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The Way to Paradise

Jean d'Langham learns life on the edges of the Imperial French Empire has its attractions.
It is 1809 and Napoleon is soon to marry Marie-Louise of Austria. The French are at war with Britain and Portugal. In a sleepy outpost in the Indian Ocean 2,000 kilometers off the south east coast of Africa the French-Creole inhabitants of what the Arab sailors called “Dina Arobi”, the Portugese called “Cirne” and the French now called “Ile de France” had established their own version of paradise. Turbulent times were ahead and a name change of the island to “Mauritius” was coming soon. In the meantime, out on the edges of Imprial France, let’s find our way to Paradise.

Jean thrust his huge cock again and again into the petite young girl’s perfect coffee colored ass. The tiny feminine creature cried out in almost-screams and moaned in guttural gasps as her dark ringed sphincter spread its limit to accept her imposing master’s huge white cock. Her anus was grabbing at Jean’s massive rod like an oiled glove, squeezing his member like a firm fruit. The young woman was perched on all fours, her delicate lace frock in tatters having been ripped to shreds by Jean’s lusting huge hands. The waif’s tight young silky-smooth ass was raised up, poised in the air in unabashed invitation to his manhood. The invitation being accepted Jean thrust again and again.

Jean, behaving like a beast, was holding the young girl’s hips in a vice-like hold to steady her for the arrival of his merciless thrusts as he thudded into her fine flawlessly smooth ass. Jean’s strong army hardened body towered over the young girl’s tiny brown-skinned frame, his purple veins popping out prominently from his taut straining muscles. Jean gazed lustfully at his young teenage treat as he fucked her ass from behind like a crazed monster.

Jean took a brief pause in his vigorous thrusts, catching his breath, and calmly reached out to take a sip of the locally produced version of Cognac that burned his throat like fire. Nothing like the fine Cognac you would get in Paris Jean thought, but then again this perfect little ass was nothing like the secondhand tramps you usually got in Paris either. The young girl craned her head back wondering why her master had paused. She grinned and fixed Jean with her big round hazel doe-like eyes imploring him to start thrusting again. The young girl knew if Jean were not completely satisfied his mood would darken. Besides, her ass had begun to crave these sessions of being filled to the very limit. Adele was very young, but suitably lusty Jean thought to himself with a grin, a perfect recruit to his ever-expanding prosperous household.

Adele’s parents had adopted her when her mother had died in a sugar refinery accident. The woman working next to her mother in the refinery named Agathe had taken Adele in as a four-year-old waif. Adele’s adopted parents had subsequently found themselves heavily in debt to Jean’s trading company when their share crop of sugarcane had failed. The now sixteen-year-old Adele had been indentured to Jean as a personal servant at the age of fourteen to work in his large imposing manor house. It had been well understood that on Adele’s sixteenth birthday certain favors would be bestowed on her master if she wished to stay employed and prosper in the household. Adele actually needed little persuasion since she discovered soon that her own libido was much larger than her tiny body would suggest. In any event, this was simply the way of the island. Jean d’Langham had total control and more than one man was six-feet under having challenged his authority.

The card game that evening with his junior officers had been a wonderful diversion. Jean loved the camaraderie of the military, the fraternity and brotherhood of like-minded men, the expensive alcohol and the cigars. The junior officers had, of course, let him win since to do otherwise might result in rather undesirable consequences. The only discordant note of the whole evening had been young Bertrand’s behavior. It was outlandish Jean thought that junior officers did not know how to behave any more.

Lieutenant Bertrand Follet had put on a sour face when Jean had retreated from the game of cards to one of the anterooms to fuck Bertrand’s pretty young French wife. Bertrand’s beautiful young twenty-one-year-old wife Collette was a delicious blond morsel and Jean had been bored with the card game so why should they not have some fun together? Some men were so uncultured thought Jean. He was the senior officer on the island and such liberties were to be expected were they not? Besides Collette had confided to Jean that Bertrand’s cock was tiny and her husband’s “performance” in the bedroom was “pathetic”. Collette told Jean her husband would cum before he had even penetrated her tight young blond pussy. A big mess would be created, but no children would be conceived and the wife was left wanting. What woman could suffer such humiliation and degradation at the hands of her husband?

Jean felt comfortingly that it was much better that Bertrand be the one humiliated by having his senior officer service his wife with a huge cock that could bring her to several shuddering body shaking orgasms. Perhaps he could even father her child? Bertrand required an heir for his family and who better to provide the seed than his superior officer? Besides this, all the young officers wives knew that if they wanted new frocks delivered from France they had better be in the good graces of the island’s commander. Jean fucked all the officer’s wives whenever he wanted and none of the other officers put on a sour face like Bertrand.

Fucking the always-playful Collette had been a mere appetizer and after the officers had left Jean had called for young seventeen-year-old Adele. The fake island Cognac, a nasty potent mixture indeed, was making Jean’s head spin. The strong rustic alcohol mingled with the lingering tobacco-tar flavors in Jean’s mouth. These savory oral sensations co-mingled even further with the sensual acoustic stimulation of Adele’s cries of pain and feline lust. All of Jean’s senses were bombarded by the combined drugging effects of extremely strong alcohol and tobacco together with the visual treat of Adele’s obvious humiliation as his huge muscular body and massive cock dominated her; the whole concoction was inspiring.

Jean once again drove his thick huge cock into Adele’s tight teenage ass. Adele’s wild female cries and Jean’s spinning disoriented mind aroused new debauched desires and Jean thrust even harder seeking oblivion and release. Humiliation was Jean’s true drug and he was now in its thrall. Jean looked down at the tiny girl on all fours beneath him. He paused in his thrusts and pulled his ten-inch long monster cock out of Adele’s convulsing young ass. Adele sighed and giggled at the sudden emptiness she felt in her anus that only seconds before had been stretched to its limits by her master’s huge cock.

Jean reached to the side and scooped some whitish soft cream out of the blue dish on the side table coating his thick rod with the mixture of coconut oil and the island’s exotic fragrance oils. Jean scooped some more oily cream and then coated Adele’s tiny sphincter with more of the special mixture he had devised with the local chemist. Jean used two fingers to drive some of the slick oily mixture up Adele’s ass coating its walls liberally. Adele groaned deeply and moaned a pleasing response to Jean’s probing digits. Adele grunted in displeasure and disappointment when Jean suddenly withdrew his functional fingers. Jean replaced the void caused by removing the tiny wiggling appendages by ramming his big cock back into her dark puckered ring, driving even deeper than before. Jean’s “attaque cul” or “ass attack” as he lovingly referred to his technique of taking a young woman’s ass by surprise and driving to the hilt was assisted by the generous lubrication of his special cream.

Young seventeen-year-old Adele cried out in shock, her rising cry bordering on a scream, taken-aback at the depth of Jean’s sudden thrust. No matter how many times her master had taken her ass in this way the sensation when Jean reached full depth with his huge cock was always a shock to Adele’s tiny body. Jean held Adele’s narrow teenage hips with his huge hands, gripping her in a steadying grip. Jean’s strong grip immobilized Adele as Jean thrust harder and harder. As Jean became aroused to new heights he slapped Adele’s ass with a hard smack and grabbed her long dark hair pulling her head back and straining her neck muscles. Jean was descending into his lustful crazed frenzy as he moved closer and closer to his nirvana of release. Adele screamed in a mixture of agony and passion as Jean’s massive thrusts became a fury and he slapped and clawed at her tiny body. Adele was coming close to her own release as Jean’s total possession of her intoxicated her own senses with the drug of submission. As Jean reached under Adele’s tiny body and began stroking her sopping wet pussy and roughly fingering her erect tingling clit with a pawing hand she lost her way and the waves began to crash over her.

