The Ultimate Submission (Jacqueline's Story)
By Gato Medio

Chapter 4

[Sylvie and Mirabelle]

Although losing my virginity had been kind of a non-event
and subsequent encounters with boys in my age bracket
were no patch on the pleasures I experienced with
Charlotte, I remained curious about the opposite sex.
Charlotte was not much help in this respect. She would
just repeat her statements about the 'penetration
conspiration' and how useless men were in satisfying a
woman's sexual needs.

While I accepted that she was a lesbian, I wanted her to
accept that I was interested in finding out more about
heterosexual sex. We had many discussions about this and
it put a certain strain on our relationship. It pained me
that we were drifting apart, because the afternoons I
spent in her bed - or in her 'love chair' or on the
living room floor - had been the best moments in my life
so far. And I wanted them to continue.

I started looking for other girls who had experience with
the opposite sex and who were willing to talk about those
experiences. This was how I made friends with Sylvie and
Mirabelle. These two girls were constantly together.
Their names were always mentioned in one breath, as if
they were one unit: Sylvie and Mirabelle, Mirabelle and
Sylvie. But this wasn't because they were sisters; they
were just very close friends and happened to live next
door to each other. Whenever they arrived somewhere, they
arrived together, and, more often than not, they would
also leave together, frequently with a couple of boys in
tow.

In spite of their closeness nobody ever suggested that
they were lesbians or that they had a relationship going
between them. They were too obviously interested in boys.
As far as their appearance was concerned, they were on
opposite ends of the scale. Sylvie was blond and best
described as 'petit'. She was like the miniature version
of a fully developed woman. But she didn't lack any
pretenders. Boys were attracted to her easy smile, her
straw-coloured hair, constantly bobbing on her pretty
head, her small, firm breasts and the fact she never wore
a bra, her narrow hips and her warm and welcoming
personality.

Mirabelle, on the other hand, had dark hair and could
best be described as voluptuous. Her shapely body seemed
to be always straining to be released from the flower-
patterned dresses she wore. She would joke, "I was
produced from an old-fashioned mould, a mixture of Gina
Lollobrigida and Sophia Loren." Although she was
constantly talking about having to control her diet to
keep her body from growing out of control, there were
many boys who were quite fond of her curves, queuing up
to dance with her and hoping to be the lucky one who got
to walk her home.

The two girls' parents had similar views on their
daughters' sexual exploits. They thought it was quite
natural that girls - or young ladies, as they preferred
to call them - wanted to find out what it was all about,
experiment with different partners and eventually settle
down into a steady relationship. They also knew that
young people in Villiers did not have many places to go
to for their intimacy, so they did not mind their
daughters bringing some of their boyfriends home and
spending hours behind closed doors with them. The lucky
ones even got to spend the night. However, the parents
never stopped reminding their daughters to take
precautions.

"An unwanted pregnancy can upset all your plans for the
future," Mirabelle's father used to say, "And a few
minutes of uncontrolled passion aren't worth paying that
price."

Once, when I was visiting Mirabelle, he told me, "You
see, I'm not old enough yet to have forgotten what it's
like to be young. In fact, looking at you, I wish I were
young again."

I blushed and his wife said quickly, "You'd better watch
what you say to Jacqueline, or her father will challenge
you to a duel for making an indecent proposal to his
daughter." She had obviously heard about my father's
antiquated views.

Of course, when I approached Sylvie and Mirabelle I
didn't say, "I want to find out about your experiences
with boys." I asked them how they were preparing for the
final exams and suggested that we might study together
sometimes. They were a little surprised that I seemed to
be looking for help with my studies - I was one of the
best pupils of my year - but they thought they could only
benefit and agreed to my suggestion. We would meet
occasionally, taking turns in being the host, and review
the subjects that were likely to come up in the exams. As
I had expected, our conversations strayed frequently from
the school topics and the two girls told me about their
latest conquests and adventures. But, to my frustration,
they didn't go into any details. They might say, 'we
spent the night together,' or, 'I slept with X,' or
maybe, 'we made love in the back of his father's car,'
but they never talked about how they had felt during the
act.

Did they reach a climax? Were they satisfied with their
partners' performance? I felt I didn't know them well
enough yet to ask these question and hoped that one day
they might feel comfortable enough with me to talk about
these aspects.

