The French Club

"She's Janice and my name's Matt."

While removing Janice's shoe, the girl examined the chain, noting the heavy silver links. "Go ahead, touch it," Matt said. April ran her fingers along the cold metal, savoring the contrast of the cold metal and the woman's tanned, smooth and hot thighs, then inserted the exhibitionistic woman's feet into a pair of 4-inch heels. April felt an overwhelming desire and glanced up to ask permission. The boy was smiling and nodding. April looked at the docile woman as she grasped the chain and gently, slowly pulled. The slut jumped in her chair but then stayed still, except for moaning. With her other hand, April pushed the skirt all the way down, exposing the woman's panty-less pussy. God, she looked incredible, a pair of heavy clamps deeply embedded in swollen and distended lips beneath a shaved mound.

"She looks beautiful," April said, gazing up at the slut's master. "Stand up," she told the woman. "Matt inserted an arm under Janice's arms and raised her up. Janice rested both hands on April's shoulders for support. April stared at the barely visible tip of the chain, swinging freely beneath the hem. "Walk around," she said. With an effort, Janice took a few steps around the shop, cringing about the possibility of a shopper passing by, then returned to stand in the same place. "How do they feel?" the girl asked. Janice nodded briefly, totally turned on and completely humiliated. "Feel good?"

Desperate to end this scene, Janice said, "Yes, fine." April glanced up at Matt, her eyebrows raised in the gesture of "What next?" Matt walked over to a rack of shoe polish and returned with a bullet-headed bottle of liquid black polish. He handed it to the girl, who understood immediately but was incredulous. "Here? Now?" Matt nodded. "Okay," she agreed, very excited.

The girl tugged the chain much harder than before, forcing the embarrassed woman back into the chair. "Put those long legs back up on the stools," April ordered, thrilled to see that her first command was instantly obeyed by this well-trained, sexy piece, apparently the definition of a submissive. "Pull the skirt up to your waist so I can see that juicy wet cunt again." Obeying, Janice was amazed that this sexy young girl was becoming so dominant and lewd so quickly. "Now pull those fat lips apart." When Janice's long fingers had pulled her long flaps aside, April leaned in and slowly, steadily pushed the six-inch bottle all the way up her cunt. Janice groaned, too loudly. Matt quickly withdrew a four-inch wooden dowel wrapped in black plastic from his pocket and inserted it into Janice's mouth.

Matt noticed a leather shoehorn hanging from a hook on the wall. Aside from the handle, the main part extended a good four inches. He picked it up and dangled it in front of April's flushed face. "She'll fuck herself with the bottle if you want to whip her," he suggested.

"Whip her?" April repeated, taking the shoehorn, a bit dazed by the pace of events – and in the middle of the store. Matt observed how incredibly turned on she was, her own skirt hiked up on her perspiring thighs, nipples rock-hard beneath her blouse.

"Yes, do you prefer to flog her thighs or her tits?" It wasn't a tough choice for the girl, whose own pussy was dripping, her breasts sweating. But what if she chose the woman's breasts but didn't get to actually see them? "I – I don't know, I've seen her pussy but not her tits."

"A good point," Matt agreed. He was getting to like April more and more. The girl inserted a hand under her skirt and began stroking her slit while Janice, the plastic bottle still extending obscenely from her reddened cunt lips, unbuttoned and removed her thin blouse. "My God, they're incredible!" April whispered, gasping at the size and shape of the beautiful breasts, crisscrossed with striations and capped with enormous, extended nipples. "You don't live around here, do you?" she asked Matt. He shook his head.

With considerable force for a novice, April began striking the breast flesh as Janice pumped her pussy with the makeshift dildo. Between floggings, the girl pumped two fingers into her own cunt. Within two minutes, Janice's body lifted off the chair and she became rigid for a moment as her orgasm hit. The next moment she'd collapsed back onto the wet chair and was twisting in a sweat-drenched cum as the girl also climaxed, toppling forward off her stool until she was kneeling between Janice's spread wide legs and thighs. After a minute, she looked up at Matt. "Train me," she begged, "show me everything."

Next up: Janice uses her birthday gift certificate with a painful masseur.

Chapter Three — The masseur

Janice checked the address on the sheet of paper. It was hard to read in the twilight, but she was in the correct place. The directions said to walk around the large and pretty but dark house to the cottage in the rear. No neighbors were in sight.