Normally Jean could not care less if the servant girls he fucked had an orgasm, but tonight he wanted to hear Adele scream out her female screams of release. Jean wanted to feel Adele’s body shudder and shake under him, doing his bidding. Adele could cum like no other servant girl Jean had ever been with and it pleased his ego to toy with her and feel her shudder. Jean lovingly called all the young girls who worked in his household “slave girls” or “filles esclaves” since on the island he was their virtual owner. Of course they worshipped him and there was no compulsion involved, but still the idea was stimulating. Jean thrived on humiliation of the woman and in Adele Jean realized he had discovered that unique concomitant jewel, a jewel as rare as an emerald, a woman for whom the stimulant was submission.

Jean chuckled to himself. In Paris you were a “noble” and fucked the leftovers of those above you, but here in Île de France you were like a king and took your pick of the prime virgins. Jean thrust his huge cock up Adele’s ass to the hilt, his hand simultaneously stroking Adele’s clit and pussy in a furious assault. Soon enough Adele could take no more of Jean’s feathery finger flicks and her body was writhing below him in an explosion of ecstasy, her mouth gaping in a silent scream, her lungs expended. Jean’s cock began to burn like lava and he groaned senseless while he pumped his huge load of cum into Adele’s firm tight young ass. Jean’s own guttural groans escaped from his throat as he descended into a delirium of frenzied sexual surrender. The high-pitched cries of Adele’s massive orgasm pierced Jean’s low-pitched groans, rising to the ceiling and reverberating throughout the huge chateau.

In his mind Jean pictured his other young servant girls huddling together in their quarters listening to Adele’s mewing feline cries raising the roof. The girls were no doubt clinging to each other in their cotton nighties wishing Jean had bestowed his load on their ass. Jean chuckled to himself and pushed Adele away roughly from his now shrinking weapon. Adele rolled to the ground whimpering meekly and asked if her master was satisfied. Did he want her to suck his cock she asked? Jean was sleepy and waved Adele away dismissively; her work was done for the evening.

Jean was weary after a long day and retreated to his bedchamber. He called for the two pretty bedchamber maids to prepare his bed. Jean would sleep well tonight, his body sated, his senses satisfied and his soul surrendered to the goddess of humiliation. An excellent game of cards, a nice civilized fuck of a pretty young French wife, a suitably chastened subordinate husband, fine alcohol to take away all unnecessary thoughts, a calm smoke and finally a debauched ass fuck of a tight-assed honey-skinned seventeen-year-old servant girl who worshiped the ground he walked on. What more could a man want?

Jean thought back to the first time with Adele and how Adele’s huge doe-like eyes had opened wide in shock and wonderment the first time he had driven his huge ten-inch cock up her tiny teenage virgin ass. Adele had been only sixteen and Jean had no idea she would grow to be one of his favorites. Now that first time with Adele was simply a wonderful memory, Jean chuckled to himself, a most wonderful memory. Jean drifted off to sleep in a hazy alcohol and sex induced slumber.

The next day passed in business and his normal many duties. That evening Jean fell into a meditative and meandering mood. Jean’s decision to follow his mentor and protector Général Charles Mathieu Isidore Decaen and take up residence in Grand Port, Île de France in 1803 had been the best decision of his life. Reflecting on the card game the night before Jean sighed as he thought of fucking the pretty blond young French wife Collette. French girls were refined, but could a man actually be satisfied married to one he wondered? Seriously Jean doubted it was possible to be sexually satisfied with a French wife? Jean contemplated his soon to arrive young wife now on a ship en route from France and wondered how he would need to deal with her?

Count Jean Henri d’Langham exited the large glass-paneled mahogany doors and stood on the grey stone deck of his imposing African chateau. He leaned on the wooden balustrade and looked out across the vast green fields of towering sugar cane that spread endlessly as far as the eye could see. Jean’s huge grey haired Great Dane walked up and sat down beside him. Jean reached down and stroked the massive dog’s head. He looked down and noted the dog’s regal posture.

“It’s quite a sight isn’t it Drake? And it’s all mine.”

The dog looked up at his master and Jean smiled and reflected on all of his achievements over the past years. In a mere six years Jean had become the most successful and powerful businessman on the tropical island off the coast of Africa that the English-speaking world called “Mauritius”, but the French knew as the island named “Île de France”. The island was named, of course, for the wealthiest and most populated of the twenty-seven administrative regions of France. In France “Île de France” contained the city of Paris and refined pleasures, but here off the coast Africa, this new tropical Île de France contained opportunity and the rough and tumble of unrestrained freedom of will for the strong and inclined.

Under the firm hand of Governor Decaen the island had prospered. The Governor curried favor with the elite by allowing slave trading and privateering, both of which offered huge profits. For the local citizens he founded primary schools and the “Lycee Colonial” college and set up a hospital. Trade with Madagascar, the Gulf of Aden and India had brought new markets for spices, sugar and alcohol. The bustling new trade routes had also brought many more ships and sailors who needed to be re-provisioned with supplies. The sailors and traders spent gold and silver coins in the port enriching the Governor and especially enriching Jean. While the Governor liked to spend his time in Port Napoleon and on Reunion Island with the various hairless smooth-skinned young men that Jean arranged for his distraction, Grand Port was left under the control of Jean to do as he saw fit.

Everyone on the island knew that Count d’Langham represented the Governor and his word was law. Jean had proven a rather Draconian steward of the island and broached no breach of his strict rules or challenge to his will. Even the smallest infractions could result in floggings, imprisonment or even worse. In a mere six years and at the age of only thirty-eight Jean had accumulated huge estates of sugar cane, he owned hundreds of indentured servants and controlled the sugar, alcohol and flour markets for the entire island. Everything of value that flowed in or out of the port was subject to Jean’s tax.

After being granted huge land holdings on the island and developing the monopolies that now secured his wealth Jean had finally sailed back to his estate in Caen in Lower Normandy. That trip had been six months ago and as arranged Jean had married Governor Decaen’s beautiful and delicate sixteen-year-old niece Marie during the visit. Now the beautiful and innocent Marie was on a ship and would arrive in Grand Port within two or three weeks. Jean had not bedded his beautiful new young wife after the wedding ceremony in France. Jean preferred to wait, as he wanted to introduce his new young virgin bride to the strict obligations of wifely duties in the pleasure chambers he had especially constructed in the basement of his huge stone chateau in Île de France.

This evening Jean’s bookkeeper Francois was over helping him to take account of the take from his various businesses. They also needed to calculate the current prices for sugar Jean could expect for the next harvest in the upcoming auctions. Looking at the impressive tally of income from his various ventures Jean could not help but grin. All the businesses were increasing every month with more and more gold piling up in his accounts. While Jean loved sugar and had great respect for alcohol (sailors will pay always for good alcohol), Jean retained the fondest affection for his brothels.

With seven large brothels and five smaller outlets for sailors who wanted only the quick service release of say a “hand job” or oral sex Jean had full control of the market. If any woman or man tried to offer sex of any kind without working for Jean they would be immediately arrested and flogged. If they tried a second time they would be locked up and then put on the next ship out. And where did Jean get his girls, which were renown for their beauty in the entire region? Well it was the beauty of Jean’s women that was the reason Jean’s port of call was the most looked forward to port by every ship’s captain, every French official and every sailor who plied the local seas. Nowhere could you find young women of such beauty and so skilled in their task and beyond even this, so eager to please.

