Michael was going to stay in Paris for two months. He was the Projects Director of an American computer company. He had taken over the project of a French clothing store chain that was going to launch a new catalogue via the Internet. He had been chosen to do so because of his French background (his mother was French), the fact that he spoke the language fluently and also because he was recently divorced and could stay away from home without any problems.
His company had rented him a small apartment on the right bank of the Seine, and he spent most of the time in the offices of the store working on the project. He generally had a light lunch in the office and had dinner at a small bistro near his flat. Every once in a while he would see Cecille, one of the secretaries of the office, having dinner there too. But he never approached her or invited her to sit with him. She was a quiet and discreet woman. Neither pretty nor ugly. A bit expressionless. She had a nice figure, it looked like she kept fit. Her hair was always in a braid that reached the middle of her back. It was black and shinny. The one feature in her that drew his attention were her very blue eyes, most of the time hidden behind her reading glasses. But he never invited her to eat with him nor ever spoke a word to her, only nodded every time he saw her enter the bistro. For some odd reason, he did not feel it would be right.
The project was on the last touches and Michael would be getting back to the USA. By then he knew Paris quite well, and that night he decided to go to a new nightclub he had heard about. It was in the heart of the Quartier Latin, and he walked there. It was full of young people talking, drinking and dancing. He bought a glass of wine and stood near the dancing floor. He looked at the dancers, not really seeing each one of them. The floor dance was packed, bodies shinning with sweat, arms, and legs in movement. He was hypnotised by the colours, the lights. And then, he saw her. Dancing on her own, in the middle of the floor. Her black hair loose, falling like a cascade over her arms and back. Wearing a skimpy dress that barely covered her body.
She was entranced, her eyes shut, her hands above her head, her body in movement, swaying sensually to the music. She didn't seem to notice anyone around her, she was on her own, in her own world. He was astonished with her change. That quiet woman, discreet and expressionless, was in reality, a beautiful and sensual woman. He stood there for long minutes, just fixed on her. And after some time she opened her eyes, and looked right at him. And smiled at recognising him. She walked in his direction. She pushed him to the dance floor, put her arms around his neck, and looking straight into his eyes, she waited for him to lead her through that music. After a moment of hesitation, he held her waist, brought her a little nearer him, and started dancing. He could smell her perfume, sweet and tangy. He could feel her body in total abandon in his arms. He held her tighter and danced, slowly, small steps, just enough for those swaying movements that took their bodies from one side to the other.
And they went on for quite some time. He held her closer and closer, tighter and tighter. He felt her hands gently caressing the back of his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. When the soft music turned into a hard beat, they stopped, without a word, and went to the bar. And only then did they talk. Over a glass of wine, they got to know each other a little. Small talk, things they had done, where they had come from, where they were heading. And each time their bodies touched, they could feel the latent sensuality, the underlined sexuality. But they said nothing, just continued talking. After sometime, Cecille said she would like to leave, and invited him over to her house. They left the nightclub, he hailed a cab and they got in.
In the cab, he tentatively put his arm around her shoulders, but it felt strange, and he immediately withdrew it. She looked at him, her blues eyes shinning, and smiled. They arrived at her house in silence. She lived near the river, in an old warehouse, that had been transformed in lofts. The elevator was one of those old cargo ones, with doors that opened from top to bottom. He was surprised, did not expect her to live in a place like this. He always imagined her in a small old flat, in one of the back streets of Paris. And was even more surprised when she opened the door to her loft. It was spacious, wooden floors, white walls, very little furniture. The walls covered with black and white photographs. In one corner, a glass table with some chairs. Not far from it, a white leather sofa, with many coloured cushions on it. In the far end of the loft, a partition, that barely hid a large bed. The kitchen was small, in the other corner, with a long working table separating it from the rest of the house. He looked closely at the photographs.
Pictures of young couples, children, old women and men. Faces smiling, faces crying, faces in anger. A study of mankind in its various shapes, colours, forms, all black and white. It was impressive. And he knew she had been the one who had taken those pictures. He turned around and saw her with a bottle of wine in her hands, standing next to the sofa. She offered him a glass, and sat down on the floor, her back to the sofa. He sat next to her. They drank their wine quietly, just feeling each other's presence, hearing each other's breathing. And once more, she was the one with the initiative. She drew closer to him, and holding his face in her hands, brushed her lips against his. Then, she held his lower lip between hers, gently sucking it. Her lips were warm, inviting. And he responded with the same sweetness. His tongue in search of hers, exploring, touching, probing.
It was a long and intense kiss. Their hands touching their bodies, caressing, feeling. Hands that started undressing. Hands that wouldn't stop searching. And all the while, their mouths locked in a kiss. She got up, to take off the remaining pieces of clothing they had on. Looking intensely into his eyes, she led him by his arm to the corner where the bed was. And then he saw, hanging from the ceiling, two chains. He looked at her in shock. But she asked him to trust her. And amid shock, curiosity and lust, he decided to trust her.
She tied his wrists to the chains with silk ropes. He had not noticed that on the floor were two rings. She gently pushed his legs apart a bit, and tied his feet to the rings. He was there, feet and wrists tied, totally naked, in front of this woman he barely knew. Scared but wildly intrigued. Waves of electricity shot through his body. And then she blindfolded him. She felt his body shake in anticipation and fear. He could smell her perfume, feel the heat emanating from her body, he knew she was very near him. He then felt her fingers gently touching his chest, then his back. He didn't know where they would stop. Total silence, only the sound of his deep breathing. And suddenly he could not feel her fingers anymore, could not sense her presence, as if she had gone away. His body twitched, as if in search of those hands and heat.
