated, I thought it best to respond in the affirmative while still an infidel in their country. I was so happy to be free of my tormentors.

I must admit, after repeated encounters with my 'Master' and his awful brother who'd raped me over and over, a funny thing happened. During their enthusiastic coupling with my body, it was as if I was standing aside and watching two adolescents performing a forbidden act. With time, I derived pleasure from their wanton acts and became cooperative and freely joined in.

I am embarrassed to admit that after they finished with me I would remain excited for hours. Their sexual desire somehow transferred to me. In the evening, my libido was so frenzied that I would attempt to relieve myself using a flesh-colored rubber dildo that mysteriously appeared in my bedroom dresser with several tubes of lubricant. I was no longer a virgin. I felt like they had made me into a dirty whore addicted to frequent sex while bound hand and foot.

I had learned to enjoy my loss of any puritan virtue. I used the dildo every night and to my surprise one afternoon it went missing but was replaced the next day with a larger one, in black plastic. In the darkness of the night with only the yellow moonlight to guide me. I would carefully spread my lubed vaginal lips and insert the new instrument deep inside my sex. I had grown so accustomed to my nightly ecstasy that when the tie came to return to France I was tempted to take it with me. Instead, I left it under my pillow.

At the airport, I was given a ticket to Paris, as were the terms of my employment contract. It was raining when I boarded the plane but soon the aircraft rose above the squall and we were surrounded by white billowing clouds that looked like cotton puffs.

I was seated next to a respectable-looking middle-aged bespeckled German businessman. He spoke English and told me he was a rug merchant from Berlin on a buying trip for antique Persian rugs. I foolishly allowed him to flirt with me. When I confessed I get airsick, he reached into his tweed vest and took out a circular plastic pillbox. He carefully removed a larger white tablet, saying it would eliminate that inconvenience.

I took the pill and joined him in pleasantries. Then Herr Fleishman ordered several small champagne bottles. After the first hour, we'd finished three bottles and were working on the fourth, I got a tremendous urge to pee. Because I had trouble walking, Herr Fleishman escorted me to the toilet. I expected he would help me and then leave, but instead he closed the door and stayed with me.

I was very embarrassed to be forced to pee with a strange man watching. I don't know exactly how it happened, but as he helped me to my feet, he sat on the toilet. I thought he had to pee as his pants were lowered. Instead of peeing he lifted up my skirt, pulled off my panties, and pulled me down on top of him. Before he was finished, somehow he'd inserted his penis inside me and.

It was a shock and at the same time a strange comfort. By now I was used to such treatment by men. I was too dizzy to fight him off so I allowed him to do what he wanted. After a short while of his jiggling inside me, he came and I was creamed like a newly opened champagne bottle. Even in my drugged state, I was able to climax. This seemed to please him. When I tried to stand up he held me up as he peed into the toilet. I recall looking down and seeing the toilet filled with white frosted yellow pee.

Herr Fleishman, as he urinated, said,

"Ya, you should always pee after intercourse," in his thick German accent, "it cleans out the system."

The rug dealer helped me get myself together and then walked me back to my seat. I must have passed out thereafter, and to my surprise, it was the airline stewardess who woke me. All the passengers had already disembarked. How different I was from the virgin who'd embarked the year before.

The two pilots were standing there at my seat and grinning as my dress was rolled up. Since I was no longer wearing panties, my shaved pink privates were visible. I realized the rug merchant had stolen my panties. I was afraid they would rape me, but the stewardess helped me up, pulled down my dress, and helped me off the plane.

By now I was able to walk down the ramp. I followed the signs and made my way to the Arrival's Carousel when my lone tweed suitcase awaited. I carried it out to the curb where there was a taxi stand. I got into the black Mercedes taxi. The driver was a Moroccan who was very courteous. He took me to the hotel San Marco where I reserved a room.

When I opened my purse to pay him I found my missing panties wrapped around a small hundred euro note. I hoped the driver did not notice but he broke into a smile as I unwrapped the bill. I didn't care. I looked back and said,

"I guess that's the cost of sex on the airplane?"

The driver placed my suitcase on the curb in front of me. I picked it up and I left that misadventure behind me.

The Hotel San Marco is one of the older hotels on the Rue di Carnot. It has an Italian theme and their small restaurant is quite good. As the 'Master' in Saudi Arabia had a full-time French chief, I was tired of French cuisine.

The next evening in the lovely dining hall, I made the acquaintance of a handsome visiting American from Alaska who was in front of me on the banquet line. He helped me take a salad and volunteered to carry an extra plate of goodies to my table. Naturally, he sat beside me.

Dale said he was in France to buy arms for his gun store, particularly large bore and heavily engraved shotguns that were in demand among collectors. He invited me up to his room and showed me an exquisite piece manufactured by "Société nouvelle des Armes Darne" (the New Darne Gun-making Company) which was quite unique. It differed in design from the shotgun I had seen on the farm. The entire barrel slipped forward in order to load it and then slid back into position to be fired.