Every indentured servant woman on the island knew that if her daughter was beautiful and was able to keep her virginity until her sixteenth birthday she could hope to join "Les femmes de Jean" or “Jean’s women”. While indentured workers generally had a terrible struggle to survive in the rat infested sugarcane fields, or in the hot, humid and dangerous sugarcane refineries, the young girls Jean accepted into his more luxurious brothels lived lives of relative luxury. All the young lower-class women coveted the spots Jean could offer in his elite brothels. This ample supply of beautiful eager young women meant ship’s captains and wealthier French officials or visiting diplomats could always count on the most succulent young virgins being available—at Jean’s price of course.

In Jean’s brothels these beautiful ripe young women would be brought in at the age of sixteen as a fresh recruit. They had older ladies who attended to them, took care of their clothes and bathed them with warm water, a true luxury for a mere servant girl. They also had cooks who made food on demand as well as guards who protected them from any harassment. The women lived in large luxurious houses and had rooms with real beds and real cotton sheets. The young girls also knew that if Jean himself ever took a fancy to them and impregnated them, then they would be granted a small plot of land and given their freedom to raise his child. For these reasons Jean required no compulsion to gain recruits; beautiful young servant girls eagerly awaited their sixteenth birthday and their interview with Jean hoping to be accepted.

Jean had to admit the reputation of his girls for beauty was well deserved. Île de France was a melting pot of ethnic peoples, a veritable potpourri of swirling genetic material, resulting in the most exotic, sexy and beautiful female specimens Jean had ever seen anywhere in his travels. The mixture of slaves from Africa, tall and slender Arab traders from Ethiopia and the Gulf of Aden and beyond, a few remnants of the original Dutch settlers, Hindu traders from India, some Chinese merchants from the Far East and then of course the French sailors and officials meant a wild mix of Negro, Asian and Caucasian races creating the most tempting and tantalizing young female creations imaginable.

If a man had a “dream girl” in mind and wondered where in the world he might find her then he could do no worse than to search her out on the island of Île de France. Out of the many young girls turning sixteen each year Jean would select only those who were tall, full but firm-busted with narrow waists and flared hips and a toned firm rounded ass. The girl must also have a beautiful face, flawless skin and a pretty smile. Above all the young lady must show a clear talent and eagerness to please.

Jean was a connoisseur of debauched unrestrained sex and he would have the more experienced women train his young new recruits to ensure a service of the highest quality. Whatever twisted unusual request his richest clients could come up with, Jean always had talented girls more than willing to satisfy. The very finest young girls were always reserved for Jean himself and his favored clients. For the first few months of service Jean might reserve them for his own use as training disciples in his chateau’s special basement. Other times Jean might offer these exotic “reserved” beauties, “limited edition specials” as Jean liked to think of them, as a special treat to a privateer’s captain who had made an especially profitable raid and had copious amounts of money to spend.

Eventually Jean would move these special beauties on to his finest brothel known in town and across the seas as “le Maison Rouge”, or “The Red Mansion”. The name derived from the special luxurious red velvet curtains Jean had imported from Italy and the fine red-maroon Moroccan leather of the sofas. Jean only rarely took even a special girl’s virginity himself. A beautiful young girl’s virginity was a very valuable commodity commanding a high price from officials and ship captains. However, if a girl were especially desirable sometimes Jean could not resist and would bed her for the first time. Otherwise Jean would simply satisfy himself with taking the girl’s “ass virginity” and then offering her second “pussy virginity” to a paying customer.

Usually these beautiful servant girls had no idea who their father was and securing their services was not problematic. A servant woman might be working in the sugar cane fields and a stronger male would get horny and he would simply fuck her if the foreman were not looking. If she were attractive then the foreman would certainly take her whenever he wanted and these women rarely refused. Usually the workers were moved around from district to district and the younger and more attractive field girls could be fucked by several men in a week. Many of the women thoroughly delighted in their sexual freedom on the island and by the age of eighteen or nineteen would have become highly erotic beauties with insatiable libidos.

Other young women worked as domestic helpers in the households of more important men. These French officials easily tired of their complaining and gossiping pale-skinned anemic French wives who required “decorum” in the bedroom. These men of power often-sought refuge in wild animalistic unrestrained sex with the more primal and orgasmic creole maids fluttering about their house so teasingly. Most French officials could afford several such beautiful young women as domestic helpers. Inevitably two or three of these young beauties would secretly seek to seduce the head of the household to gain favor and privilege. As a result there was a huge supply of mixed-race female children being born on Île de France. Most of these mixed-race girls were stunningly beautiful with light coffee-colored skin and shining honey-toned brunette hair and occasionally even blond hair and blue eyes would sprout forth from a recessive French gene gone awry.

In a limited number of cases low-class men worked in the factories or a warehouse and if they were big enough and strong enough and they had the favor of their foreman, then they could keep a woman as a form of “wife”. This was not any legal status, simply recognition of a long-term relationship. One such male indentured servant who had kept a “wife” was “Number 28” who worked in Jean’s horse barn caring for his Arabian stallions. Most servants did not have official names, only nicknames, and this tall strong man was simply referred to as “Vingt-huit” (French for 28) since that was the number on his sales receipt when Jean had purchased his debt from his former master. Vingt-huit’s unique ability with horses meant he had a privileged place in Jean’s household.

Vingt-huit was a tall but very strong Hindu man from India with fine jet-black straight hair and high cheekbones and a narrow angular nose. His woman was one-quarter African, one quarter Arabic and half French as the result of a French captain’s dalliance years before. A most striking woman, she had given birth to a daughter sixteen years ago. Vingt-huit being huge and muscular and a fearful fighter had managed to protect both his woman and his daughter from rapists and aggressive males this whole time.

Jean had been watching the gorgeous daughter for some time and now her birthday had come two days before and it was time for her “interview”. Hopefully if she agreed this young woman would, in due time, be seconded to one of Jean’s special brothels. This young woman was beyond beautiful with a tall athletic body, full rounded breasts that stood high and firm, a tapered waist and strong flared hips for child bearing. The girl’s hair was like her father’s, jet-black, very long and straight, and her eyes were blazing black orbs with the fire of youth burning in their irises. The girl’s teeth were perfect and white and her neck was long and tapered. Jean thought of the girl, his mind spinning with her image and then he turned and asked his servant to summon Vingt-huit. Jean turned to his mousey bookkeeper dressed in an ill-fitting baggy brown suit and shabby worn shoes.

“Francois enough counting of money for tonight. This is a tedious matter and the hour is no longer respectable. I have more pleasurable business to discuss.”

The meek bookkeeper with his round metal spectacles almost falling off his pathetic nose, his face pale and sickly, rose slowly his body mousey and hunched and bowed deeply to the Count.

“Yes Count d’Langham. I beg your leave?”

“You are dismissed Francois.”

Jean waited expectantly for Vingt-huit to arrive. He had never before asked a father for his permission to take his daughter into his brothel. In fact such a situation had never arisen before. The man had an unusual talent for horses and it might bode well to keep him moderately happy? Jean turned to his burl wood desk and poured himself a glass of amber-hued golden brandy, this time real liquor from the town of Cognac, France. Well Jean thought to himself, it is only good form to ask the father’s permission when you plan to deflower his daughter and turn her into a harlot. Jean grinned and thought of the humiliation he could inflict on this poor man. Humiliation had become Jean’s supreme talent and he relished honing his skills.