One of the subjects which they got very excited about was
the opening of '_Le Club_'. Given the limited
entertainment options in Villiers, it was to be expected
that the opening of a new venue - in this case a disco
with live music on weekends - would be the talk of the
town. '_Le Club_' had been created inside the shell of a
disused warehouse, near the western edge of town, some
way away from the nearest residential building. This had
the advantage that the owners didn't need to worry about
complaints from neighbours about the noise, but it made
the place a little difficult to get to.

Sylvie and Mirabelle were regular visitors right from the
opening day on and often talked about their adventures at
'_Le Club_' and afterwards, with boys they had met there.

The unique feature of the new disco was the black light.
The owner had first installed it at the entrance as part
of the access control. Instead of handing out tickets,
which could be passed to other people, patrons had one of
their hands stamped with an invisible ink. The mark was
only visible under the arch of black light fitted in the
hallway which lead to the main venue. Anyone who couldn't
show a stamped hand was refused entry. (Later, the
regular guests, particularly some girls, found that
stamping a hand was boring and asked to have the mark
placed on other parts of their body: arms, shoulders,
their cleavage, or high up on their thighs.)

While they were testing the installation, the staff at
'_Le Club_' noticed that the black light had another
interesting effect: It made any white garment shine like
a fluorescent light, and it could even achieve this
effect with white underwear if the clothes a person wore
on top were made of light synthetic fibres. They thought
it would make the place even more interesting if they
installed the black light over the dance floor as well.

Originally this was programmed to switch itself on and
off at random, but later it remained on as long as
someone was on the dance floor. The black light made any
white shirt or blouse shine like a beacon in the semi-
darkness of the disco, but the effect was most dramatic
with girls' underwear. The size and shape of any white
undergarment was clearly revealed. In the beginning some
girls objected to being exposed like this, but all they
needed to do was to choose a darker colour. Exactly the
opposite happened. Many girls who had been wearing other
colours switched to white; they made a point of dressing
specifically for the black light effect. They didn't see
anything indecent or immoral in this, after all nobody
would think twice when they wore a skimpy bikini -
sometimes without the top - around the swimming pool.
Compared to this the disco-girls were fully dressed.

Of course, this comparison misses the point. There was an
obvious sexual undercurrent in the air and the 'glowing
underwear show' drew in the boys like flies. Sylvie felt
she was at a disadvantage because she never wore a bra,
so the only thing that shone were her panties. One
evening she persuaded one of the guys at the entrance to
give her some of the ink which was used to stamp those
who had paid the entrance fee. With this she went to the
bathroom and wrote a big L on her right breast, a big O
on her left breast and the letters V and E on her lower
abdomen, just above her panties. Those last two letters
were written so that they looked like an arrow pointing
down - to her pussy. That night she was the big star at
'_Le Club_'. She was swamped by boys who wanted to dance
with her and - what else? - make love to her.

But even without such special effects, '_Le Club_' was
the place where a girl could be sure to find a partner
for the night - if she wanted one, of course - and Sylvie
and Mirabelle returned frequently to this source.

                         -----

One Saturday morning. I arrived at the agreed time at
Sylvie's place for another session of exam preparations,
when I saw her, dressed in a nighty, hugging and kissing
a young man, who then left with a big smile on his face.
When Sylvie let me into her room there was no sign of
Mirabelle yet, so I thought I might use the opportunity
to ask Sylvie on her own about her sex life.

I started by asking her who the boy was I had seen her
kiss just then.

She said, "Oh, that was Daniel. My parents have gone away
for the weekend so I felt more comfortable letting him
stay overnight."

I asked her if she had enjoyed his company and she
replied, "It was great. We fucked three times last night
and once again this morning."

"Is that all you do - fuck?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you by using such
direct language."

I assured her that I wasn't offended by her choice of
words. I wasn't a prude, as many people thought. I was
just very careful to hide my sex life from my father,
which meant that most other people also believed I didn't
have one. However, my encounters with men usually
happened under quite uncomfortable circumstances, behind
the bushes, in the back row of the cinema, on the
backseat of a car, etc. and I was just curious to know
what people did, apart from having intercourse, when they
had the luxury of making love in their own home.

