Power in Words

The restaurant was small and elegant—white linen, crystal stemware—with attentive but not obsequious service. He ordered

salade niçoise

and mineral water and told Elizabeth she could have some wine but not anything to eat. He ate strawberries for dessert. She drank a second glass of wine. When they finished, he paid in cash and left a generous tip.

They took the tram to the oldest part of the city, near the

Oude Kerk,

the Old Church. The high narrow heels of her boots made it difficult for her to walk on the cobbled pavement, and he offered his arm to steady her. Though it was nearly dark, the crowd was not yet thick and they spent twenty minutes walking up and down the tiny streets, looking at the women in the glass-fronted rooms from which they beckoned at tourists, twitching and swaying to snare customers. Occasionally, he would stop before one of the women, always a young and very slender one with long and straight black hair, and knock on her door. When it opened, he would ask the whore something in French. Most of the women just shook their heads or shrugged, and he moved on, Elizabeth clinging to his arm. With one whore, the conversation lasted for some time before he smiled and waved his hand apologetically. He gave that one some bills before he and Elizabeth continued their walk.

As she strolled along with him, she wondered about the type of woman he was looking for. He seemed to deliberately be choosing women very different from her age and look. She was in her middle 30s, and was of medium height, with thick red hair and a reddish complexion. The women he talked to were so different. She knew that he would tell her why he had chosen them if she asked, but she wasn't sure she wished to know.

He hasn't even taken me yet,

she thought.

Am I so great a disappointment?

There was so much she didn't know, didn't need—no,

want

—to know about him. She looked up at his face, at the long straight nose, the closely cropped beard, the clear blue eyes and salt and pepper hair. He didn't look quite like his picture.

He's neither better nor worse. Simply different, I suppose.

The smile lines around the eyes seemed right, though. They matched the offhand, clever wit that she knew from his writing and his conversation. It seemed still a dream to her that she was here alongside him at all, walking arm-in-arm through the streets of a foreign city.

This kind of relationship was new to her. How she should behave was still unclear. She remembered the time she had asked how she should address him, for example. He had said,

A title must be earned, my sweet. You will know what to call me, when it is time.

There he paused, before continuing,

If it is ever time.

She had thought that it would be when he first took her, when he first fucked her, but now she wasn't sure.

The whore who opened her door wide to them was very pretty, with deep brown eyes and flawless olive skin. She had a low and musical voice and he had talked to her for some time. "Her name is Sabine," he murmured as they entered. "She says she's from Paris." He seemed amused. "Judging from her accent, she actually may be from there." Once inside, he took the long overcoat from off her shoulders and folded it neatly lengthwise while Sabine pulled the heavy drape across the window. The two of them followed the dark-haired whore up narrow winding stairs to a tiny bedroom. The money was placed discreetly on a small table.

He asked another question in French. Sabine nodded and said,

"Oui, monsieur. Dans le tiroir.

In the table." She opened the drawer and indicated various small tubes of lubricant. He looked at several, picking each one up and inspecting it, then selected one and placed it on the tabletop, close to the edge. The whore unhooked her bra and pulled it, cross-armed, off her shoulders, revealing small but shapely breasts with very pointed nipples. She slid her thong over her narrow hips and let it fall down her legs to the floor, before kicking it aside. She kept her spike heels on.

Elizabeth saw that the whore's cunt was shaved bare. Only the outer lips were seen.

He moved to stand behind Elizabeth, who was still looking pensively at the girl. "Do you like what you see, my darling?" His voice was soft; his lips close to her ear. "Do you think she is pretty?"

Elizabeth ran her eyes over the girl's slight body. Sabine was pigeon-toed and her thighs were so thin that even with her legs together, when you looked at her crotch you could clearly see her labia and through the gap underneath them to the wall behind. "Yes," she reluctantly agreed, "She is very pretty," though she also thought

Does he want to fuck us both, or will I be made to watch him just with her?

He squeezed her upper arms. "Good. You may take your clothes off now. I will help you. Hold up your hair." She lifted her heavy tresses and his strong yet delicate fingers unhooked the clasp of her dress and ran the zipper down the length of her spine, then pushed the fabric off her shoulders and down her arms. Sabine sat with her legs crossed on a ladderback chair next to the bed, watching them. He said to the whore,

"Juste une femme,"

he shrugged,

"Ma femme. Elle s'appelle Elizabeth."

"Elle est très jolie,"

Sabine smiled. "Very pretty."

"Oui,"

he replied, kissing Elizabeth's neck,

"Elle est très jolie."

His hand lingered at her waist.

Elizabeth stepped out of her dress, which he picked up and folded carefully before laying it next to her coat on the bed. She wore neither brassiere nor panties, just knee-high black leather boots and some few pieces of jewelry: a wedding ring, some gold pendant earrings inset with diamonds that he had given her earlier that morning, and a small crucifix on a thin gold chain that she had owned since she was very young. This last hung suspended between her full and pendulant breasts. Her pubic hair was dense and red but trimmed neatly off the lips, which were already shining with damp. The inner lips were prominent and flushed.

He admired the swell of her hips and leaned forward to kiss at the trail of freckles along her shoulder. "You will need to be very ready, my pet." She could feel his hardness pressing through his trousers against her bottom. "Show our pretty

demoiselle

how you pleasure yourself. Show her what you do to yourself when we talk." His hands gently pressed her forward toward the other woman.

Elizabeth obediently began to stroke herself, running a soft fingertip between her inner and outer folds. As she did this, her eyes seemed to shift in color, from mild blue to deep green.

I have never been with a woman,

she thought,

I did not expect that of him.

Despite her uncertainty, her nervousness, she found herself getting wet.