Shortly Vingt-huit was brought in to Jean’s dark wood office. Clearly worried and nervous the large muscular servant bowed, but somehow Jean felt he retained his dignity, even as an ostensibly humble servant. This undeniable pride irritated Jean and he fidgeted with his crystal snifter of Cognac. They talked and Jean was shocked. The man did not consent to his daughter becoming a prostitute and talked some rubbish in Creole that all men should be “free”. How preposterous thought Jean, “men are free”? How could he be “free” when he owed such a debt? How could his daughter be “free” when under the law she inherited her father’s debt? Why when pigs fly I should think so Jean chuckled to himself as his indentured servant was escorted away. Jean turned to his servant again.

“Bring Vingt-huit’s woman Florette.”

Jean sipped the fine French Cognac that was warm and soothing as it slid down his throat the warmth radiating and suffusing throughout his entire body. Jean swirled the snifter impatiently as he waited relishing the wonderful scent wafting to his nose, the hints of honey-caramel teasing his nostrils. Jean’s mind was turning as he thought how it was necessary to humble and humiliate Vingt-huit for his insolence. But how Jean wondered to himself? Just exactly how should I humiliate this insolent man? A flogging was not sufficient Jean thought to himself. The wheels in Jean’s devious mind spun in machinations only a debauched and draconian master with no mercy could conjure. The most tantalizing part was that Jean would have Vingt-huit consent to his own humiliation. Jean chuckled and smiled his mind easing.

Jean’s servant returned and the woman named “Florette” was brought in. My god Jean thought to himself, in her day this woman must have been an exquisite beauty. No wonder the daughter is so desirable. This woman would be thirty-two or thirty-three by now Jean thought and certainly far past the age when he himself would consider fucking her. Imagine her at sixteen or seventeen though? Jean’s eyes surveyed Florette’s magnificent body, still firm and desirable he had to admit.

Jean and Florette talked. Thank god Florette was more reasonable than her foolish male partner. Yes, Florette acknowledged, her daughter Manon had been waiting for her interview. But would her daughter consent Jean wanted to know? Florette informed Jean that Manon was more than eager to help her mother and perhaps earn a piece of land. Jean smiled and handed Florette a small sliver of the expensive brandy in a brilliant crystal snifter. Jean had specially imported the crystal snifters from the tiny village of Baccarat located in Lorraine in Eastern France. In the village of Baccarat the Verrerie de Sainte Anne made the finest tableware in all of France. Since the Governor’s family were close friends of Bishop Montmorency-Laval in Baccarat it had been possible for Jean to acquire his wonderful stemware.

Jean appreciated Florette’s practicality and watched her nervously gulp the brandy in one gulp. He leaned forward and slipped a large silver coin into the palm of Florette’s hand. She did not look down, but clutched at the coin like a buzzard clutching carrion. A grin crossed Florette’s lips and her eyes danced as she dreamed the dream of improved circumstances. Florette’s grin was contagious; Jean grinned a mischievous grin as a new idea crossed his mind.

“Have your daughter Manon come to my chateau tomorrow night for her interview. She is very striking. I have decided to interview her myself. You know I don’t often interview girls myself. But your daughter is especially beautiful. Plus she must agree herself.”

Florette’s gaze was steady and she did not let her nerves get the better of her.

“Oh don’t worry Count d’Langham. My daughter has watched you from the far buildings and she knows what a fine man you are. Your turn of leg and your presence are an attraction for all the women on the island your worship.”

Flattery was something that did penetrate Jean’s otherwise thick egotistical skull and he puffed out his chest in self-importance at Florette’s blatant compliment and sexual innuendo. Of course the young girl thought he was impressive Jean ruminated. I will have young Manon worshipping my huge cock in no time he thought to himself. Jean’s mind turned to a new idea that resonated and caused him to pause; what about the up-coming birthday party? What a wonderful opportunity to show off Manon to the gens du commun, the hoi polloi of grasping social climbers of the island Jean thought to himself with a chuckle?

Yes the birthday party was a perfect chance to display his virility and untouchable power to the island’s elite; the most alluring of the island’s virgins on his arm attired in the most stunning ensemble of the most expensive imported silk and lace. As the assembled elite danced he would strut the floor like a peacock and swing Manon in a dazzling swirl of lace and silk.

At the party Jean knew that as he and Manon danced all eyes would be on him and the beautiful young decoration attached to his arm. As Jean escorted beautiful Manon around the room and they walked to greet the couples at the party every man would envy Jean with unadulterated lust. Everyone at the gathering would know that beautiful young Manon was to be deflowered later in the evening by Jean’s very own impressive cock. The fact that Jean would put on this debauched display of arrogance only days before the arrival of his new arristocratic young French wife made the whole idea even more tantalizing to him.

On Friday 14th of April 1809 Jean had arranged a wonderful birthday party for his friend and mentor the Governor Decaen. Jean had even arranged for a special young man of seventeen with flawless light-toned skin and pouting ruby lips to spend the night with the Governor. Jean’s maids had removed every hair from the boy’s body and softened his skin for days by applying the special oils. Jean’s physician had examined and certified the boy’s ass was a proven virgin hole. The Governor would certainly be pleased with Jean and in his gratitude who knew what further concessions Jean might be granted? A monopoly on salt perhaps might be in order Jean thought to himself?

It was accepted custom on the island that powerful men could attend parties with young island girls as their “Attendant” ostensibly to assist their wives. The only rule, to protect social decorum on the island, was that the girl must be at least sixteen years of age. This rule was very sensible as it recognized that the wives of the senior officers would have certainly taken a young officer in training as their lover. It would be very burdensome for an officer’s wife if her husband were not suitably distracted so the wife could be serviced as she wished by her young stud. The young “attendant” girls were the intended distraction for their husbands so the wife could be relieved of the tiresome task of servicing him them selves. Jean turned to Florette with his new thought.

“I will have Manon attend the seamstress Madame Montebourg to have a dress and lace underclothes prepared. I want her to be my “attendant” at the Governor’s birthday party on Friday. I will have Madame utilize the most expensive fabrics, silk, French and Belgian lace and whale bone. Your daughter will be my treasure for the night.”

Jean grinned and Florette’s mind was spinning in disbelief. This declaration by the master was beyond any expectations or dreams Florette had ever dared harbor. Her daughter would attend a party with the nobles?

“On Friday bring her early. I want my servants to prepare her for me. You are dismissed woman.”

Florette put down the heavy Baccarat snifter on the glossy burl-wood sideboard and then bowed tentatively, not knowing quite how to exit the presence of such an august man. Florette shuffled her feet and backed out of the imposing room with all its dark wood, book lined shelves, maroon leather chairs and lighted candles, the whole time continuing to take deep bows. Such opulence was enough to strike most servants mute; Florette was amazed, but smart enough to keep her wits the whole time. As Florette made her exit and the servant closed the heavy solid wood door with a thud she turned and smiled.

Everything was working according to her plan. Florette chuckled to her self and grinned. The years of preparing and training her daughter would now bear the sweetest fruit. If only her stupid arrogant man Vingt-huit had kept his mouth shut. All his rubbish talk of “free men” meant nothing. If “freedom” were to be achieved Florette knew, it would only be delivered from her daughter’s very valuable virgin cunt and her own intelligent cunning brain.

Florette hastened back to the rough servant’s quarters to give final instructions to Manon. The hour had come and Manon would need the finest acting skills and a little luck, but in the end their lives should improve, perhaps dramatically? Florette called to Manon to come quickly and sit with her in the private back room. As Manon approached even the mother could not help being amazed at her young daughter’s stunning beauty. Florette had named her daughter “Manon”, which meant “bitter” in French because their lives were bitter, but Manon and her beauty would be their sweet salvation. “From the bitter to the sweet!” Florette sang to herself in her mellifluous feminine voice: “Passer de l’amertume a la douceur.”

