The Word

Chapter 02: Marketa's Lesson

Sitting alone in the sidewalk cafe, he drank his coffee trying to shake the morning grog from his head. A warm spring breeze ruffled the edges of the newspaper and he felt a presence silently standing across the table from him. He peered around the paper to investigate. There stood a very attractive older woman with an elitist air surveying the outdoor cafe for a seat. All the tables were filled. He was convinced that behind her dark sunglasses, she was feigning her search, hoping for an invitation. She looked at him, smiled politely and continued her silent search. After a few seconds she asked in a French accent, "Is anyone using this chair?" Reluctantly, he gestured for her to join him and resumed his reading.

"Excuse me," she interrupted, "I forgot my paper at home. May I?"

"Please," he replied sliding the already read portion across the table.

"Thank you, you are too kind," she replied. Moments later she started again, "Look at this... the new Spring fashion line is out... you would look good in this jacket... it is made for you..."

In his morning haze he wondered who she was thinking she she could insert herself into his day. "Excuse me, do I know you?" he politely asked.

Extending her hand she replied, "Marketa. And you are?"

"Henry," he replied looking down through the mesh table top noticing her beautiful legs and fancy high heels.

"Nice to meet you Henry," she answered, a smirk on her face as she noticed his roving eyes.

They sat in silence for a while drinking their coffee until she started again, "Did you see in the paper that there is a new art exhibit at the museum? Henry, do you like art?"

"Yes, very much, especially impressionism," he responded. A discussion ensued and they found some common ground, which suddenly made his day much better and she more interesting.

"So Henry, look here," she persisted pointing at the picture of the coat, "it is you..."

"I'm not much for fashion," Henry demurred.

Marketa persisted, "Come on, just take a look at it..."

He obliged her. "Yes, it is very nice..."

"You really need to see it on you. I can tell. You will buy it once you try it on, you will see... I have an eye for these things," she persisted in her sexy accent. Based on her fashionable attire, he thought she was probably right about the coat.

"Do you have plans today? Lets go have a look, try it on... trust me, you'll be better for it, and, if you like it, you buy it. And if not, I buy you lunch. Deal?" she asked. He momentarily wondered why a complete stranger was asking him to spend time together to look at some coat but she had already started growing on him and having no schedule for the day, he relented to her persistence. They spent the rest of the day walking and talking. They made it to the museum, and yes, he did buy the jacket. In appreciation for his trust, she still bought lunch.

Despite spending what turned into a great day getting to know a complete stranger, around 5:00 pm, she suggested parting ways, "I have to go- I have an engagement tonight. I'm sorry. This was all to good to end, and so soon... Days like these are to be remembered fondly," she stated as she handed him a piece of paper, "My number... call me if you want to meet again," she said walking backwards, a smile on her face as she looked at him just before turning away. He stood motionless marveling at her as she turned the corner and disappeared.

That day started it all. He was enthralled by her vivacious, outgoing and spontaneous personality. The foreigner in her made her mysterious and alluring. Aside from her attractive looks and sophisticated dress, she was an older woman, 45 to Henry's 37, and he found that intrinsically tantalizing.

She was enamored with his low key personality, his intelligence, exuberance for her, the attention he paid her when they were together, his lack of expectations and the carefree spontaneous fun they had. And then there were his good looks- tall and striking, a well kept body, straight dark hair, chiseled face, deep set blue eyes. He was well educated, a successful professional and a great conversationalist- "well rounded and worldly" she described him. Yes, he was the complete package by all standards and she found him outright refreshing compared to men her age.

Slowly friendship turned into a very private affair- she wanted to keep it discreet. They each saw others and did not hide the fact from one another, which helped lower expectations. She never introduced him to her friends, never brought him to social gatherings. Sometimes he felt like her "boy toy" but did not mind- he was having too much fun. This went on for about a year, clandestine meetings, romantic weekends and then one day he received a letter from Marketa and opened it with curiosity. It read:

"Dear Henry,

I write you with great trepidation that what I am about to reveal will shock you, perhaps even scare you off. We have known each other for a year, and it has been a wonderful one at that, although I must admit I should be more forthright with my friends regarding your presence in my life. For that I apologize and promise the coming year will be different. But that is not why I write.

Henry dearest, I feel very comfortable with you, more so than ever before with any other man. I feel that I can tell you my deepest darkest secret without feeling vulnerable. I know even if you do not approve of it, you will not spurn or chastise me, or be judgmental, because that is not your nature. Henry, I want you to allow me to give my undying obedience and trust to you in an act of complete submission. Do you understand what I mean? Please tell me you do. It is a fantasy I have harbored for many years but never found the right person to share it with, the one person who might indulge my curiosity. I hope you are the one who will do it. Please tell me you will share it with me. The when and where are inconsequential. I'll fly us wherever you want on the face of the earth to try this with me, just name the place and time. Love, Marketa"

Henry was stunned having never expected anything of this sort from his conventional lover. A wicked smile crossed his face as he pondered the possibilities. He had dabbled in it before- it had started as light hearted experimentation with a girl who he was living with in his youth but it never really got past that point, the relationship having ended shortly thereafter. He had found it hard to find women of his liking who were willing to explore beyond sexual convention, and, he yearned to try it some more.