She swallowed another slug of vodka from the flask in her handbag so she would be relaxed for the massage. When Matt had recommended to the birthday party guests that Janice would enjoy a massage gift certificate for her birthday gift, the Vice Chancellor had strongly recommended this particular body worker. But Janice had not realized he lived in such a countrified setting. Nor had she expected the gift certificate to be worth $500. What could be worth so much? After all, it was not a spa where she would receive wraps and steams and facials.

She rang the bell and the door was opened by a young, muscular hunk. "Good evening, I'm Brett." His curly light brown hair reminded her of Matt. She had forgotten to specify a preference for masseur or masseuse. Smiling, he invited her into the cozy cottage, which was decorated in a feminine manner.

"Hello, Brett, I'm Janice," she said, sitting on a sofa. "This is a sweet place."

"Well thank you." She noted his strong biceps and thighs under a thin, tight tank top and workout pants. She guessed him to be twenty-one or two. "Would you like a cocktail to relax?"

"That would be great. A White Russian, perhaps?"

"No problem." He quickly fixed her drink, which was surprisingly large and strong, better than any she'd tasted.

"This is delicious!"

"Thanks," he said. "Janice, I understand you know the Vice Chancellor?"

"Y-ye-yesss," she stammered, blushing, wondering if Brett really knew the nature of her relationship with the sadistic academic. When ordering your gift certificate, he gave me, how shall I say, a rough idea of your preferences."

"Oh?" she replied, stalling while trying to think. She took a long, slow drink. "What did he say?" she asked innocently.

"Let's see. . ." He flipped a couple of pages on a clipboard. "Here it is. He suggested intensive, deep tissue work, noting that you have a high tolerance for pain." He looked up at her from his notes, the picture of innocence.

Janice blushed and squirmed. "Yes, I suppose that's true."

"And that you do what you're told to do."

"Go on," she said, noncommittally.

"Let's see. You like young guys and prefer to be fastened for the painful parts."

She felt the drink going to her head. She was also perspiring in the heat of the cottage, which made sense for bodywork. "I've never had such a detailed initial questioning," she said hesitantly.

He stared at her boldly. "You've never had a session like the one we're going to do together." There was a lengthy silence. His eyes never broke contact.

"Perhaps you can tell me what sort of style or techniques you use? Shaitsu? Swedish? Reiki?"

"Oh, it's a bit of everything. But I can assure you it's both painful and pleasurable." Janice opened a couple of buttons on her blouse while she drank more.

"Is there anything you won't permit?" he asked, pen in hand.

She felt as though he could see right through her depraved nature. "I'll—I'll let you know if there is," she mumbled.

"The Vice Chancellor also said you work out intensively. Well, it shows. From what I can see, you've got a fantastic body. You're a very beautiful woman. We'll be pushing your flexibility and your stamina. Ready for a refill?"

"Yes please."

"Let's get started while I freshen up your White Russian. Walk to the rear room and disrobe." He left the living room for the kitchen. She remained, apprehensive. Upon his return, he was surprised to see her sitting there. He set down the large drink on the end table next to the sofa. His demeanor hardened. "I thought you'd be in the massage room."

"Could we keep it lit with just one candle?"

"I don't work that way. And with your body there's no reason to be shy. Why?" There was a long moment of silence, which he was determined not to break.

Janice drank. "My body has marks," she said, humiliated.

"So?" Brett laughed. "Everybody does: birthmarks, scars from surgery or accidents. I've seen it all."

"Ummm. . . They're not those kinds of marks," she said, restless and shifting her position on the sofa.

"What kind are they?" he asked commandingly. She wouldn't answer. He approached her and slapped her cheek.

"Discipline marks," she eked out in a barely audible voice.

"I see. . . where are they located?" He was relentless, Janice thought. He waited in the heavy silence.

"They're—they're on my ass."

"Where else?" Her head snapped up to look at him. It was as if he knew everything about her. But she couldn't say it aloud. He leaned over and slapped the side of her left breast.

"Ow!" she yelled. "On. . . on my chest!"

"Where on your chest?" She defied him with no response. He slapped the side of the other breast, harder than the first slap.

"My breasts," she said, her chest heaving.

He slapped the top of her breast. "Say again?"

"My–my tits."

"That's better. Why were you disciplined?" He waited a long time for her reply.