Manon was clearly excited like her mother. Manon was sick of living like an animal in the servant’s quarters and eating scraps and wearing rough cloth that itched her delicate skin. Manon’s dreams of wealth and elegance were floating in her mind; even more quickening to her heart was the thought of possessing power. Florette took Manon’s hand in her own, clasping it between her two hands to calm her daughter down. They both needed to be sure-footed now as they crossed what could be a dangerous river; when you cross the Rubicon there is no turning back. Should Manon slip on a slimy algae coated rock then all could be lost forever.

Florette had to admit that Vingt-huit had been a good man and had done his job well. He had impregnated Florette with the most gorgeous daughter on the whole island. He had protected Manon’s pussy from every predatory male so that even at sixteen she remained a precious commodity—a perfect virgin. Vingt-huit had testimonial scars of the fights for Manon’s honor when horny field workers had tried to sneak in at night to rape her. Vingt-huit’s work was done Florette sighed. Now it was woman’s work that needed doing.

Florette took Manon through everything she had taught her. Men were pigs. Men like Jean were especially repugnant pigs. Florette’s father had been a pig. In the beginning men like Jean feel like they want to dominate and humiliate you Manon her mother had explained. But this is a lie. More particularly it is a lie they tell themselves. These men, in fact, Florette explained, want to be dominated and humiliated them selves. It is only through their own humiliation and domination that they will ever achieve satisfaction, acceptance and peace in their own mind. You need to bend them to your will if you are to survive. Manon had listened to all her mother’s lessons with rapt attention.

Florette had told Manon the story of her own father. How he had started by beating her mother. Florette explained how the relationship had changed and how her mother had discovered how to manipulate her husband and finally to control him. All women need to understand bullies like her father (Manon’s grandfather) and more particularly men like Jean. Something had happened to these men in their past lives such that the only drug that could cure them, the only opiate to salve their internal pain, was a woman who could control and humiliate them. A woman who played to them as a plaything, who became their toy, would soon be discarded as boring and unsatisfying. On the other hand, a woman who turned them, who controlled them, who put a leash and collar on them, could have the world at her feet Florette explained.

Florette’s lessons for Manon were detailed and precise. Florette laid out an instruction manual on how to turn Jean to their own purposes; the two women, mother and daughter, had a single purpose. First, survival; second, to attain power; third, secure family succession. Florette had gathered stories from the various women Jean had taken to his “basement”. From these stories Florette had developed what she believed was an understanding of this cruel brute of a man. A “man” Florette wondered? Jean was more “animal” than “man”, a creature of dark crevices who needed to be cornered and controlled. Everything Florette had learned, everything she suspected, Florette passed on to her beautiful Manon.

On Jean’s orders the fetching young Manon was sent to the finest seamstress on the island. Madame Montebourg began with measurements and then proceeded with selecting the expensive lush fabrics. She needed to work as fast as she could since the party was in a few days. First the lace underclothes were prepared and fitted. The whalebone corset to cinch in Manon’s waist to the required twenty-two inches, the lace bustier bra to lift and hold her firm young 34C breasts, the lace garter belt and matching stockings; she needed to make everything perfectly and quickly.

Monsieur Louboutin, a master cobbler, was consulted and rushed in to examine the stockings and prepare the perfect shoes. He took one look at Manon and was struck by her beauty and physique. Louboutin as if struck by lightning impulsively decided the soles of Manon’s high heel shoes would be bright red. Shock and awe Monsieur Louboutin decided; such a beauty as Manon deserved nothing less than cherry red to scandalize the crowd. Certainly Master d’Langham would approve Louboutin smiled to him self, appreciating as he did his master’s predilections and preferences.

Soon enough Manon was returning to be fitted for the final time. The rich emerald green silk-taffeta dress with its high neck and peekaboo cutout over the bust looked stunning on Manon. The cut and corset emphasized Manon’s feminine curves, her youthful fertility both seductive and obvious. Long and thin whalebone struts supported skirting that flared out dramatically over Manon’s feminine hips accentuating her tiny waist that was cinched and imprisoned by the tight whalebone corset. Manon’s firm young breasts protruded prominently over her tightly cinched waist supported by fine whalebone struts constructed beneath to hold their weight. The padded shoulders added to the “V” shape construction further emphasizing Manon’s tiny waist and wider hips. The little Asian South Seas pearls Madame Montebourg had sewn into the fabric’s emerald sheen added a delicate touch as if flakes of pearl-snow had been scattered on a shimmering green field.

Manon looked in the mirror and could barely breath. It was not the corset’s tightness that took her breath away; it was the vision she herself created in the mirror. The feeling of power that swelled up inside Manon at this exact moment might have scared Jean had he had any inkling of what had started to grow inside this young woman. Jean’s planned victim had entirely other plans than those in Jean’s twisted mind. Like the weaker party in any battle Manon and her mother had devised strategies Sun Tzu would have been proud to include in his ancient treatise on war.

Madame Montebourg looked at her stunning young charge with hunger and desire in her eyes. At thirty-two Madame Montebourg was a beauty her self, slim, blond and with crystal clear blue eyes that danced. The smooth creamy skin that Madame Montebourg always protected from the harsh tropical sun with a parasol was flawless like an alabaster bust. Sexually unsatisfied by her weakling husband it was well known that Madame Montebourg had a “special appreciation” for young women and their flickering transitory beauty of youth. Secretly Madame Montebourg was hoping Jean might cast Manon in her direction when he was finished with her.

“So my dear, the party is tomorrow.”

Manon continued gazing in the mirror dazzled by her own bewitching appearance. Unable to look away, the enchantment of the mirror almost cast a spell on Manon. Her mind floated to heights she had never dare imagine previously. The effect of putting on the finished dress was magical; Manon was no longer a servant girl, she had been transformed into something entirely new, someone powerful. Manon sensed that the dress gave her new powers, magnetic powers, powers of attraction, powers of compulsion. Manon’s hesitant voice sounded distracted when she replied, her eyes still fixed on the mirror and her intoxicating image.

“Yes Madame.”

The lilt and cadence of Manon’s fresh young feminine voice made Madame Montebourg tremble inside and her nipples tingled and hardened involuntarily. How she wanted to devour this girl.

“You know that master will want to kiss you?”

Manon’s face took on a look of perplexed curiosity.

“Yes my Mama has explained.”

Madame Montebourg did not how far she should go this first time, but Manon’s beauty and her own lust and burning pussy caused her to throw caution to the wind.

“You know he will expect tongue?”

Manon turned from the mirror to look at Madame Montebourg, her doe-like eyes thrown wide in shock.

“Tongue?” Manon retorted curiously.

Madame Montebourg smiled and moved closer to her charge, close enough that Manon could smell her perfume and Madame Montebourg could feel the skirting of the dress she had made rub teasingly against the skin of her own hands.

“Oh yes, you don’t know about tongue?”

Manon shook her head in a negative reply pulling her eyes from the mirror to look at Madame Montebourg with perplexed concern.

“Here, stand still. I’ll kiss you and show you. You must do the same for master.”