"Of course, we kiss a lot, we hug, we cuddle, he fondles
my breasts, we talk - and we fuck. But what exactly did
you have in mind with your question?"

"I was just wondering if you had any oral sex," I said as
casually as possible.

"Oral sex?" Sylvie looked at me. Her eyes widened in
surprise.

"Yes, oral sex. You know, fellatio, cunnilingus, sixty-
nine."

Sylvie's eyes widened even more. Then she smiled and
said, a little condescendingly, "Ah, you've probably read
about those in a book somewhere. I don't think it
actually happens in real life. I've never done any of
these things and I don't know anyone who has."

"You know me."

"Yes I know you, but what's that got to do with oral
sex?"

"Well, you just said you don't know anyone who's ever
done these things and I answered 'you know me'. I've
practiced oral sex."

Sylvie's mouth stood wide open, unable to pronounce a
word.

"You? Sainte Jacqueline?" she finally gasped.

I was surprised to hear her use the nickname I had given
myself. But I also felt annoyed that she still thought I
didn't know anything about sex.

"I have sucked cock, admittedly only once so far; I enjoy
eating pussy and I absolutely love it when someone else
licks mine."

I never expected that Sylvie would be this shocked by my
revelation. I had always considered her an open-minded
person in questions of sex.

"You mean you've actually put a penis into your mouth?"
she stammered in disbelief.

Well, if this game was about asking astonished questions,
I could join in.

"You mean, you let this guy fuck you four times and never
ever touched his cock with your lips?" I countered. "You
mean, you've never experienced a screaming orgasm from
someone exploring your pussy with his or her tongue?"

Sylvie changed the subject slightly. "Screaming orgasm -
that's another thing that only happens in erotic
fiction."

Now I was getting somewhere. I had been looking for
someone who could confirm that it was possible to have a
satisfying sex life with a man and so far I was under the
impression that Sylvie was such a person. But her comment
about screaming orgasms being an invention of fiction
writers made me think otherwise. But this wasn't a game
of one-upmanship, we weren't playing 'my sex life is
better than yours', so I decided to drop the subject.

After a few minutes of silence, Sylvie asked, "You
honestly think something like a 'screaming orgasm' is
possible?"

"I've had so many, I've lost count," I said. I castigated
myself immediately for boasting with my sexual prowess -
hadn't I just decided not to play that game? I added,
"But so far never with a man."

That remark intrigued her.

"But you think it's possible between two women?"

"I know it is."

I had a look around me. I was sitting on a chair near the
desk in her bedroom. Sylvie sat on her bed, still unmade
from her nightly exploits, wearing a nighty and probably
nothing else.

"Would you like to try it?" I asked.

She didn't seem to be shocked by my suggestion, just a
little confused. She had realized that her picture of the
world needed a significant adjustment, but she probably
wasn't ready to say yes. I decided to take the
initiative. I unzipped my dress and stepped out of it as
it slipped to the floor. This left me naked except for my
panties. I remembered Charlotte's comments about my
knickers being a turn-off and took them off straight
away. When I walked towards Sylvie she just stared at me,
as if she had been hypnotised.

I said, "Listen, I don't want you to do anything against
your will. If you feel unsure about it, say it now and
I'll leave."

"No, no," she said, coming out of her trance-like state,
"I was just thinking how beautiful you are. I had never
thought of you as a sexual being. But yes, I do want to
carry on. I do want to experience a screaming orgasm."

I lifted Sylvie up from the bed and hugged her. She was
quite a bit shorter than me, I could feel her chin
against my breast. I could sense that she was still a
little tense about this, her heartbeat sounded like a
sledgehammer. I held the embrace for some time. I wanted
her to relax, to start to enjoy the contact with another
woman's body. Then I took her face between my hands and
kissed her, first very gently, her forehead, her eyelids,
her cheeks; getting more assertive when I reached her
mouth. When I kissed her lips she opened them for me to
allow my tongue to explore the inside of her mouth. I
could feel her tightening her embrace, a sign that she
was starting to warm to the idea.

I lifted Sylvie's nighty and pulled it over her head. She
helped me by raising her arms. She was wearing a pair of
panties which matched the pattern of the nighty. 'No
problem,' I thought to myself, 'we'll take care of that
later.'