"Because I deserved it," she confessed, ashamed.

"Why?"

"For being a bad mother."

He threw a cushion from his chair onto the floor at her feet and sat on the chair. "Kneel." She took a large swallow from her drink and slowly sank to the pillow on her knees. "Turn around." The pillow swiveled on the wood floor until she was facing the sofa. "Lean over onto the sofa." When she was in position, he ordered her to pull up her skirt. Janice heard him gasp at the sight of her perfect ass, covered by a multitude of lines and welts. "Beautiful. Turn back." She rotated to face him again, the skirt dropping. "Now the blouse."

With agonizing slowness, she undid the row of buttons and let the blouse drop. "Mmmm," he murmured, taken aback by the big, gorgeous breasts, the aroused, extremely dark nipples, and the severe degree of markings. "Incredible. How much do your nipples extend?"

"Over an inch. . . when no devices are used," she responded, fully aware of how hot her body was.

"How long have they stretched when clamped?"

"Over an inch and a half."

He could barely wait to clamp her tits with a pair of 1"-wide binder clips he had customized by adding serrations. "Who administered your punishments?"

"Different people," she muttered evasively.

"How many and who were they?"

"My son's college mentor, his college friends' fathers, and the board at the Academy—including the Vice Chancellor." She didn't mention Father Hood, Mr. Dugan, the Father's friend and her neighbor, the boys at the Vice Chancellor's pool party, the students when she'd been a substitute teacher, Floyd, her son's roommate, her neighbor Lauren, or the custodian. She also omitted her family: her sister Darielle, her nephew Alex and her son Matthew.

"That's quite a list. It sounds like you're a hardcore pain slut, an SM slave, doesn't it?"

"Please sir, please whip me, cane me, clamp me, fuck me, but don't ask any more questions," she begged.

He ignored her plea. "Does your son have an idea how debased you are?"

"Oh God," she thought, "anything but Matthew." Brett noticed how her nipples hardened and her breathing deepened as soon as he mentioned her son. Without warning, he leapt from the chair and cropped the top of her breasts with a quirt that appeared from nowhere. She screamed from the blow and, to avoid massaging or hiding her burning breasts, voluntarily locked her fingers behind her head.

"Yes. . . yes he knows."

As a livid weal formed on her tits, Brett admired the depth of her training, hands behind her head. He sat again. "Tuck your skirt into your waist." She complied, exposing her shaved pussy and spreading her thighs. He observed the cane marks on her vulva, the fat clitoris and the long, thick labial lips, already glistening. The chocolate nipples had grown still longer.

"What does your son do about your being a bad mother? And what does he think of your degrading behavior?" She shook her head mutely, a blank refusal.

Slowly this time, he rose, walked the few feet to the sofa, grabbed the hair at the back of her head and pulled it back until their eyes locked. Without breaking contact, he swung the quirt and lashed her cunt. She screamed and started bucking her hips in a first orgasm, diddling her oversize clit, her head writhing back and forth, sinking into a droning "Uhhhhhh!" as her climax subsided and her head hung down. Brett was pleased: not only had a direct slash on her cunt brought her off, but she'd cum quickly and powerfully.

"I asked you a question," he reminded the sweating slave, speaking directly into her ear.

She looked up, dazed from the pain and orgasm. "What question?" she asked, innocently.

"Tell me about your son," Brett hissed. "I'll clamp you here and now if you don't answer." He saw her eyes light up at the mention of clamps. He went to the massage room and returned with four binder clips as she was draining her second double White Russian, white liquid dribbling from her lips onto her breasts as she upended the glass, her eyes staring dully.

Brett sat on a low ottoman in front of her. She moaned when she saw he had not one pair of clips, but two. She resumed stroking her clit as she watched him thread a slim black cord through the holes in one pair of metal clips, then the other. When he saw how excited she was becoming, he understood that she wanted the clips, needed the clamping before she would tell him any more.

Ready, he held the first pair up in front of her, one clip in each hand, and slowly forced the springs open. "Oh my God," she cried when she saw the two rows of serrated teeth. She started speaking in a panicked jumble. "Matthew is ashamed of me as a mother."

"Go ahead, Janice. But it's too late to avoid these." He moved the clips to her fat nipples as she thrust two fingers into her cunt.