The American, Dale Huntington, was perhaps a few years older than I was. He was tall and slender, what you might expect of a dancer. His hair was brown with a slight curl, his skin was alabaster white and his thin lips were very manly. He had a thin mustache that reminded me of a 1920s Jazz musician. Dale said he did not believe in hunting and that the arms he sold were for skeet shooting or as collectibles. He invited me to spend the next morning visiting the famous zoo in the capital known as the 'Parc Zoologique' which is vast and includes a Botanical Garden as well.

We had a wonderful time, particularly watching the large Polar Bear exhibit. He told me that in Alaska they had Polar Bears but the animals were facing difficulties due to the melting of the glaciers. Before leaving we visited the indoor monkey exhibit. Several of the chimps were misbehaving sexually and Dale's pants started to bulge when he put his arms around me and kissed me.

I told him I wanted to do some shopping so he suggested we eat lunch at the Gallery Lafayette restaurant and shop afterward. With the money, I had earned after twelve months, well earned! I expected to be able to buy gifts to send back home and several new sporty outfits for myself. Also, I wanted some attractive lingerie and sexy braziers.

Since I could no longer offer my virginity, I decided I had to look appealing if I was to find a man. To my surprise when I was trying on the assortment of bras he came into the try-on tent and started kissing me. There in the middle of the store, Dale reached under my short skirt and daringly made love to me standing up. I was quite thrilled and embraced him tightly as he came inside me.

At the cashier, he insisted on using his American Express card to pay for my new clothes and asked the clerk to add a box of silk panties in assorted colors in my size. He knew I was too wet to try them on.

Back at the hotel, we showered together. After we washed up, he showed me many pictures of Alaska that he had on his phone. He thumbed past some nude women whose pictures were dispersed at various intervals.

"Are those you lovers?" I asked. He had a sheepish smile and never answered.

I was quite taken with the picture show of Alaska and he urged me to visit. His store was in Anchorage. He left the next day for Switzerland where he had business.

I wished he'd invited me to accompany him but perhaps the dark hared nude was not only his lover but his wife. We spent his last night together dining on a wonderful Chateau Brianne, a cut of prime beef like a filet mignon with the bone attached. Gale ordered some special red wine and delicious cordials after deserts.

I was afraid I had eaten too much to have sex but he insisted. He was a young strong lover with a medium-sized uncircumcised penis that was very not painful when he penetrated me. I found his efforts very satisfying. His face was clean-shaven as was his body. There was no pubic hair except for some stubble left where he had shaved it off.

Before we made love that night, he performed oral sex on my pussy for the longest time allowing me to climax several times before the desired penetration.

I willfully desired to return the favor. He had perfumed his sex, and when I sucked his cock and balls it smelled delightful. I continued to suck until he demurred as he wanted to cum inside me.

We made love once more in the morning before he departed for the airport. He left me with his address and insisted I keep in touch. He also left me a few hundred Euros and a very wet pussy. I was still on birth control pills and continued this system for a long time. It keeps you from becoming pregnant and you never know when sex will raise its head.

I'd inquired about employment at several agencies in Paris, but there were few openings for French teachers. Perhaps that was the wrong major in college. I had no intention of returning to Saudi Arabia. I picked up some travel folders and was attracted to a tour of Alaska by ship and on land.

That is how I ended up in Juneau. You might think I had hoped to find Dale in Alaska but my feminine intuition told me he was married and the most he could offer was a weekend of good sex. Since I had his address, only time would tell if there was a future for our lovemaking. I never told him I arrived in Alaska, perhaps I should have?

Part 4 - BEGINNING IN ALASKA

While walking around Paris I passed a travel agency with a window display advertising a trip to Alaska. The agent recommended a cruise that left from Vancouver. Air France would get me to Canada, where I could board the ship that was arriving from Seattle. Dale had saved me money by paying for my clothes and gifting me Euros, so after a year in Saudi hell, I felt I deserved to treat myself to a reward.

I must admit, I was very naughty on the ship. I was used to having multiple sex partners in Saudi Arabia. In a burst of libertine enthusiasm, I entertained several crew members each night in my cabin and in a heated observation booth on deck with a large picture window.

On the last night of the cruise, several sailors who had seen me having sex in the observation booth visited me in my room bringing their friends and bottles of liquor and gifts. I drank too much and had sex with more men than I can remember. The next day, they brought me a bucket of ice that I immediately put to work on my sore vagina. That was when I made a rule, only three fucks a night, although occasionally I have broken it.

Once I arrived in Juneau, I took a stroll around the center of the city. The plethora of sex shops and massage parlors amazed me. I figured this was a place to find men who enjoyed frequent sex. I booked into a small hotel. The first few days, I visited various tourist sites in Juneau and took a walk around the harbor. After that, I was content to remain in the city.

I knew I had to learn to enjoy sex without being tied down, although being roped was still my preference. I tried to control my libido as the days began to pass rapidly, like clouds in a storm. An unexpected sexual episode in a dark movie theater occurred when a young man sat down beside me, put his arm around me, and his finger in my vagina. Even without experiencing penetration, it tranquilized my desires. I broke down and purchased a large vibrator dildo which was very helpful at calming my nerves.