We embraced again, pressing our naked breasts against
each other. This time my lips visited her neck and
shoulders and my tongue darted behind her earlobes. My
hands ran down her back and caressed her bottom. I could
feel her excitement mount and made her lie down on the
bed. Lying next to her, I explored Sylvie's body with my
eyes and hands. I decided to leave her panties on a
little longer, hoping that she would remove them herself,
kind of offering me her pussy as a sign that she really
wanted this.

Her small, firm breasts were really beautiful, the
hardened nipples sensitive to the lightest touch. They
would be a feast for my mouth in a little while, but I
was in no hurry. I passed my hands over her abdomen, her
hips, her bottom and her slender legs. She didn't stay
completely passive but her attempts to return my caresses
remained quite timid.

I made Sylvie lie on her back and kissed her, starting
with a long kiss on her mouth and moving down gradually.
When I approached her breasts she was already moaning in
anticipation. Her breasts were really tantalizing.
Opening my mouth wide, I could take almost the entire
breast into my mouth and then slowly slide my lips along
this mound of flesh to eventually close them firmly
around her nipple. She arched her back to meet my mouth
and when my tongue started to tease her sensitive nipple,
there was no holding back. She pressed my head against
her chest and begged for more - which I gladly delivered.

After making her experience two wonderful orgasms (I
don't know if they were intense enough to qualify as
'screaming') just from stimulating her nipples with my
mouth, I continued my journey downward. Sylvie was only
too keen to get the impeding textile out of the way. She
lifted her bottom from the bed and pushed her panties
down. Then, with a few quick leg movements, she kicked
them off and sent them flying across the room.

Her pubic hair was the colour of a sun-drenched
cornfield. Looking at her pussy made me think of a
painting by van Gogh. But there were different pleasures
at hand - or should I say at mouth? I continued where I
had left off and soon reached her pussy - and it didn't
take a soothsayer to predict that it would be quite wet
and hot by now. And how wonderful it tasted!

I kissed and licked; Sylvie bucked like a bronco. Her
clitoris was as sensitive as her nipples, the slightest
touch made her moan. I tried to keep things cool but she
was in a hurry; she wanted another orgasm and she wanted
it now!

I firmed my lips on her pussy and flicked my tongue along
her clitoris a few times. That did it. Her entire body
convulsed, it seemed to want to lift off the bed and her
scream filled the air - it made me wonder if the
neighbours could hear it - then she relaxed back on the
bed.

I wasn't satisfied yet. I wanted Sylvie to have another
climax, one where she could enjoy the gradual build-up of
her excitement, where I could keep her on the brink of
ecstasy for as long as I wanted, until I finally decided
to push her over the edge.

That's exactly what I did. I let my tongue play; sliding
along her pussy lips, licking the juices from her pussy
and caressing her clitoris. I let her arousal rise
slowly, taking great care that she didn't get too hot too
soon. It didn't take long and she was squirming on the
bed, begging me to make her come.

I managed to ignore her pleas for a while but she was
just too hot to resist. I plunged my tongue inside her as
deep as I could; her body shuddered and she came. Again,
the level of noise she produced in the process was quite
astonishing. I took her in my arms and covered her face
with tiny little kisses until she had recovered her
composure.

"God, that was wonderful. I never thought something like
this was possible," Sylie finally said.

I stroked her straw-blonde hair and resisted the
temptation to say, 'I told you so'.

"You're a wicked girl, Jacqueline. A few hundred years
ago people like you were burnt on the stake for being
witches."

I didn't feel like delving into that scenario. My pussy
was on fire and didn't need the extra heat from a witch-
burning pyre. It always got hot and steamy when I treated
another woman to a meltdown orgasm. I almost think I
might be able to come out of sympathy with my victim. I
wanted relief, any relief. I lay back on the bed and
asked, spreading my legs invitingly, "Would you like to
practice some witchcraft too?"

Sylvie looked at me, seemingly surprised that I could
suggest such a thing. She bent forward tentatively,
looking at my sex. Then she turned around and said, "I'm
sorry. I don't think I can do it."

My parents taught me that it's undignified to beg and
this is one of the few maxims where I fully agree with
them. I got up from the bed and put on my clothes. Then I
made my excuses. "Seeing that we won't study today, I
might as well get a few things done."