"He thinks I'm a tease who'll do anything for cock, so he punishes me." Brett slowly closed the first clamp on the giant nipple, fascinated by the sight of the gleaming teeth sinking into the dark turgid flesh. She shrieked but didn't miss a beat with her pistoning fingers. When she could speak, the words rushed out. "He uses me like his personal house slave. He dresses me like a hot slut." She was getting into a verbal rhythm.

Brett released the second clip, the teeth sinking so deeply the nipple bulged around it. She shouted and shoved a third finger up her cunt. "He forces me to suck his big cock and drink his hot cum. He pours his cum on my dinner and makes me eat it."

Brett picked up the second pair of clips. "He ties me and clamps my big tits" she added desperately. Brett opened the clamps wide. "He shoots his load all over my face and tits." In a last desperate rush, she yelled, "He fucks my hot mouth. He fucks my hot pussy. He fucks my hot ass." Despite her hand with fingers up her cunt, Brett positioned the clamps over her labia. "He plugs my holes with dildos. He humiliates me by whoring me out to relatives and friends for gangbangs and whippings and Bukkake. He makes me service five guys at a time."

Brett released the clips simultaneously. Janice shot up in a frenzied reflex and uttered a piercing scream as she came, the large breasts flopping up and down and side to side with the obscenely vicious clamps hanging on for the ride. The labia clips kept banging into each other. As far as Brett could tell she was having a series of shattering climaxes until she sagged back against the sofa, her head lolling. She probably had no idea what was happening when he grabbed her hands and dragged her across the slick wood floor to the massage room, where he hoisted her onto his special massage table and placed her face down on the black leather.

Her breasts fell through the two openings in the table until the clips could be seen hanging down beneath the table bottom. Brett strapped in her wrists and ankles, then widened the two separate supports beneath her legs until they were spread wide, her dark rosebud and dripping cunt gaping open. He dropped his pants and removed the labial clips, exposing the raw and reddened lips.

Janice's eyes shot open in shock when she felt the large cock ram into her cunt. Brett massaged her back and shoulders as he vigorously fucked her, mashing her face and breasts into the holes in the table. Suddenly he withdrew and spurted for what seemed like a full minute over her taut ass cheeks. After a couple of minutes she felt an object scrape across her ass, apparently collecting his spunk. A moment later a stool appeared under the table and beneath her face, on which he placed a bowl filled with his jizz. She was amazed at how much there was and began squirming in frustration when the tangy scent hit her. "Please let me drink it," she begged, but Brett ignored her and left.

Janice awoke from a semiconscious state when Brett lifted her like a doll and stood her up against a modified X-frame, strapping her in. The modification left her buttocks exposed for whipping or fucking. He tilted the frame slightly forward, just enough so that the weights would hang freely, rather than get some support from her ribs and thighs. He dipped his fingers into the bowl of thick semen and roughly milked her nipples with one hand and her clit with another. When he was satisfied that they extended as much as possible, he clamped all three and weighted them, using the heaviest amounts Janice had ever withstood. She writhed in pain and excitement, seeing her nipples distend more than ever before. Naturally, she couldn't see how much her poor, fat clit had been distorted.

"Your nipples are the most incredible I've seen," he said. "Of course, you've had them whipped numerous times." She nodded, sweating from the torture. "But always in the boring, standard way, straight on." Her eyes widened with fear. "I'm going to whip them on all four sides." He found a dildo, coated its length with cum and drove it up her freshly fucked cunt, watching her gasp with pleasure. He raised a thin quirt and slowly struck each of the dusky nipples on the tops, sides and bottoms. Screaming gutturally, her pelvis rocked and smashed against the wood X-frame in yet another climax, the weights so heavy they swung much less than lighter ones.

Brett lubed two thick fingers until they were dripping with cum and inserted them all the way into her nether ring. He increased the angle of the frame so he could get an optimal angle to her asshole, coated his prodigious cock and began to fuck her ass with his massive cock. Just before he came, he reached around her front and released first her nipples and then her clit. When she cried out in pain from the rush of blood filling the obscenely stretched nipples and clit, he came in a burst of ecstasy, filling her amazing ass with a flood of juice, as much as from his previous load.

To follow: France and a unique private club.

Chapter Four — The setup

In August, Matt and Janice arrived in Paris, checking into an elegant old hotel associated with the resort. There were no single rooms, only suites featuring beautiful furnishings, high ceilings and the marble fireplaces they'd admired in the Newton photos.