Madame Montebourg brought her face up to Manon’s pure and innocent looking profile. Their noses touched, their skin tingling and then before Manon could think or move Madame Montebourg’s soft sweet lips were on her own. Before any chance for thought a tongue was pressing against Manon’s pursed lips. Manon’s young inexperienced lips, tentative and nervous, were forced open and a warm thick tongue was inside her mouth exploring her cavity. Madame’s kiss was sure and insistent and firm. Madame Montebourg put her hand behind Manon’s head holding her steady and preventing retreat. Manon had no avenue of escape that her roiled mind could fathom. And then in a further shock Madame’s other hand was rubbing and pinching her bust. Manon moaned an instinctual sexual moan as her body responded in a way she had never expected.

As quickly as it all began Madame Montebourg pulled away and left Manon standing before the mirror breathless and panting. Manon’s pussy had begun to wet and her mind was in turmoil. What had just happened? Madame Montebourg smiled and giggled, patting Manon’s arm reassuringly.

“If you repeat what I just did then Master Jean will be pleased. Repeat it as often as he desires. Do you understand?”

Manon was dazzled, never having really contemplated, or imagined, sex with another woman before. Of course she had seen servant girls licking each other and moaning and their bodies shaking, but she herself had not imagined such a thing for herself. Now her mind was rattled and she was confused.

“Yes Madame Montebourg, I thank you for your help and your concern. I treasure you as a new friend.”

Madame Montebourg smiled and thought that it might be very useful to have the beautiful and obviously highly sexed Manon as a special friend. For some reason, Madame Montebourg had no idea why, but she suspected Manon was a woman with a shining future. Some women were born with a destiny and Madame Montebourg suspected that Manon’s destiny would be resplendent. Manon may have been born a servant girl but Madame Montebourg felt this was not how Manon would live her life.

That night, the final night before the birthday party Jean was in his study pacing the floor. He was bored and irritated. Jean did not feel like getting drunk and he did not feel like the company of officers or playing cards. His massive Great Dane dog Drake felt his irritation and cowered in the corner, his tail wagging, not wanting to be struck. Drake knew when his master was in a bad mood you needed to stay out of his way. Jean was in no frame of mind to read a book on military tactics. Jean sat down to write in his diary instead.

Jean was now a man of wealth and power with a legacy to leave behind. Jean’s family would need to know where their wealth and power had come from. Jean’s beautiful new young aristocratic wife was soon to arrive and he would fuck her to father a legitimate heir. Not like all the bastard children he had created so far, but a real heir. Jean reminded himself to get his portrait painted as well. Jean wanted to leave more than just an heir; he wanted to leave a legacy of renown. He need to write down the story of his life.

Jean leaned back in his heavy Moroccan leather chair and reflected back on his life. Jean thought of how he had been born into a family of no consequence, a country family. Jean had joined the French Imperial army to secure a future. Jean thought back to his days as a young officer cadet, only seventeen-years old, his prospects limited, no important relations to rely upon for advancement. Jean chuckled thinking of his lanky young frame, his tousled blond locks of hair, his naïve heart and his easily shocked bright blue eyes. Such a pathetic picture he must have painted to those who saw him at that time.

Jean had been seconded to General Descartes in charge of the Languedoc-Roussillon region in the south of France on the Mediterranean. At first Jean had been aghast at his appointment. The south? Merde! Merde! Triple MERDE! An appointment to the dessert of southern emptiness, advancement blocked and opportunity gone, his career in tatters before it even began. In Jean’s mind he had been sent into exile from Paris, his future shattered. He had arrived in the Mediterranean town of Narbonne downcast. It would not take long for Jean to learn that life “on the edges” has its own particular rewards.

Jean’s first lesson was that while a lot of wealth and power flowed from the edges of the Empire back to Paris, it was also true that a great deal of this wealth fell off the wagon before it left for Paris. In fact, Jean was to discover from General Descartes, a great deal of wealth never even made it to the carts. The second lesson Jean was to discover, courtesy of General Descartes sexy young wife Apolline, was that while social convention and propriety were highly valued commodities in the rigidly structured parlor rooms of Paris, on the edges of French society there were unimagined freedoms and pleasures to be enjoyed. To put it bluntly, once you left Paris no one gave a shit what you did. Even if they did care, they had no idea what you were doing anyways.

It wasn’t long after Jean’s arrival in Narbonne that Jean realized things were different than in Paris. In Paris Jean had been required to march and study military matters endlessly. General Descartes seemed to spend little time on military matters and exceedingly large amounts of time on commercial matters making money. The General also spent most evenings (how can this be put delicately?) shall we say “enjoying life” in a most robust manner. Jean was attending on the General as he made his way to a large manor house each evening for a special kind of adult party, a “costume party” so to speak.

The General would go inside this large mansion, all its windows curtained and closed off and change into a different costume each night. One evening the General would become a pirate, another evening he would become a circus master, or perhaps he would dress as a British soldier. Once the General even dressed up as a Bishop. The Madame of the house made sure numerous highly attractive young women were in attendance in various states of undress, their own costumes so meager as to almost be non-existent. Copious amounts of Cognac, boxes of fine cigars, wines from the Champagne district and cakes of every description seemed to exist in endless supply brought out by almost nude young men on silver trays. Jean had never seen such a thing in his life.

The first time Jean attended the “party” with the General he was asked to wait in the anteroom. Jean was shocked to the core as an hour or two later naked young women raced by screaming and giggling chased by men old enough to be their fathers. Soon the entire company of guests had descended to a state of near undress. Everyone was thoroughly intoxicated, blue cigar smoke hanging in the air and then it all began. On sofas, chairs, the floor, it seemed not to matter where, the men and women paired off and hard erect cocks appeared as the costumes were shed.

Men began to rut and grunt as they fucked the beautiful young women they had selected. The coupling was unabashed and they all copulated in front of each other and moreover in front of Jean. To Jean’s youthful amazement some of the old men would pull their cocks out of the delightful young creature they were fucking-- surely the most beautiful women Jean had ever seen-- and move next to another man and whisper in his ear. That second man would smile and chuckle, pull his own cock out of his paramour’s pussy and the two men would switch lovers. It happened so fast and so often that Jean’s head began to swim.

Out of the corner of his eye Jean had spied the General rutting a most beautiful blond creature on a lavender sofa. The old General who at forty-eight years of age looked older than his age due to the excessive amount of Cognac and cigars consumed during his debauched life was slamming his five-inch rod into a most gorgeous creature who could have been no more than seventeen or eighteen. John could not help it, but his monster cock got amazingly hard and the scene enchanted him. It was the most dazzling spectacle Jean had ever seen up to that point in his young life.

This carried on for several weeks, John could not really recall how long since this seemed long ago. Always Jean would only wait for the General and watch as the old men played cards, drank Cognac or Champagne and allowed the evening to descend into a completely wild orgy worthy of the Roman Empire. Each time the voyeuristic Jean would get hard and later in his room would masturbate to the images he had seen, or perhaps find his own servant girl to enjoy the night with.

Several weeks had gone by when one evening, riding home with the General in their carriage the General had spoken to him. It had been a particularly sinful evening where the General, dressed as a Spanish matador, had fucked a young girl from behind while she took the cock of another man dressed as a gendarme into her mouth. The young beauty had sucked on the gendarme’s cock at the same time as the General rammed into her from behind, both men exploding in unison. The lusty image was hanging in Jean’s mind as he rode silently in the carriage with the General. The General had turned to Jean.

“My wife has a special function tomorrow evening. She saw you from the window and has asked me to provide you as her escort. You must understand I am not in a position to refuse my wife. Cadet Piras will attend my carriage tomorrow and for the future. You will now be assisting my wife from now on.”