He spread some of the lubricant on his fingers. "Put your leg up on the bed, dearest," he said, "I want Sabine to see clearly how you touch yourself for me." When she immediately did so, she felt very open, very bared. A wash of red spread across the pale skin of her neck and breasts. Her nipples hardened. The tall French whore sat very still, staring intently at Elizabeth's cunt. She looked mildly amused.

He put a hand on her hip to brace her, and with the other started to massage the tight hole of her ass with his now lubricated finger. "For our first time," he breathed into her ear, "I want to take you here," he pressed his finger to her ass, "anally. I have bought you a whore to witness this, to witness my taking you, and to assist me as I take you." He put more lube on his fingers and began to push one into her. The feeling was new, but strangely pleasurable. Her own fingers, twined in her cunt, began to move more rapidly. Her breathing became shallow.

So,

she said to herself,

that is how he will own me.

Her circling pressure focused on the hardness of her clit. He then pressed two fingers into her with a steady pressure that forced her passage to open to him and said, "I will take your cunt later tonight." Three fingers. "Perhaps."

Driving his fingers deeply into Elizabeth's center, he reached up to grasp her chin and hold her face up.

"Regardez son visage, Sabine,"

he said. Then, more softly, to Elizabeth, "I want her to watch your face while I fuck you. Bend over the chair. You may keep playing with your clit if you like, but don't allow yourself to come. You may come while I fuck you." He pulled his fingers from her and spoke rapidly in French to the whore. Sabine stood and turned the chair around. Elizabeth took her foot off the bed and bent over the back of the chair, hands grasping the edge of the seat.

I am ready,

she thought,

I am ready for him.

He wiped his fingers on a silk handkerchief that he then tossed casually on the bed. Sabine knelt before him and opened his trousers, reached in and freed his cock, which was only partly stiff. The young whore expertly rolled a condom over him, then took him into her mouth a few times to get him fully erect. Then she rolled the condom back off and coated his member thoroughly with lubricant.

Elizabeth watched this, her head twisted back toward him from her position over the chair. Then Sabine turned and began to use her fingers on Elizabeth's now burning hole, working in still more lube. Satisfied, she wiped her hands on the same handkerchief he had used and returned to her position before Elizabeth, sitting on the edge of the chair, so that their faces were only inches apart. "Relax, little one," she said in heavily accented English, "You must relax or it will hurt." She smiled happily, like a child.

Elizabeth focused on the whore's pretty face. When she felt his hands grasp her hips and the head of his cock press against her tight hole, she tried to open for him as much as possible.

It was not enough. There was an instant of pleasure and then just pain. She cried out, but he continued to press himself into her. Then, suddenly, the head of his cock popped past her anal sphincter and she felt relieved, but very full.

God!

she cried, and then,

Yes. All right,

as she accustomed herself to him.

He waited and did not immediately press further. Then as he felt the muscles of her thighs relax, he pushed deeper into her. She tensed again. She looked questioningly at the slender whore whose face was almost close enough to kiss and read only fond indifference. He pressed further and further in, with a slow but steady pressure, sighing heavily and saying to her in a calm and gentle voice, "I am close, my dear. Then we will rest a bit." One further thrust and she felt his balls nestle against the lips of her cunt.

I have received him!

she thought, gratefully. Tears ran from her eyes. She felt his hands gripping her, pulling her pelvis back onto him and she smiled at Sabine, grateful for her presence.

He began to move inside her. Slowly at first, and then building rhythm. She heard his breathing grow harsh, felt the increase of his need, of his desire for her. This in turn made her open to him. She shifted her legs, spread them farther apart. She began to whimper at each thrust. The whore looked directly into her eyes, with infinite understanding. Elizabeth reached for her and clasped her hands.

Ohh,

she cried,

God! Oh, God!

He began to drive even more deeply into her ass, quickening his tempo. Sabine was stroking Elizabeth's face as he fucked her, smoothing the tears across her cheeks and making soothing noises as the older woman mewed and cried. At a command from him, the whore began to caress Elizabeth's heavy breasts, gently at first, then pulling sharply on the nipples, pinching and twisting them. He reached forward and caught her thick coppery hair in his fingers and pulled her head up and back as he thrust, thrust, thrust against her beautiful round ass.

Staring into the dark placid pools of the whore's eyes, feeling the full weight of his cock pressing into her very core, she began to sob, to scream. Scream, finally, a single word.

Master! Ah, Master! Master!

Sabine was scratching at Elizabeth's breasts as they swayed back and forth as he fucked her. When the whore leaned forward and kissed her, smothering her frantic cries with lips and tongue, the orgasm suddenly washed over Elizabeth like a wave, crashing and obliterating everything, leaving her weeping and moaning into the other woman's mouth. Distantly, she heard her Master groan, felt his cock spasm inside of her, again and again.

When he pulled his softening member from her, her legs were too weak to hold her up, and she sank to her knees. His firm but gentle pressure on her shoulders turned her around to face him and he bent and kissed her long and lovingly on the mouth, then whispered choice endearments softly in her ear. When he again straightened up, she knew her task. Sabine handed her a dampened sponge and she began to carefully lave clean his spent cock. She then washed it a second time with her tongue. He purred at her like a cat and stroked her hair. She felt some small bit of his semen run out of her and down her leg. The whore crouched and wiped her cleft with the handkerchief, then kissed her hips and back.

Later, as they walked back to their hotel along one of the side canals, he remembered that she hadn't eaten. In the soft cloud of light under a street lamp, he folded his coat and laid it on the ground for her to kneel upon. She looked up at him as her took her mouth, his fingers twisted in her hair, and the light reflected in his eyes looked to her like stars.

—for MPB