As I was about to leave, Sylvie said, "Jacqueline, please
don't tell anybody about this - not even Mirabelle. I
don't want anybody to get the wrong idea."

I took a deep breath and told myself that I had to accept
people the way they are, that there was no point in
calling Sylvie an ungrateful bitch or a hypocrite. If she
didn't want to own up to her own feelings, that was her
problem. I just said, "Don't worry Sylvie, I'm not in the
habit of going around telling stories about my sex life,"
and left.

                         -----

My pussy wasn't giving me any respite. I knew I had to
masturbate, but I found the thought of returning to my
room in my parents' house depressing. I decided to ring
Charlotte. When she answered the phone I asked if it was
okay for me to drop by. She answered, "You know you're
always welcome here. There's no need to ask."

Charlotte's answer reminded me that my place was in her
apartment, in her bed, not in somebody else's. I had
mentioned my friendship with Sylvie and Mirabelle to
Charlotte, but only in the context of exam preparations.

Now I had made love to Sylvie. Had I been unfaithful to
Charlotte? Did my conduct break any of the rules
Charlotte had established for me as her sex slave? She
had never said anything about sex with other women. I was
sure that, if Charlotte had been present, she would have
ordered me to do exactly what I did to Sylvie. Hadn't I
acted in Charlotte's interest by spreading the message
about how satisfying sex between women can be?

Although I convinced myself that Charlotte had no reason
to be upset about my adventure with Sylvie, I decided to
keep quiet about it.

When I arrived at Charlotte's place, I got undressed in
the entrance hall as usual and went to the living room
where Charlotte was sitting on the sofa, reading. I knelt
on the floor in front of her, sitting back on my heels
with my legs spread wide, and said, "Master Charles,
please let me masturbate for you."

                         -----

Later that afternoon, after we had sated our lust on each
other's body, I told Charlotte what I had heard about
'_Le Club_'. She condemned the venue without hesitation.

"It's like a slave market where the women display their
charms and the men chose the one who suits them best. How
about the men showing the shape of their underwear, or
better still, their cocks and letting the women choose?"

It was clear that she wouldn't want to be seen dead in a
place like that. And that was the end of the subject for
her.

But I always tried to explore things from different
angles and said, "Look at it this way: When the girls
parade around the swimming pool in tiny bikinis, they
also do it for the benefit of the boys. In fact, many go
topless, displaying their naked breasts. And you don't
seem to object to topless bathing."

"That's right," Charlotte said, "I enjoy looking at those
sun-burnt tits."

"The difference is," I continued, "that at the swimming
pool and on the beach all this undressing happens under
the pretence of getting a sun tan or being able to swim
better with fewer clothes on. If that was the real
reason, they should go without clothes altogether. At
'_Le Club_' it's more honest. There isn't any pretence.
It's part of the game called 'female attracts male for
mating to ensure the survival of the species'."

"Hmm, I never thought of it that way," Charlotte
pondered. "But do you really believe the people who go to
'_Le Club_' see it like that?"

"There's only one way of finding out. Ask them."

                         -----

Sylvie didn't keep her secret for very long. A few days
later, Mirabelle approached me, a little nervous, unsure
how to start and then told me she had found out from
Sylvie what the two of us had gotten up to the day we had
planned to study together.

Apparently Mirabelle had also hitched up with a boy the
evening before and taken him home (her parents were
travelling with Sylvie's parents). As the two of them
were lying in bed the next morning, recovering from some
exciting action, they heard Sylvie scream once and then,
a little later, a second time.

Mirabelle had been a little worried at first but then
assumed that there was some really hot action going on
between Sylvie and her partner and left it at that. Later
that day, when the two met, Mirabelle asked Sylvie what
her boyfriend had done to get her to scream like that and
Sylvie had hesitantly explained that her screams had not
been the result of any boyfriend's action but of my oral
skills.

Mirabelle was visibly ill at ease, it wasn't easy for her
to talk about this subject. But the most difficult part
was still to come. She said she had been intrigued by
Sylvie's story and would I mind very much, or better,
could she be so bold to ask, or, in other words, was
there a chance...

I didn't want to prolong her agony and said casually, "No
problem, Mirabelle, I'd be delighted to eat your pussy."