Jean looked at the General both shocked and confused. What did this mean to be seconded to the General’s wife? Was this the true career blow, the final humiliation? The General saw the downcast look on Jean’s face and smiled a reassuring smile.

“Do not fear Jean. You are young and your whole career is ahead of you. My wife is more powerful than you realize. Apolline has heard favorable rumors about you and your talents. She wants to allow your talents to flourish here in the limited circumstances of Narbonne. Her father is a very well connected Count and attends at Court. You are not lost. This is an opportunity Jean, make the most of it.”

As Jean leaned back in his chair he continued thinking of his past and his misspent youth. Drake’s tail was sweeping the floor and Jean’s mind was now playing out the scene as he recalled meeting the sultry and seductive Apolline Descartes for the first time all those years ago. More than twenty-years junior to the General, the General’s young wife Apolline had the beauty of that special and refined creature you only rarely meet. Apolline was one of those unique and exquisite sexy women who has given birth to a beautiful daughter and yet the act of childbirth rather than diminishing her beauty and desirability has increased it. A radiant coquette, Apolline was some kind of force Jean had as yet not encountered.

That first night with Apolline, the first “party”, was all a blur in Jean’s mind. Should any of this be put down in writing? Jean thought not and stopped writing in his diary. Apolline had teased Jean, made fun of his youth, provoked his nervousness, played with his naiveté, coquettishly flirted with his physical beauty and she had taken him by the hand and led him to her “party” like a lamb to the slaughter. To say Jean was intoxicated by Apolline’s mature beauty and her sparkling wit would not do justice to Apolline’s impact on the naïve young man. Jean was completely overwhelmed by Apolline and she controlled him, dominated his will, in a way even the General or the Imperial Army could not manage.

They had arrived at the “party” and Apolline, as if handing off an unwanted item of luggage, had delivered Jean over into the hands of to two large Greek attendants, men so large and muscular any thought of resisting their will would be foolish. The two huge Greeks took Jean with blank expressionless stone faces and mute lips and pulled him into a side room. There in the room without any formalities or even a word being spoken the two monsters began to strip Jean of all of his clothes. Once naked they then attached a leather collar around Jean’s neck with a four-foot leather leash attached. Jean tried once or twice to struggle, but their hands were like huge vice grips and the two huge Greeks barely even registered his pathetic efforts, their eyes remaining dull and unresponsive.

Jean recalled how his mind had been completely confused and spinning with a mixture of anger, humiliation and wonder all mingled with excitement and nervous anticipation. What could this all mean? Being manhandled and stripped naked, a leash attached to your neck? The larger of the two brutes led Jean out of the room yanking on Jean’s leash as if he were leading a stubborn donkey, the hard leather collar cutting into Jean’s neck. Jean stumbled forward into a room full of women of a “certain age” all dressed in a festive collection of lingerie and lace in every color of the rainbow. Jean chuckled to himself and thought he must have looked like a lost puppy. What must his face must have looked like all those years ago?

The women were between the ages of late twenties and up into their late fifties. Some were slim and beautiful and others were aging, with sagging folds of leathery skin and tits and bodies that had enjoyed far too many sugary cakes and glasses of wine. A few of the women turned and looked in Jean’s direction and one or two pointed and giggled. To the side Jean saw two or three other young men; their bodies sculpted like Adonis, young, muscular and vital just like himself. These men were also on a leash and tied to a post next to a sofa.

Two or three women were huddled around each young man stroking their bodies. One woman of perhaps forty-five had the cock of a young man in her mouth and his face was contorted as she worked on him, sucking slowly and methodically. Jean noted that the two women watching their friend suck on the huge cock, a cock almost as big as his, were fingering themselves in masturbation. Jean became extremely ashamed of everything he could see and his cheeks turned flaming red as he realized his own complete nudity, his own long limp cock hanging slack between his legs.

The giant brute pulling him had yanked again and Jean stumbled forward through a group of nine or ten almost naked women. A few of the women ran their hands over Jean’s smooth young muscular body and their lusting eyes appraised him as if appraising a new frock in a shop. The leather collar cut at Jean’s neck and he cursed the Greek as he was yanked forward again and again. Finally Jean was tied to a post next to a large sofa and Apolline reappeared along with two other women. Jean didn’t know if he should be angry, contrite, afraid; quite simply he was beyond comprehension. Whatever social co-ordinates had previously existed had been obliterated by his senses, by the spectacle of female lust and power before him and he had no semblance of how to navigate these waters.

Apolline calmly asked Jean to sit, her voice while soft, was nevertheless a command. Apolline sat beside him, her slender feminine hand resting on Jean’s thigh. Apolline began to explain the “situation” to Jean. As the soft words came from her raspberry tinged lips Apolline reached between Jean’s muscular thighs and softly grasped his long thick young cock in her small hand. Apolline did not stroke Jean’s cock, she did not rub his cock and she did nothing except to simply hold his long limp cock in her hand.

Apolline’s soft words danced in Jean’s head, but it was impossible for him to ignore her hand holding his cock. Against Jean’s best efforts Jean’s cock began to fill, engorging with blood. Jean cursed his cock silently in his mind, but his curses had no effect; it continued to swell even further. Jean’s cock was a massive instrument so it did not fill as quickly as some men, but once it had hardened and rose up it was a mighty cock to behold.

Still Apolline did not look down even as Jean’s rod thickened in her hand growing larger and larger by the second. Jean’s discomfort was great and his cheeks burned pink and hot in shame and humiliation. Jean’s hard manhood, now erect and curved and protruding from his abdomen, was exposed for all to see. Even worse he was leashed to a post and his commander’s young wife held his cock in her hand. Yet inside the thrill was incredible! This was the singular most amazing moment of Jean’s life. For some reason with this young wife holding his cock, his neck leashed to a post, Jean felt for the first time in his life something exquisite, he felt free.

“So you see Jean the General has abandoned you. Do you understand?”

Jean nodded to the blond beauty staring into his eyes. Apolline looked deeper, testing to see if Jean truly comprehended what she was saying.

“Your future is in my hands. It can be a dazzling future, a future of great potential, or….”

Apolline’s words hung in the air heavy like only an important unanswered question can hang, airless and expectant. Jean’s future, his fate, hanging in the balance along with her vowels; Jean knew his decision would decide his future.

“So Jean? You understand? Justitia is blind Jean, but I am not, so the scales of justice are not in your favor. I am tilting them.”

Jean had been only seventeen after all and his hesitation was natural. His nervousness given his own state of undress coupled with the proximity of all these near naked mature women, the sudden nature of his predicament, it all had crushed down upon Jean’s young brain. Jean had paused wondering what to say to Apolline. She for her part had begun to slowly stroke up and down on Jean’s huge cock. Apolline had giggled he recalled? Yes I can remember she giggled I think. What exactly had she said to me? Oh yes, I remember.

“When I heard the rumors of how large you were Jean I did not believe them. Now I can see they have not exaggerated one centimeter. Ladies talk you know Jean. Nothing is secret from the ladies.”

Apolline had stroked softly, the tingles coming from Jean’s cock now had confused Jean even more. Jean had stammered and stuttered and struggled to reply. Apolline had slowed her strokes and put her other hand to Jean’s cheek turning his head, forcing him to face her and look into her eyes.

“So what is your answer young Jean de ‘Langham? Are you mine heart and soul? Do I own you completely? Do you place your future in my hands with complete trust”

Jean could not speak. He had not had the confidence to face her, but he had nodded and mumbled.

“I am yours M’Lady.”

Apolline’s beautiful face had flowered into a bright smile. She had lifted her chin and gestured to her older friend nearby.