Then, he heard, even before feeling, the thin sound of a whip cracking. And felt that first stroke on his buttocks. The shock and surprise, mixed with the pain, made him writhe. The pain was not intense, just enough to provoke a certain twitch of pleasure. He knew there was more to come. The second stroke hit dangerously near his scrotum. He threw his body away from the whip, not going very far. The pain and pleasure were now one only. His muscles contracted, his wrists and ankles starting to ache from the strain of his twitching and pulling. But he wanted more. An unknown feeling took over him... a mix of pleasure, of pain, of lust.
The strokes came, one after the other. He asked her to stop, plead with her to continue. His body on fire, he could feel his skin burning. He floated on the waves of pain, sensitised, tender. He realised his cock was pulsing, expanding and contracting with the strokes. And then it all stopped. Panting, sweat running down his body, his mind in turmoil, intense emotions flowing through him, he did not know what would come next. He wanted her to free him, but wanted to feel her hands on him. Suddenly he felt a cold and soothing liquid running down his back. It had a sweet smell to it, honey and apples. And he felt her mouth, lips and tongue, following the course of that liquid, increasing the contrast of his hot skin, the cold liquid and her hot lips. He moaned, taken over by the pleasure she gave him. Her hands were now on his body, gently caressing him while she licked the liquid from his body, and kissed the slightly red marks left by the whip. Each time her mouth stopped on the welts left from the whip, a feeling of relief and stinging pain shot through him. He wanted her to release him from the chains, but she wouldn't.
Her hands were now on his buttocks, her caresses now stronger, kissing them and biting them gently. His moans were louder, waves of pleasure took over him, never the touch of a mouth felt so sweet, gave him so much pleasure. Then he felt her mouth on the tip of his cock, licking and sucking. Her hands caressing his scrotum, while her tongue worked its way up and down his cock. A loud moan caught in his throat, his body wet with sweat, on fire, twitching wildly. His cock was now all inside her mouth, her tongue in circular movements around it. Her hands on his buttocks, caressing them gently, then her fingers running through the valley between them, and stopping on the tight knot of his anus. He jerked in surprise, feeling a bit uncomfortable, but at the same time, a strange feeling of pleasure never felt before.
He wanted to avoid that touch, but that unknown pleasure held him back. Her mouth working his cock, sucking, licking, back and forth, while her finger massaged his anus, gently. Then she stood up, and took his blindfold off. She wanted to see the lust in his eyes, and wanted him to see her giving him all that pleasure. His eyes had an intense light to them. She kissed him deeply, the taste of him in her mouth, knelt again in front of him, still holding his eyes on hers, and took his cock into her mouth. Her hands back on his buttocks, her finger now entering his anus. The pressure of that finger scared him, but the pleasure was greater. He tried to escape that finger, and this just made his cock enter her mouth deeper. Her mouth sucking it, faster and faster, his body is spasms, twisting and twitching. He could see his cock going in and out of her mouth, feeling her finger in and out of his anus. And he can't hold it any longer. His body in convulsions, his head exploding, he screams out loud, and releases all that tension and pleasure in that incredible mouth.
She tastes his warm, acrid fluid on her tongue, some of it spilling through the corners of her mouth. She waits for his body to stop jerking and slowly takes her finger out of his anus. His cock is still in her mouth, and she gently sucks the last of his spunk. His body completely wet with sweat begins to calm down, but the vision of her eyes, her mouth from where some of his fluid still drops, sends bolts of electricity through his spine. She slowly draws away from him, and gets up, kissing his tummy, his chest, his neck. Her hands caressing his hot body, her eyes on his, she brushes her lips on his. He shivers. She unties his wrists and feet. She massages his wrists, a bit red from the ropes. And then he hugs her tight, feeling her body against hers. Holds her face in his hands, and kisses her. Gently at first, lips on lips, mouths half opened. Then with fury, tongues tangled, sucking, searching. His taste in her mouth, mixed with the sweet taste of honey and apples.
A kiss that lasts forever. Then she walks him to her bed and they both collapse on it. Holding her in his arms, legs entangled, they fall asleep.
Michael wakes up at the early hours of the morning. Looks at Cecille, sleeping peacefully next to him. Her black shinny hair spread through her back, a strand falling over her face. He gently pulls it back. She stirs in her sleep, her lips in a half smile. He gets out of bed, dresses and leaves. He decides to walk to his flat, the chilly morning breeze on his face. His thoughts run to that incredible experience and the surprise that woman provided him with. He was not sure of what he would do when he saw her again. But instead of fretting over it, thought it best to leave it to destiny. And to Cecille. Somehow he knew she would dictate their behaviour. He got home, took a long hot shower, got dressed and went to the office.
He did not see her all day. And he did not have much time to think about it either, he was finishing the project, and had meetings with the board of directors all afternoon. After he went to his usual bistro for some dinner. Half way through his meal he sees Cecille walk in. He looks at her, nods, and she nods back. And the only difference from all the other nights he had met her there, was a smiling sparkle in her beautiful blue eyes.
Just that.