One month. Thirty days later, and I do not recognise myself.

I sit at their table, the same polished oak as before. Anaïs emptied Jules with her mouth here, and he made his confession. I am no longer in the shadows, but pangs of nervousness still haunt me. The stem of a glass of Chablis rests between my fingers. Light and shadows dance over my naked arms. It flickers over my exposed décolletage. Candlelight softens the edges of everything, including my mood.

Jules charges Anaïs’ glass, and does the same for me. His eyes meet mine for a moment. They are no longer hapless or breezy. They are possessive, and when he returns to his seat, they linger. The first time he fucked me, I gave him a performance. Not anymore.

I sip and enjoy how I float along. These dinners are a formality, and I have learned to control my excitement. Their conversation is ordinary. A fashion event in Marais went well despite a difficult client. The weather is warmer. Such mundane words wash over me, but my body remembers everything.

It began the night when Anaïs guided my eager but inexperienced mouth between her thighs. The sweet musky heat, the silk texture of her folds, and the tang of her juices smeared on my face. She held me there and gave me gentle instructions.

Slower. Firmer. There.

Look at me while you do it.

My eyes are always hers.

My recollection is always a silent thrill. After all these weeks, the pointed tip of my tongue writes my signature exclusively onto her sex. Just the suggestion I am doing this again is enough to press my thighs together.

I lapped at her sex with a happy contentment. The bedroom was quiet except for the wet sound of my mouth and her controlled breathing.

“Use the flat of your tongue. Good. Now the tip.”

I learned the exact pressure that makes her hips shift. I found the place just to the left of her clit that drew that low moan from her. I built her into an ecstatic rhythm without rushing her. When my two fingers curled inside her with the same steady attention from my tongue, I made her thighs tremble. She did not look away from me. I was not allowed to shy away either.

Anaïs came with a long, refined shudder. She kept my mouth there so I could savour her juices. For my reward, she permitted me to grind myself against her thigh. I finished messily, convulsive and slack-jawed. My lust streaked on her skin.

She lingered on my feverish eyes with quiet satisfaction. “It’s important you learn to move like that.”

I crave that lesson soon.

With my fork, I break the flesh of my Sole Meunière. I throb, enduring too many days without their attention. I cut a piece of fish, and steal a glance at her. She catches me, and returns an impenetrable grin. I must reciprocate. I do not know what it means. Jules watches me, and I know what he wants.

I was on my knees in their bedroom. Anaïs stood behind me and rested her hand on the back of my head. Jules faced me, already hard.

Her quiet voice spoke slowly and directly. “Do not touch him. Do not look away. He will use your mouth for his pleasure, and you will give it to him whenever he demands.”

Clasping my hands, they remained behind my back, ignoring my instincts. Opening my mouth, he took it in the way that Anaïs made me practise. Slow at first, then deeper, breathing carefully through my nose so I did not choke.

When tears gathered at the corners of my eyes, I kept them open. Gazing at him to see them, even when my vision blurred. I rocked forward on my knees, the only statement I was allowed. He pressed at the back of my throat, and I remembered to swallow. The tip of my nose pressed to his smooth pubic bone.

I spluttered when I took his seed for the first time.

Now, when I am inundated, I lock my lips around it, and my grateful eyes meet his, drinking it all. More wine soothes my dry palate. My arousal swells, but I must remain placid, even though my body itches with excitement.

Anaïs recoils at something he said, giving him that look. It mocks him playfully. I have encountered its true intentions.

On their bed, she knelt between my legs, scrutinising me. Her long fingers twist inside my sex, exploiting my weakness. The other rested lightly just above my mons so she could feel every tremor. Each time the pleasure climbed too high, she denied me.

“Confess.”

That is when I saw her austere expression.

She started by making me repeat my fantasies, the ones she knew about, even when my voice fractured. Minutes felt like hours. I begged to come, but first, I had to pay. Finally, she broke me. I sobbed hard at the truth, something new and potent. I wanted strangers to see what I am, and I wanted to be watched while they used me.

Her fingers curled, kissing that special place inside.

My orgasm smashed me into pieces.

- 28 -

Sipping on my wine, I have no shame any more. I burned it away, orgasm by orgasm. My panties soak as soon as my vivid imagination runs free. Tonight is no different. I fidget, and the plug in my ass does not yield. Chromed and weighted, every shift of my posture stakes their claim on me. This one replaces my first, new today, and a little larger. Anaïs presented it to me with a casual remark, as if she were requesting the salt and pepper. Freshly seated, she enjoyed my startled reaction.

It is my new torturer.