“This is my close friend Chantal. This is your first test Jean. If you fail I will send you back to my husband with instructions to demote you in rank and send you to the front. Perform well and who knows? Your future is unlimited. I can even have you made a Count. I have connections at Court. A manor house and an estate; everything, literally everything is possible Jean if you bend yourself to my will.”

Apolline’s friend Chantal was a woman of perhaps fifty years of age, her tits sagging and her skin having lost its elasticity, her waist thickened from cakes and beef. Chantal’s pale blue eyes had faded, yet they held something that told of a distant beauty. But such beauty as it was or may have been had surely faded. Jean recalled how Chantal was grinning a lusting grin as she came close to him. Even all these years later that grin was still emblazoned on Jean’s mind. Chantal had dropped to her flabby knees. Chantal’s eyes had widened at the sight of such a huge young cock centimeters from her mouth. Jean smiled as he recalled how Chantal had licked her lips. Chantal had then turned to Apolline.

“I am to have him first?”

Apolline had nodded and smiled at her friend. Chantal then leaned forward and Apolline removed her hand from Jean’s cock as Chantal latched her thin lips onto his big purple-red cockhead. Jean had groaned and Apolline took his hand in hers preparing to coach him on his duties.

“Do not cum until I permit you young man, otherwise you shall be punished.”

Why Jean thought had the idea of punishment intrigued and stimulated him so much? Why for god’s sake had he WANTED to be punished he wondered? Had this been Apolline’s hold over him? That first time Chantal had sucked his cock until Jean thought he could not hold out any longer. Then this lusty older woman had straddled Jean’s waist and impaled herself and her loose-walled pussy upon his huge tool. Chantal had rode him, her sagging tits swinging as she rocked her body up and down. Chantal had groaned and screamed in pleasure when her orgasm had finally exploded, her screams reverberating like a wild cat in heat.

How many orgasms had Chantal experienced? Jean had no clear recollection since it was so many years ago, but it had been several. Apolline had watched Jean the entire time and several other women had come and observed the coupling and marveled at the size of Jean’s cock. Two or three had asked if they could ride Jean next. It was only then that Jean had realized the true measure of his abject servitude to this woman as she bartered with her friends to dole out his sexual favors. Exactly what Apolline received in return Jean would never know, but General Descartes years later had returned to Paris in glory, his career a veritable meteor, as he rode to the top of Paris society on the back of his young talented wife.

It had been four years in Narbonne under the tight leash of Apolline. Jean had learned to subjugate him self completely to her will. Apolline had introduced Jean to many concepts including a “hairless body”. Apolline had made her maids use Ciseaux Chinois, the extremely sharp Chinese scissors and steel razors to remove every hair from Jean’s body. She had then had Jean’s skin oiled and softened, his tousled blond locks trimmed perfectly. Apolline had turned Jean into a piece of living art for the appreciation of her many female disciples, her ardent followers.

Apolline herself had never fucked Jean, always preferring a young beautiful seventeen or eighteen year old girl to take Jean’s huge cock from behind while she spread her legs and made les jeunes filles lick her soft fragrant pussy with a gentle tongue as she cried out softly in delight. Apolline insisted that Jean orgasm with her at precisely the same time or face punishment. Apolline had educated Jean in the art of domination and humiliation. Jean had studied the art with Apolline as his master and taken it completely to heart; domination and humiliation it seemed were things Jean had an affinity for. In Jean’s relations with other women it soon had little to do with “sex”, or “love”, or “romance” and everything to do with bending them completely to his will and reveling in their abject humiliation.

When the end of their relationship had come Apolline had been a woman of her word. She had become very fond of young Jean d’Langham and Apolline had petitioned her father to make him a Count. Along with the title Apolline secured for Jean a modest estate with a forest attached in Caen in Lower Normandy. Unfortunately an estate required more income than Jean could rely upon as a junior officer. Apolline had suggested Jean accept an appointment with a rising star, a friend of her father’s, General Decaen.

Apolline advised Jean that General Decaen was about to be appointed to an important post in the colonies, an island off Africa and income would be no problem. This place near Africa is “like Paradise” Apolline had whispered seductively in Jean’s ear one evening. Apolline had become Jean’s “North Star” and his will was hers to mold; he trusted Apolline completely. Jean had set his course by Apolline’s guiding light and he had jumped at the opportunity she had dangled before him; “Africa” his whispered to himself in wondrous amazement. Jean had learned from Apolline to worship serendipity and he was simply following fate’s path. Why swim against the tide Jean had concluded when the other direction is so much more pleasant.

Drake barked a deep “woof” at footsteps approaching. The loud bark snapped Jean’s reverie about the distant past and brought him into the present moment. No woman had ever dominated Jean or thrilled him to the core since the day he had kissed Apolline’s hand and wished her and her husband well for the last time. At that moment Jean heard his doorman at the door. Jean smiled. His doorman arrived at his study and knocked.

“Yes Andre? What is it?”

Jean’s doorman bowed.

“Madam Pagnol has arrived. Shall I bring her to Ugolin so he can show her to the basement?”

Jean certainly needed a diversion this evening, but he had become so engrossed in his vivid memories he had forgotten about Martine. Yes, he thought, it was tonight he had requested Claude Pagnol’s young wife Martine over for another session in his basement. Poor young clumsy Claude was a mere Sous-Lieutenant (Sub-Lieutenant) in the Troupes de Marine. Somehow Claude had managed to marry a most engaging, witty and sinfully sexual woman named Martine before departing on his foreign posting to Île de France. Gorgeous Martine was still only eighteen years old, but had the wit and dazzle of a much more accomplished woman. Upon Martine’s arrival in Île de France Jean had spied her at a function and realized he must possess her completely.

Jean chuckled thinking of the progress Martine had made in the past nine months since her arrival on the island. Jean couldn’t help marveling at how some students outperformed others in every field, even the field of sexual domination and humiliation. Who could imagine such a young beauty would embrace Jean’s pleasures with such elan? On Jean’s instructions young Martine had now denied her husband any sex for the past four months. It further seemed that young Martine was pregnant with Jean’s child, although she was not showing yet.

On Jean’s orders beautiful Martine would dress in her finest dresses, take a delicate parasol to shield her from the sun, put on her finest boots and in broad daylight take a carriage to the front of Jean’s huge chateau. Everyone on the island surely knew her destination, her purpose; Martine was visiting Jean’s special basement. Her husband Claude could not be more publically humiliated if she had screamed it out at the top of her lungs; “I prefer the huge cock of the Count to the tiny unsatisfying thing my husband has between his legs.” Jean turned to his servant.

“Yes Andre take Madame Pagnol to Ugolin and have him prepare the basement. Advise Madam I will be with her in a moment.”

This would be the perfect way to prepare himself for the birthday party tomorrow. Martine would be at the party and Jean could gaze at her and remember this evening as he escorted Manon on his arm. Jean could look at Martine’s pathetic husband and revel in his humiliation thinking of how his wife’s belly would soon swell with his own seed. Jean could play out in his mind every delicious moment of what he was about to do to this young beautiful wife while her husband was forced to smile and bow to him as his superior officer. John smiled at the thought and turned to leave his study.

Tonight Jean required release and oblivion to subdue his animal nature. Jean wanted to be well rested for the deflowering of Manon tomorrow. Jean licked his lips at the thought of what awaited him in the basement. Jean stretched his back, cracked his knuckles and went to his bedchamber to change. Young Martine was one of his favorites and it wouldn’t do to keep a lady waiting.

To be continued………



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