Henry knew Marketa's weakness and strengths, which acts she liked and disliked, which she performed well and which she did not. He was convinced he could master her for her own pleasure. He would give her a salacious experience, one which would leave her wanton with desire. He wrote in reply:

"My Dearest Marketa,

Do not fear displacing me with your dark desire. I am honored that you chose to share it with me. I only have three conditions- first, that you strictly follow my directions, second that you have a safe word and third that I have your complete and unwavering trust.

Meet me in Paris on the eve of 10 November at my favorite hotel in the 8th arrondissement. I will leave a key for you at the front desk. Be there at 4:30 PM prompt. Henry".

He intentionally kept the message simple, preferring to keep details to himself. He refused to discuss the impending event. He wanted her to ponder what was going to occur- to build her excitement and test her will with uncertainty.

He flew from the States to Paris a few days in advance. On the afternoon of the 10th he arranged the suite- a candle was set on a small table and a note next to it told her to relax and drink the chilled champagne in the bucket and read her favorite book of short erotic stories, which he placed on the table with a red rose laid across the cover.

Marketa arrived on time. She retrieved the key from the front desk and to her delight discovered Henry had secured the hotel's luxury suite. She proceeded up to the room, excitement for the impending unknown coursing through her body. She had been thinking about this very weekend for so long. Her anticipation had grown by the day to the point of obsession.

Marketa's heart raced as she pushed the key into the hole and unlocked the door. She entered she expected to find Henry waiting for her. Stepping into the suite she took a deep breath to quell her anxiety. To her dismay, the room was poorly lit and Henry was not present. She found the note, settled in and waited for his arrival.

Henry made Marketa wait until 6:00 pm. He quietly opened the door. Marketa heard him slip in and rose to greet him. She always presented herself well for him. This time she grabbed his attention more than usual. Normally when they met they greeted with a warm kiss and loving embrace. Marketa immediately noticed Henry's body language and demeanor were different. "Not a word unless you are spoken to, understand?" he started. She was taken aback by his cold and abrupt manner.

"Yes," she replied.

"The safe word?" he asked.

"I have none- I do not want one. I know what you told me but I trust you completely... I know you will do me no harm."

"If that is your choice, that is your risk," he said noting her first transgression while marveling at her attire; a federal blue blazer- squared at the shoulders, tapered at the waist, plunging neckline-and a knee length skirt with matching blue heels, pearl earring's and necklace. It was very business like and she looked impeccable. He studied her- beautiful fine stranded straight black short hair parted in the middle, the length cut at her jawline with a forward curl at the bottom of each side, her high cheek bones, small upturned nose, green cat shaped eyes, thin eyebrows and slightly full ruby red painted lips. She was a woman of beauty, self esteem, strong will and independence. He was fascinated that she would give herself over.

"I trust you found my note?"

"Yes. The book and champagne too. You know I love reading that one, and, the champagne was divine. It is good to know you remember my weaknesses..."

Henry removed her jacket. Beneath she wore only a white bra. Then he removed her skirt. She attentively stood wearing white cotton panties, shoes and the bra. He circled and admired her mature body- flat stomach, thin mid-section, hips and ass that flared out just a bit more than the proportion would dictate, but which gave her a perfectly curved build, and muscular calves to support her delicious five foot five body.

"Look straight ahead and remove the bra," he coldly directed. She turned her gaze and reached behind and unclasped it, methodically drew the straps over her arms and let the garment fall to the ground. Her small firm breasts revealed, he thought of all the times he enjoyed sucking her sensitive conical pert nipples. The breasts were disproportionately small for her body but he found them quite erotic.

"What is it that you want of me?" he asked.

"In public I want to be your wealthy sophisticated paramour but in private I want to be your wealthy sophisticated French Slut," she deliberately stated and in a hushed voice as he reached down and with a gentle touch slowly traced the edges of her furrow through the panty. She hesitated a moment, swallowed hard and continued, "...I want you to train me, make me your pet... so I can know your ultimate pleasures, to serve you," she nervously confessed, "will you do it?"

"Feel good?" he asked deferring her question.

"Yes," she replied.

"In French," he commanded giving her a playful slap on the ass.

"Oui, Messiour," she obliged.

"That is better... sexier," he said continuing to press his fingers against her, "I have a few rules... you must unconditionally obey me, and, you may not release without my permission. Understand?"