“Wear it to dinner. While we eat, I want you to remember who owns that pretty ass.”

This one serves a different purpose. It defines the elasticity of my taboo hole. This is the one that keeps it available to them.

I remember the afternoon Anaïs put the first one inside me.

Anaïs watched me shower, and led me to their bedroom. I removed my towel, and obeyed her, bracing myself against the wall. She used plenty of lube and took her time, watching my reaction as she worked it inside me. The stretch burned. The pressure was strange and inescapable. When it finally settled, I wept. It was not from the pain, but she had claimed a part of me that no one dared touch.

She stroked my hair and called me her good girl until the tears stopped and my breathing evened out. She fastened a pair of her patent high heels onto my feet, and told me to follow her. Taken downstairs, I paraded around the lounge, and Jules watched from the sofa.

She gave quiet commands.

Turn around.

Bend over.

Lower.

Open your legs wider.

My face burned with humiliation, spicing my intense arousal.

She grinned, enjoying my discomfort. “Your cunt is soaked. It’ll be really tight with that in there.”

It is. I know that, and I am not allowed to reach climax without it. The fish is delicate and buttery. Watching them, they are still deep in conversation. I quake as this thought escapes through my body. It makes the cutlery in my hands tremble.

Two weeks ago he took my ass for the first time.

Anaïs prepared me herself, with lube and her patient fingers until I could take two without flinching. Then, she seated the plug again. Familiar with the ritual, I walked around the house naked, doing some light chores. Jules devoured every movement. I found the right place to bend over and show my peachy sex. I would crouch and open my legs, revealing my flat pelvic floor.

By the time she led me upstairs, I was soaking wet and aching.

I knelt on their bed, my forehead pressed to the sheet, with my hands laid out in front of me. Anaïs reached underneath me and rubbed my clit in blissful, distracting circles.

When he first pressed it against my ass, I tensed. She told me repeatedly not to bear down. The head of his cock felt impossibly thick. She stroked my spine and told me to ease back onto him. I tried. The resistance held, and the burning intensified. Then, it gave way suddenly, forcing a panicked yelp. His firm hands prevented any movement, and he worked his way in deeper with small, measured thrusts.

Full beyond any measure, a dark sensation overwhelmed me, hot and tight, unlike anything I had known. She watched my expression the entire time. Then it came as an incredible, forbidden pleasure. He bottomed out and withdrew. I followed him to meet the next, quivering with snatched breaths. We found a rhythm, and I pushed back hungrily for more. I craved its fill.

Then she spoke. “There’s my anal slut.”

Her words cleared my mind, and I jammed him deep in my ass.

With her fingers on my clit, I groaned as a mess of sweat and inflamed tension. It rose from somewhere unknown, building fast. I did not recognise my cries. I clamoured to anchor myself, gripping at the sheet and Anaïs. I tried to contort and expel him. Then it came from the deep, building as a massive surge. I shook until I shuddered tight and croaked. Endlessly convulsive, I quake powerfully, unable to stop. I felt him swell, and he followed soon afterwards. A hot heat glowed from there, deep in my guts.

Still twitching and jolted by potent aftershocks, Anaïs slid the plug back into me.

For the rest of the evening, I tingled through my body. Every step I took was a constant reminder: I was wet, freshly fucked, marked in a way that few women are.

Adding petit pois to the fish on my fork, I wriggle slightly in my chair, enjoying that feeling of fullness.

- 29 -

This is who I am now.

Nineteen years old, freed from a burden of guilt and shame. Now, it feels like nostalgia. For tonight, I curled my hair into soft tresses. Anaïs chose an almost sheer silk blouse and a short pencil skirt. One caresses my naked breasts, the other barely conceals my panties.

My new posture conveys confidence. I used to hunch my shoulders or reach for the hem of my clothes. Anaïs broke that habit. Now, when I walk into a bar, I stand tall. I make eye contact and do not shy away. Mathilde noticed, too, and innocently, she encouraged me. Sometimes, men linger too long. I cannot help it, and I imagine their hand on the back of my head with their cock in my mouth.

That same cold fear takes over. I am afraid they will look at me and know exactly what I am.

It tempers my mood, so I pretend this is only dinner. I must practice this aloof expression so that no one can see my thoughts. I cut another piece of fish and maintain my serenity, but that plug is insistent. My mind runs fast, busy inventing reasons why I should call time on this. I do not know if I should master the things they want from me. They have helped me give up the things I never liked. But they might come for the things I do. So much of me has changed, and I am not sure how much more I am willing to give.