I began looking for employment. After a week I realized my chance of finding employment as a French teacher was limited. Not far from the hotel, there was a massage parlor with a handwritten sign in the window,

"MASSAGE GIRL NEEDED--No Experience Required--WE WILL TRAIN YOU"

That offer sounded interesting. Since I needed to find employment, I spoke to the proprietor, a Mr. Fang, and he suggested I begin work the next day. I have always been a quick study and in a short time, I mastered the rudiments.

I do not suggest that a real masseuse doesn't work hard. I know the whole routine, all the pulling, pushing on the limbs, the oiling, and the creaming of the body, massaging the scalp, massaging the neck, pulling the fingers, tapping, banging, pressing, even laying hot stones on vital shamanistic chakras. It is an hour of hard work and on and on. Some want their massage hard, and others like it softly. If there has been no request, you start firm and ask if they are pleased. Some like it so hard that it is exhausting to perform.

There is a difference between a massage and an erotic massage. I consider myself an artist of the erotic variant. The client is my canvas. I am a sculptor, and he is my clay. I am a musician, and he is my instrument from which his heavy breathing and occasional moans are the only musical notes he produces, while a symphony of erotic thoughts wings through his mind. I mold not only his body but his erotic persona.

My objective is that the client shall reach total relaxation in the first twenty minutes. Their mind should drift off from their daily preoccupations and reach a state of nirvana, and then I slowly bring the client to a state of sexual excitement where the angle of the penis erection is a barometer of my success.

Running your hand up the inside of their legs, past their thighs, feathering their ball sack, and making that final grab for the scrotum and on to the handling of the penis, causes them to turn over. Then the masseuse has no obstruction to providing pleasure. That is what it is all about. And that final splash when they ejaculate means the sexual fun has arrived, and they are smiling or laughing or giggling or all of the above. They don't call it a happy ending for any other reason.

I spent that first week observing how the other massage girls accomplished their tasks. In retrospect, I realized how 'green' I was, that is to say, naïve. The video cameras in the massage booths were unobtrusive, so tiny that the clients rarely noticed them. They were placed strategically, so when the masseuse approached the client at the end of a session, all I could see was her back. Only occasionally did I surmise that something erotic was taking place.

I watched each of the girls and learned from them. In addition, they gave me hours of practice massage or assisting them. Tiffany seemed to have her own way of terminating her hour. When the ejaculation took place too early, she'd suggest a foot massage. I'd never experienced a foot massage. I read about it in my erotic massage manual. According to my book, the feet are no different from the other body parts that benefit from a massage that improves circulation, stimulates tired muscles, and reduces pain and discomfort, diminishing anxiety and tension. I noticed that Tiffany, for some particular clients, would fetch a bowl of water with lemon and a pumice stone.

Tiffany's foot massage began with her gently rubbing sesame oil into the foot. When I questioned her, she said,

"The feet have many bones, often out of alignment. If you press too hard, the client might feel great pain. You must proceed slowly with an ever-cautious eye on the client's face to tell if you are causing pain. Men often hide their discomfort. Also, we have a heavy meat-eating diet here in the Yukon and this causes gout and the resulting tenderness in the feet and joints of the toes.

If all is going well, oil the entire foot, and then rub the oil into the toes, the space between the toes, the arch, and the heel. Often the heel will have callused skin. A pumice stone or a piece of fine waterproof sandpaper will deal with that.

To do a deep massage, use your knuckles and work them into the foot much as you would if you were making pizza dough or bread. Don't hesitate to probe with your thumbs, and when you are about to finish, you can pull on the toes, which will make a snapping sound as you displace the synovial fluid in the joints. Most clients adore a good foot massage and add extra to their tip.

Giselle had her own tricks of her own devices to keep a customer excited. Once she had washed their feet, she would raise one foot at a time, lift her blouse and bra cup and press the foot to her full round breasts. She'd spread their toes and slip her thick nipple between the digits. Sometimes, clients would find that so exciting that they would ejaculate before removing their feet.

Fanny, the third massage girl, also had a few tricks. She would mount a client who was face up or down and rub her firm breasts into his back or chest. Sometimes a client would grab her ass and pull her forward to reach her vagina. Most of the girls never wore panties under their short skirts. When they had their periods, they would wear tight gym pants, so close that a prying hand might not be able to enter. Frequently, customers would try to grab our pussies, as if in imitation of the President's suggestion.

I heard of the few rare and crazy customers in conversations with the other massage girls. One dude with a full beard and copious body hair would come in wearing a baby diaper, and the masseuse had to talk to him in baby talk for an hour while he diddled himself with one finger under the diaper. He paid double.

Another disgusting client quickly earned the title 'persona non grata'. He would down a can of baked beans earlier on and continually fart loudly during the massage and laugh. Mr. Fang threw him out after the first quarter-hour and told him never to return.