My directness shocked her only briefly, after all, now it
was out in the open and she didn't even have to say it
herself. She wanted me to go with her straight away, but
when I heard that her mother was at home, I declined the
invitation. The last thing I needed was a worried mother
checking what that noise was about and finding me with my
face immersed in her daughter's pussy. I convinced
Mirabelle to wait until her parents would spend some time
away. She didn't like the delay very much but bowed to
reason in the end.

Not long after that, one Saturday afternoon, Mirabelle
phoned me with the good news that her parents had gone to
Paris to see an exhibition. They had told her they
wouldn't be home for dinner. Mirabelle seemed to be in a
great hurry; she wanted me to drop everything and come
round to her place immediately. I told her to relax and
promised I would be there as soon as possible.

When I arrived Mirabelle didn't have a stitch on, so
eager was she to experience that thing she didn't even
dare pronounce. I wondered where this eager anticipation
came from. I hadn't said a single word to Mirabelle to
persuade her. Had Sylvie been singing the praises of oral
sex?

But Sylvie had been unwilling to own up to her feelings!
She had asked me to keep it a secret for fear of being
branded a lesbian or bi! Had she enjoyed it as much as
her screams suggested, but didn't want to admit it to me?
And now she was telling Mirabelle - maybe others - what a
wonderful experience it had been? Sylvie had never talked
to me about the events of that morning. She behaved
towards me as if they had never happened.

I didn't have much time to ponder about this mystery;
there was a naked woman smiling at me sensually, waiting
for my embrace. Mirabelle took me to her bedroom where I
promptly undressed. As soon as I had taken off my last
garment she dragged me onto her bed where she hugged me
closely. I had never seen her this geared up. Was she
like this when she slept with boys?

I gave her everything she asked for, probably more. I
caressed every part of her womanly body with my hands and
lips, feasted my mouth on her ample breasts and buried my
head between her voluptuous thighs. She squirmed and
writhed on her bed, gasped in surprise and moaned with
pleasure.

If anything, Mirabelle was even more vociferous in her
appreciation of my skills than Sylvie had been. Like an
artist returning to the stage for an encore and then
another one and another one, I took her shouts of
appreciation as requests for more and more and didn't
stop until my tongue had completely lost its strength.

Mirabelle had been very responsive during our sex bout.
Now her hands caressed my breasts, exclaiming how
beautiful they were, full but firm; how my whole body
seemed to be that of a Greek goddess and how my mouth had
given her one delight after another.

I hadn't expected her to try to return the pleasure I had
made her feel, but Mirabelle's hand found my pussy and
she started to stimulate me - a little timidly at first
but getting more and more assertive. Not being the
passive type, I put my hand on her sex and returned the
favour as good as I got. This brought both of us to a
wonderful relaxing climax.

The experience had helped Mirabelle lose some of her
inhibitions, but only some.

"This was the first time I touched another woman's ...
you know ..."

"Pussy," I said, "And, did you like it?"

"Well, yes," she said hesitantly, and then adding
quickly, "but that doesn't mean I'm a lesbian."

"Of course it doesn't. Just enjoying sex with another
woman doesn't make you a lesbian. But I'm a little
surprised about you saying that my pussy was the first
one ever. Seeing how close friends you are with Sylvie, I
would have thought ..."

This time it was me who didn't finish the sentence.

"Oh no, there's nothing between us, absolutely nothing.
Only once were we naked in front of each other, but we
didn't touch."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I tried to help her
come out of her shell.

"It happened one weekend this summer when we went with my
parents to the hut in the mountains - you know, my father
has a hut in Tracy-le-Mont, about two hours by car from
here. My parents go there occasionally and on that
particular weekend they suggested I'd come along. I asked
if I could invite Sylvie as well and they agreed. The hut
is quite basic, but there is hot water and electricity.
There are two bedrooms. My parents slept in one and
Sylvie and I got the other one."

"I see. You got undressed and looked at each other
without touching."

"No, no. Nothing happened in the hut. We slept in our
nightshirts and there were two separate beds," she
clarified.