I have enough self-control to walk away from this. I will feel different in the cold light of morning. So many of my fantasies have become experiences, and now, I have that carnal knowledge. I am a woman. It was all I ever wanted.

My mind tries to call this a game. Yet, my body is frantic. I need the sexual gratification.

Tomorrow can wait.

“Elodie. You’re quiet tonight.”

I lift my eyes. Anaïs watches me over the rim of her glass. I do not understand that familiar sparkle in her eyes. I have seen it for months. Jules’s hand rests on the table next to mine, close enough to feel its warmth. The atmosphere is thick with their unknown desires.

“I’m thinking,” I reply, frankly.

“About what?”

The truth flows like water. I do not hide behind half-answers or lowered eyes.

“About the last month and everything you’ve taught me.”

Anaïs smiles, deeply satisfied. She sets her glass down. “And what have I taught you, my little Normandy girl?”

My cheeks warm under her gaze, but I do not look away. I will not reveal my doubts.

“That my body is yours to use as you wish.” I survey them, without a glimmer of emotion. “My fantasies are yours, too, and I want to experience them with you.”

Jules’s gaze broods with overt hunger, her smile widens.

“Good,” she answers brightly. “Because after dinner, you are going to do just that.”

She lifts her glass in a small, private toast. As mine kisses theirs, it is our pact.

I see that resolve in her eyes. “Tonight, Elodie, the curtains stay open.”

My pulse leaps hard, reaching the part of me she has carefully excavated and polished. It shines so bright, it burns on my cheeks.

“Yes, Anaïs.”

My Chablis tastes of citrus and total capitulation.

- 30 -

The conversation changes course, and their ordinary topics fall away. I raise my glass with a trembling hand. I am louche, my sharpest edges smoothed. Jules asks me, almost conversationally, how the plug feels while I enjoy my Tarte Tatin. I must remember how to react. I turn with grace, hiding my inner struggle.

“Heavy,” My tone is light, almost carefree. “I can feel it with every breath. It keeps my cunt and my ass ready for you to fuck.”

These are the words I am told to use, and they threaten to breach my self-control. Anaïs watches as I speak, then reaches across the table to brush a crumb from my lower lip with her thumb. Its casual intimacy makes my nipples ache. The silk caresses my naked breasts, adding to the white-hot crisis within me.

Anaïs leans in, “Tell him about the first time you came with it inside you.”

I almost crumble, but I will not falter or hide. I describe how she made me sit astride his face while the plug entered me. The sensation of her firm hands on my hips whilst being forced to ride his tongue. My carefully chosen words are never expletives but just as profane. I recall the incredible sensations of his rasping wet tongue, and the unyielding metal stretching me. Demurely, I describe my orgasm. It tastes like sin on my tongue. I have the words now, but not back then. In those intense moments afterwards, I remember opening a bleary eye to see how Anaïs captured it all on her phone.

He broods with a steely gaze, and under the table his foot finds mine.

Anaïs tilts her head, “And on our balcony last week when Jules was out?”

I drink more wine, slowly. I want it to loosen my tongue further.

My soft gaze does not waver. “You made me lean over the railing, and turned the bedroom lights off. I was grateful for your mercy, but the streetlights below were enough. You fucked me from behind.”

“Very good, continue.”

“Anyone looking up could have seen my face and my naked body. And, how eagerly I pushed back. They would know what was happening to me.”

“And,” Anaïs raises an eyebrow, “What provoked you for what happened next?”

“You made me confess I am an exhibitionist. I came so hard my knees gave out.”

“Because you begged for it,” she reminds me softly. “You begged to be seen, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” I shift in my chair, and the plug bites. I know my lust flickers through my eyes. “You held me up by the hips and kept going until I came a second time, much louder than the first.”

“What happened then, Elodie?”

I look to both of them in turn. “My orgasm echoed through the courtyard.”

Anaïs mulls over my words. “Yes, and it is almost exactly one week to the day. Regularity might bring an audience.”

I am in flames, and more wine fails to douse it. In this country we are supposed to know our bodies and treat desire as something to be cultivated rather than hidden. I had always half-believed it. Tonight I am living it. I am deep down this rabbit hole. So far, it proves to be infinite.

We finish our dessert in the charged silence, only broken by the tinkling of cutlery. Anaïs clears the plates. She never allows me to serve during these games. I am not allowed to deviate from this single train of thought. When she returns, a black velvet box is placed beside my wine glass.

“Open it.” She commands.

Inside is a pair of silver nipple clamps connected by a delicate chain. There are red leather and chrome wrist restraints.

My breathing stalls, and I cannot hide my thoughts.

