Helena Robertson - Mousse

Little by little all the girls went away, leaving Monique alone with Sylvie. She lifted Monique up, and bringing her to the stool, told her, without stopping her caresses on her:

“Try it too, for my pleasure. For me!”

And Monique, though she was oversatisfied with caresses, opened her legs widely, bent over the slimy pole, put her anus dampened by the many caresses that had taken place before, on the stake, and pushed with all her desire. She felt the velvety flesh of her insides distend softly, separate till it became painful, and with a last hoarse moan, she sat, her buttocks crashing against the wood of the seat, completely penetrated by the hardened stem.

She had to bear Sylvie's caress while impaled on the dildo, against which she was voluptuously rubbing herself. Her wonderful breasts, sucked by the ardent mouth, were shivering smoothly, and finally she came with all her being, in a terrible spasm that left her panting, breathless, and still impaled.

And the days went by, each one brought its share of caresses, either from the lips of the pupils or the lips of Sylvie under her supple embrace, but also under the more and more habit forming domination of the lash. She now offered herself to Sylvie who got her used to harder contacts with the leather or the stick. But Monique, however, lacked something; she remembered the soft and yet painful contact of the male's flesh in the deepest of her body, and once again she wanted the male. Sylvie felt that she was at the adequate point of desire, and promised herself to enjoy that body as much as she loved to enjoy the bodies of those that she held under her present domination.

Monique stretched on her bed and got up. Her whole body was covered by a film of sweat. She poured herself some water-lukewarm, she thought. She swallowed it with small gulps. She gave a look at the still silent park, but through the blades of the Venetian blinds no cool breeze was coming. She sat in a deep armchair, thighs wide apart, propped up against the arms of the chair. In the mirror facing her, she contemplated herself, the damp pink mouth deep in the fair hair, the thick lips, with the vagina slightly opened in their middle.

She inclined her head and yawned, and, with her eyes closed, went back in her memories while her fingers lingered fondly on her belly and the satin-like skin of the inside of her thighs.

Life went as usual at Mrs. Merval's, pleasantly, with its equal share of lectures, of voluptuous nights, of perverse contacts. There was not one of the childish faces of her class (and often of the others) that had not given her the best caresses between her widely opened thighs. Sylvie once called for her, and after a passionate night made her scream her pleasure by introducing into her ass bigger and bigger nozzles, after vigorously whipping the consenting buttocks with the sticks and the leather whip.

At the break of dawn, Monique returned to her room completely exhausted. The next day the pension's seamstress took her measurements and made some dresses for her. Sometime after, she received from Sylvie a box containing some lingerie, stockings and shoes, with a little note attached to it: “Meet me at my place tonight, nine p.m.”

Anxious and impatient at the same time, Monique thought that the day would never end.

The same evening she put on the clothes that were in the box. The mirror showed her the image of a sultry Monique, her shapely legs emphasized by the black silk stockings with very high heel shoes that accentuated the curve of her legs. Her thighs emerged from a pleated velvet skirt that opened right under the buttocks and looked like a lampshade. Her belly and her bottom were naked under it. A velvet bodice with long, puffed sleeves of the same color as the skirt, was covering her torso. It was slit from the neck to the belt where a string of stones (faked of course) was accentuating the slim waist and round hips. The opening in the bodice allowed a good view of the young girl's charms. One could see the deep valley that separated her breasts and their round and firm base. On her head a little black velvet cap lined with white swan feathers was posed over her fair and silky curls.

Monique put a little velvet mask over her eyes, and, anticipating what was to come, took the corridor that led to Mrs. Merval's apartments.

She welcomed Monique silently and introduced her in the lounge, dimly lit by one lamp in a corner. Monique was astounded. In front of her, three men were sitting on the sofa, and one of them was wearing a monk's frock. They all wore masks. Gallantly, they rose and bowed in front of her. Sylvie pushed her toward them. Monique gave Sylvie a long, inquiring look. Sylvie was dressed in a black, transparent negligee that daringly revealed her naked and muscled body, and her black, silk-dressed legs. Sylvie showed Monique the little table where the liquors were stored. She poured a glass for each of the guests and presented it on a gold tray. She sat in front of them, on a little stool, her thighs closed tight together. Because of the low level where she was sitting she had her knees at the same level as her breasts and her thighs, and a little bit of the flesh of her sex was displayed. She lowered her eyes, a little bit ashamed, but she could feel desire coming in her veins.

Sylvie came to her in a purr of her lace and a cloud of scent. She opened a little case and handed it to Monique.

“Look darling, what our friends were nice enough to bring for you.”

Monique looked into the little box and stood motionless; her eyes could not leave the things in the box. On a velvet tray were exposed a little whip with thin lashes, a stick, and three nozzles with different heads, made out of pink, hard rubber.

A voluptuous emotion crept into Monique's body. She blushed intently as Sylvie, already by her side, began unbuttoning the bodice and took one of Monique's breasts in her hand. When the voluminous globe appeared, a murmur of admiration from the guests saluted it. Soon after, the other breast was unveiled with its erected nipple. Monique was pushed towards the men and had to place herself in front of them. Immediately they kissed her teats and lifted the little skirt.

She hardly reacted when she felt the fingers between her thighs, brushing past her cunt already damp from her own juices, and stopped at the little puckered and curled asshole. She was drinking Sylvie's perverted kiss, sucking on her lascivious tongue. She felt that Sylvie was trying to unhook her bodice, and resisted. Sylvie did not insist, but she bent her lower, and that movement accentuated the large curves of her splendid bottom. The three men were admiring the sight offered by that display of white flesh encircled by black velvet-those thighs whose white flesh was emerging from the black silk stockings held by little garters made of black leather.

Out of the little triangle at the crossroad of the buttocks, a little bit of the flesh of the sex appeared surrounded by a few pale curls.

Sylvie whispered in the ear of the young girl:

“Open your legs…”

Monique shook her head and refused.

“Open your legs,” repeated Sylvie in another tone of voice. “Open, or I will have to spank you!”

A deep emotion ran through Monique's body when she heard that word “spanking”; there was a great desire in her negation, for she was already feeling the contact of the lashes on her flesh. Sylvie bending over her, in front of her, was holding her bent, her wrists maintained on the stool. With a light wheezzz the lashes were crashing on her bottom, and Monique could not withhold a cry of surprise. She turned over and saw the monk standing up behind her. He was holding a whip in his hand. She lowered her head, ashamed, but another blow landed across her buttocks harder, drier… and another while her bottom was slowly undulating, then another blow came and made her feel warm all over. Then solidly standing, his legs opened to assure a steadier posture, the monk started a long flogging against the young girl. His frock was open, and sometimes his prick passed out of the opening. He had made flogging an art; each stroke covered the whole surface of the bottom after only a few blows. The buttocks were burning and turning a deep pink. An intense heat was insinuating between the tightly closed legs, and began to burn in Monique's sex. “Open…” ordered the monk at each blow, but Monique was resisting, half by shame and half by pleasure, because she enjoyed the humiliating posture. But the man was whipping harder and an intense pain came in Monique's body. Dim at first, it became more precise and unbearable. Her body wriggled more and more violently. Her bottom was dancing in front of the men's eyes and they started undressing. Rape was in their eyes. They displayed in front of Sylvie the sight of their aroused virilities.