"The next day, it was quite hot, even though we were in
the mountains, and my father told us about a waterfall a
short distance up the path. 'The water there forms a
natural pool which is very refreshing,' he told us, and
added with a wink, 'Nobody ever goes there, you don't
even need a swimsuit.' The question of the swimsuit was
purely academic - neither of us had brought one, after
all, this was a trip to the mountains - but we set off
unperturbed. The waterfall wasn't far away but it was a
steady climb and by the time we got there we were
dripping with sweat, looking forward to a dip in the
refreshing water.

"The waterfall was in an exceptionally beautiful setting.
The creek cascading down from a great height formed a
pool of completely transparent water. The pool was
surrounded by lush vegetation in multiple shades of
green, lit by rays of sunshine which were bursting
through the gaps between the trees. This could have been
a picture from a travel-agent's brochure.

"To our great disappointment we found that two boys had
put up a tent right at the edge of the pool. They were
sitting in front of their tent, contemplating the
scenery. We said hello and they nodded back, then we sat
down, not too close to them, cursing them under our
breath.

"We were still wondering what to do when one of them
turned around and asked, 'Don't you want to take a dip?'

'We'd love to, but we didn't bring any swimsuits.' Sylvie
came straight out with the truth.

'Neither did we,' the guy responded.

'Why don't you go first? We'll follow you later,' said
Sylvie.

"The two boys looked at each other, then they got up and
took off their clothes. When they were down to their
underpants, they turned their backs to us, stripped
quickly and ran into the water. What they were trying to
hide but we still managed to see, was that both of them
had sizable erections. However the cold water soon took
care of that. The water was so clear we could watch their
penises shrink. Then we decided to peel off our sweaty
clothes and jumped in quickly before they could see too
much.

"The first sensation was the temperature shock between
our hot bodies and the cool water. I could feel my
nipples harden, and my areolas became even darker than
they usually are. Later, one of the boys told me that
looking at my breasts had been the biggest turn-on he'd
ever had.

"The pool wasn't very deep and it was almost impossible
to swim. So we both just stood there, shivering slightly
and displaying our breasts to the eager eyes of two
strangers. To our relief, the two boys soon felt they'd
had enough refreshment and went to their tent where they
proceeded to dry themselves with their towels. This was
when we realised we had a problem: we hadn't brought
anything to dry ourselves.

"Sylvie shouted to the boys, 'Can we borrow your towels?
We forgot to bring ours,' and received the answer, 'We
can do better than that, we'll dry you.'

"We left the pool, shivering in the cool air, covering
ourselves as best we could and walked straight into the
towels on the outstretched arms of the two strangers. My
partner - I found out later that his name was Jean-Paul
and the other one was called Guy - wrapped the towel
around me and proceeded to dry me. He did a very thorough
job, he rubbed every part of me, until I was completely
dry, warm and invigorated. It felt almost like a massage.

"When I looked for Sylvie I couldn't see her, nor the boy
who had been drying her. I asked Jean-Paul and he said
'They're in the tent.' Then he added, 'There's only room
for two people. We have to wait until they're finished.'

"Questions started to race through my mind. Wait with
what? Finished with what? And what was Sylvie doing in
that tent with that boy, neither of them wearing any
clothes? That last question was the easiest to answer and
after that, everything else fell into place.

"I looked at the boy in front of me who was still holding
the towel around my shoulders and noticed that his penis
was rigid, standing up like a totem pole. He followed my
eyes and smiled. 'So this guy thinks I'm going to crawl
into that tent with him and let him have his way with
me,' I thought. And you know something? He was dead
right. That was exactly what I felt like after the
beautiful rub and massage he'd given me.

"When Sylvie and Guy came out of the tent, stark naked,
they went straight back into the pool. Jean-Paul put his
arm around my shoulders and said, 'It's our turn'.

"We went into the tent and made love. It was wonderful.
We spent the rest of the day like that. There was always
one couple frolicking in the pool or rubbing each other
dry and the other pair rocking the tent. When we returned
to my father's hut, late in the afternoon he was a little
surprised that we had stayed away so long. 'It was just
such a wonderful experience' I said, and Sylvie added,
'It's a piece of paradise.'"

I was deeply moved by her story.

"What a terrific experience," I said, "Making love in
such a marvellous setting and having the freedom to spend
as much time as you want. I wish I had been there."

Mirabelle was a little surprised about this remark. She
had come to conclusion that I was a lot more experienced
than her, but I told her that my encounters with boys so
far could best be described as 'Wham, bam, thank you
Ma'am'.