“You asked me to tie you up once, Elodie. Now, you have earned these.”

“Yes, Anaïs. Thank you.”

That pleases her. “But first, stand up. I want Jules to check that the plug is still properly seated before we continue.”

I rise. The movement makes the metal shift inside me in a way that is deeply humiliating and instantly delicious. I must brace myself by gripping the table’s edge. His hands are warm and sure as they slide under my skirt. Inside my panties, he finds its flared base and tests it with a slow twist. He presses on it, and I pout with flickering eyes, gasping softly.

“Still nice and deep,” he murmurs against my ear. “Good girl.”

Anaïs watches the entire exchange, visibly pleased.

“Sit, finish your wine. Then we move to the living room.”

I obey without hesitation.

- 31 -

The living room curtains are already open. Anaïs grins and hauls the tall windows back. The cooler air does not chill my mood. I glance out to the quiet, leafy courtyard and the neighbouring apartment block. It is not late for a Friday evening, and many honeyed-gold windows decorate it.

Anaïs points to the centre of the thick rug.

“Kneel.”

I sink down carefully. The plug presses with the change in posture. It makes any graceful movement difficult, creasing my features with pleasure. She stands in front of me, unbuttons her shirt slowly, and frees her breasts. Jules settles on the sofa opposite, unfastening his trousers. He watches avidly as his wife presents herself to me.

“You know what to do.”

I do.

Leaning forward, I take a nipple into my mouth, sucking softly. My hand rises to cup and gently knead the other. As she has taught me, I feel her reward. She sighs with quiet pleasure, and threads her fingers into my hair. I know how to wait until she guides me lower. I kiss down her taut stomach, lift her skirt over her hips. Pulling her panties to one side, her intimate scent makes my mouth water. She is already wet for me. I begin the careful, devoted work she has trained into my muscle memory. The long, flat strokes of my tongue bathe her folds. A zig-zag motion steers her clit so I can flick on it. The pads of my fingers curl inside her exactly where she likes them, and my adoring eyes remain on hers.

I can taste him too. He has been inside her today, and put his seed there. The excitement scorches my self-control. Jules’s breathing deepens on the sofa. I can hear the soft, rhythmic sound of him stroking himself as his wife uses my willing mouth.

Anaïs’s hips begin to rock gently against my face. Her fingers tighten in my hair.

“You are knelt in front of the windows,” she states with a coarse rasp. “Someone might be watching you right now.”

Pulling my mouth to her mound, she deliberately stifles my intense moan.

“Watching you on your knees…” Anaïs gasps, “with your tongue inside me and a plug in your ass. Does that make you wet, Elodie?”

“Yes,” I mumble.

“Louder. Let them hear it.”

She pulls me from her mons, “Yes, Anaïs.”

I am pulled back there, and I stir her to a prolonged, elegant shudder. From her soft cries, I know its potency, and I remain exactly where I am, attending to her aftershocks. She pulls me up, cradles my head and kisses me deeply, sharing her taste.

She purrs with approval. “Now undress.”

Each released button is an excited pulse through my core. In full view of the outdoors, I slide my clothes from me with a careful precision, and drape them on the edge of the settee. My red silk panties cling to my sex as they ease them down my thighs. My state of mind and body make my limbs shiver.

I am naked, engulfed by the tepid embrace of the evening air.

“Go to Jules. On your hands and knees, I want to see those eyes on his.”

I crawl the short distance to him. Jules is hard, thick, and waiting. I straddle him facing outward so that anyone looking in would see my face and my slender body. I shift to place my feet on his knees, and open my thighs wide. Anaïs holds him at my opening. I sink slowly onto him, and I do not hide that hot stretch as I take it all. The steel plug heightens the sensation, and my thundering heartbeat is a staccato reminder of how full I am.

Anaïs steps behind me, opens the black box, and fixes the clamps carefully to my hard nipples. The sharp, precise bite of pain makes me yelp softly. The restraints are fastened, binding my wrists. My arms are lifted and rest behind his head.

“Ride him,” she demands. “Slowly. And do not come until I allow it. You know the rules.”

So open and exposed, I gaze outside, looking for silhouettes in the windows. Every upward stroke makes the plug shift. Gravity forces Jules deep inside, and my torturer presses in. The clamps tug and drive my exquisite need to repeat my movements. I hear my arousal, slick and sticky, and I cry out for more.

Anaïs walks slowly to the open window. She stands there, backlit by the warm light, watching us and the courtyard with avid interest.

The pleasure builds in exquisite layers. They shift, slide, and then merge as one. Under her control, Jules grips my hips, steering me, but never forcing the pace.

“Tell us what you are right now.” Anaïs’s calm tone drifts over my whimpered moans.

“Your slut.” I croak, and then wet my mouth. “Your exhibitionist.”

“Do you want people to see you?”

“Yes!” I exclaim in a rushed cry.

“What do you want them to see?”

“Me. Being used by you both.” I stifle a whimper, biting my lip. “My restraints. The clamps. How wet I am. How I take whatever you give me.”

“And if someone is watching from one of those windows right now?”

“I hope they are. I… I hope they see everything.”

My whimpers strengthen into a groan. Anaïs returns to us, stands beside the sofa, and begins to play with the clamps, pulling the chain. The intense crackles of electricity make me slam down harder.

“Yes, my little Normandy girl,” she purrs, “Time to be our good little pet.”

A long moan leaves me. His thrusts match my relentless body. He slides in deep, touching everything. The clamps shake, adding their unique pleasure to the rising tension within me. I watch how her eyes move from my flushed face to the open window and back again. All day, I yearned for relief, and now I blaze as an inferno. The rush of hot blood stains my pale skin. I look to her. I cannot hide my helplessness. The tension looms larger, swelling to a quantity I cannot contain. Yet, I am held firm, plunging and wanton.

“She is tightening up,” murmurs Jules.

“Like the hungry whore she is.” Anaïs stares into my eyes, and slides her hand into her panties.

I rage, devouring his thrusts. I must hurtle towards the inevitable. This ache is too intense.

“Not yet, Elodie.” Anaïs commands. “You have an audience to please.”

I sob with frustration. That plug bites back mercilessly. Its muscular echoes churn and froth, forcing me to rise and drop down again. I am on show, my secret revealed to strangers watching me. They might be disgusted. Or, they are stroking their hard cock, or slender fingers rub at their sex as Anaïs does.

“You know, little mouse, I had Jules and one of our friends fuck me as hard as that at the weekend.”

My imagination swells. I teeter at the brink of losing control or keeping it. I let go.

“I want them to watch,” I gasp for air, “I want them to fuck me.”

“Now we get to the truth!”

Anaïs laughs, “You dirty little slut.”

I moan until it gurgles from me and my body tightens. I croak to breathe, rushing hard towards my climax.

“Please,” I beg, and I falter. “Please… please may I come?”

She considers me for a moment. Then, she nods once, decisively.

“Loudly.” Anaïs asserts, adding fuel to the inferno. “Let them hear you. Show them what we’ve made you into.”

Jules ploughs me. I haul my body to meet him with a frantic urgency. I hear her footsteps around the sofa. Seizing my hands, she lifts my arms over my head. I am revealed and trapped. The immense pressure balloons, binding my movement. I grind, but then I seize. I yelp with frustration. I am a feral wretch plundering his shaft for my demise.

“Come,” Anaïs commands.

The entire month of careful training collides with it as one blinding peak. I lunge for air as it surges beyond my control. My orgasm blazes through me as a violent rush, snatching hard at him and that chromed devil. I cry out into the courtyard, loud and shameless. I shake so hard, my vision goes grey, sobbing at how completely they take me. Jules holds me down, slamming into me, chasing my climax. He groans, and then again, harder.

I am strung out and listless. His thrusts shake my limp body until he pulses hard and deep inside me. He grunts each time, stabbing it in deep. My bliss-stricken gaze does not waver from her.

Glowing hot, I am still sensitive, still twitching. Anaïs removes the clamps and soothes the tender peaks with the velvet heat of her tongue. I flinch, murmuring for unspoken words. He is still inside me, until he softens, and his seed leaks from me.

“Yes,” Anaïs purrs, “Full of cum. You craved that, didn’t you?”

I nod wearily as she strokes my damp hair with a covetous gaze. She gives me that secret smile, and I understand it now, and it settles inside me.

“One month,” she murmurs. “And look at you now.”

“I’m yours,” I whisper.

“Yes,” she nods softly. “You are.”

Once, I was a girl in the dark, listening to them fucking. Now, I reach out and pull Anaïs to my lips. I place the kiss there, unequivocal as a silent contract.

Even in the cold light of morning.

Anaïs walks away, opens a drawer, and holds it in her hand. I swallow, unable to contain my excitement. A soft black collar eases around my neck. I tilt my head to make it easier and feel the weight of it rest there. The leather rests cool and absolute against my skin; the buckle clicks once, quietly.

I whimper submissively.

She looks at me, and I gaze back, docile and tamed.

They own me.

- FIN -