Mirabelle said, "We've kept in touch with the boys via e-
mail and we're planning to meet again, probably as soon
as the exams are over. If you want, you can come along.
But you have to bring your own boy, preferably one with a
tent."

                         -----

My friendship with Sylvie and Mirabelle continued as
before. We met to study and always took some time to talk
about whatever subject came to mind, which often included
their adventures in their pursuit of the ideal boyfriend.
Neither of them ever mentioned oral sex or screaming
orgasms, nor was there any suggestion that they wanted to
repeat the experience.

It puzzled me that they would go into denial about what
must have been one of their most exciting sexual
experiences, but after some thinking I found a plausible
explanation. They were trapped in their parents' value
system. Sylvie's and Mirabelle's upbringing had been
'liberal' as far as sex was concerned. Their parents
understood that youngsters at a certain age develop a
desire and a curiosity for sex. They knew it was useless
to forbid it. Instead, they acknowledged the need to
experiment, to gain some experience. They even turned a
blind eye to the fact that their daughters had not yet
reached the age of consent.

The girls were grateful to their parents for their
apparent tolerance and enjoyed their freedom, going out
chasing boys - or allowing boys to chase them. But this
freedom had its limits which were fixed, either
explicitly or implicitly, so that they excluded
everything that might be considered 'kinky'. And the
girls accepted and obeyed those rules without question.
They were like chickens on a farm yard who had been given
enough food and space to run around and had completely
lost the desire to explore the world which lay beyond the
farm gate.

I, on the other hand, did not come from a liberal
environment. My parents - more specifically my father, as
my mother never dared to disagree with him - had made it
clear that everything to do with sex was bad and
therefore forbidden. But once my desire had grown strong
enough to make me transgress that rule, all forms of sex
were the same to me, there wasn't one purer or more
wicked then the others. People like Sylvie and Mirabelle
who had been given the covert permission to do what
'young ladies' their age normally do, could not bring
themselves to practice other forms of sex which didn't
fit into the 'normal' or 'accepted' category. It seemed
ironic, but I felt that somehow my conservative
upbringing had resulted in a more natural, open-minded
approach to sex than theirs. And with Charlotte as my
master, I had learned to pursue sexual pleasure - my own
and that of others - without letting convention get in
the way.

                         -----

In the meantime, my knowledge - at least theoretical - of
anything to do with sexual gratification was expanding.
Charlotte and I had built up her collection of 'dirty'
magazines and books into a small library. We now also had
some volumes showing men having sex with other men. What
impressed me most about these pictures was the size of
the cocks which were being sucked or inserted in the
partner's behind. I hadn't come across anything near that
size in my timid forays into the male anatomy. We found
it interesting to know that these practices existed, but
couldn't really get turned on by looking at men having
sex with men.

There was another section, in large part my contribution
to the library, which was dedicated to practices
involving bondage and spanking. We had pictures of people
being tied up with ropes, chains or other implements,
being gagged and blindfolded and subjected to all kinds
of torture and humiliation. We saw bottoms - but not only
bottoms - being spanked, paddled, caned and whipped.

I remember one particular picture which fascinated me. It
showed a girl about my age. She was completely naked and
tied spread-eagled to some contraption the shape of an X.
Clamps had been attached to her nipples and pussy lips.
The clips on her pussy were fixed to thin chains which
were pulled taut to pull her pussy wide open and expose
her clitoris. A hooded figure stood between her legs and
whipped her sex with a cat o' nine tails. I instinctively
pressed my thighs together when I imagined the
excruciating pain that girl must have felt when the whip
came down on her most tender parts. And I couldn't stop
looking at her beautiful face which didn't show any trace
of pain, only bliss and ecstasy.

Charlotte noticed how engrossed I was with this
photograph. "Would you like me to tie you up like this,"
she asked.

The answer 'You're the Master, you know best' passed
through my mind, but that would have given her carte
blanche to do anything she wanted with me and I didn't
feel comfortable doing that.

Instead I said, "Well, you already tied me up and
blindfolded me once."

Charlotte didn't let that count because it had happened
on my own request, to carry out some harebrained plan of
mine. As with so many other topics, this conversation
never came to any conclusion.

                    To be continued