"Oui," she replied as her moisture built. He drew the panties down to between her thighs. Standing at her side, he reached behind and slowly penetrated her sex with his fingers. She gasped at the intrusion. Henry brought the palm of his other hand to her front and pressed it against her hairy sex. Slowly he worked her from within, stroking her tightness. He removed his fingers brought one to her mouth, pressing her lips to open. She resisted and he spanked her. Reluctantly, she tasted herself, slowly suckling the finger.

He produced a black silk scarf and bound her wrists behind her back. Standing before her, he playfully pinched each nipple just enough to make her wince. "On your knees," he instructed. She knelt and watched as he removed his pants and held forward his aroused head, "Open your beautiful lips," he instructed. Marketa reluctantly pursed her mouth into the perfect "O". He held himself out and inched forward. Once within her, he stood with his hands behind his back, the only parts of their bodies touching being her mouth and the head of his sex.

She struggled to perform the act- she always did and knew it. Having been denied use of her hands, she was disadvantaged. Nevertheless, she had bargained for his will over her and this was her obligation. Marketa performed with slow caring passion knowing he preferred a long slow build up concluded by a deep moving climax.

When she offered her mouth to men, they all started slow, leading her to believe the end would be controlled. But, they all finished in a brutish manner. She did not know why- was it that she performed the act so well that they lost all control? Was her face so attractive that it turned them on so much? Or, perhaps her lips were perfectly shaped for the act that they viewed her as an irresistible object? Usually, towards the end they all moved in and out with control but just before they came, their hands held her head fast and they forced themselves in to release down her throat, holding her lips to the base of their shaft until the very last drop spilled. When they removed themselves, she always found herself struggling between gagging and suffocation, the seed spilling from her mouth. For that reason, she typically withheld her mouth from most. Sometimes she wondered if it was her abstention that so excited them that on the rare occasion that it was offered, they were barbaric.

Henry was different. He was tender with her each time. He let her set the pace. He let her wrap her fingers around his shaft and move her mouth, regulating the depths of his penetrations while her other hand cupped and caressed his balls and the long painted fingernails pressured his underside. He never put his hands on her head to force her down. No, she was permitted to maintain control and she enjoyed pleasuring him in this manner.

Marketa knelt before him face tilted up. Henry's phallus hung down and slowly slid in and out, her lips stretching his head and skin, pulling them taught as they crossed the threshold, sinking into her wet warm inviting mouth. She felt him stiffening and noticed his subtle moans. A dewy drop of salty pre-cum spilled. Now she knew he was at the edge. She wanted her bonds loosened so she could hold him as he came in her.

"Yes, that is it," he cooed as he pleasured himself on her, "...look me in the eyes," he instructed, "Your lips always feel so good, the shape and color, so erotic... but it is your beautiful face that excites me more, that eager to please look in your eyes..." His hands took her head and held it steady. Panic raced through her and her body stiffened in anticipation of savagery. She now feared he was about to have her mouth just like the others. She hoped he would pull out and have her face instead. But then he sealed her fate, "Do not spill me," he quietly directed, "or I will have you trained until you can repeatedly perform the act to perfection."

Henry looked at Marketa and thought to himself, "she kneels before me in submission for my pleasure, giving herself to me. Her sacrifice is beautiful..." His hands on the side of her head, he slowly slid in and out of her mouth appreciating the sensation she gave in servitude. She noticed how his hips swayed slightly faster. He looked into her eyes, loving eyes pooled with trust and devotion and pushed his head in and held her savoring the moment. Her face was beautiful but it was the trust and devotion he saw in her eyes which made him slowly release his thick steady creamy streams of musky passion into her waiting mouth. He held still and controlled the cadence of the release, gently spilling himself on her tongue. She drank of him, swallowing as he gave, grateful her did not thrust hard and deep. When finish, he pulled out. She waited in silence, looking down in submission. He inspected her face and noticed she had spilled. Instantly she knew she had disappointed him.

"Stand up," he commanded and he brought Marketa to a desk and leaned her forward, face and shoulders bracing her body, her ass out and upright and her hairy sex offered. He spanked her ass with his bare hand and it rippled with the contact, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Je suis monsieur désolé (I am sorry Sir)," she replied.

"Will it ever happen again?" he asked administering another one.

"No, Monsieur," she whimpered in reply. Into her wet sex he inserted two fingers and toyed her, building her excitement as he continued administering punishment.

"Oui, svp, me donner le dégagement (Yes, please, give me release)," she begged.

"No talking unless you are addressed (spank)... insolent little bitch (spank)... I'll train your rich ass yet (spank) and make you mine before we are through this weekend (spank), understand?"

"Oui, oui," she responded, a tear streaming down her check from the last contact, which was painfully harsh, his palm stinging her soft skin as they met.

He stood her up and released her wrists, "We have plans tonight. That outfit over there, wear it," he said as he raised her up, a nice shade of pink welling in her tender skin. He watched her adorn in the clothes he had carefully selected- a pair of black see through patterned crotchless silk panties, patent leather spiked high heels and a short black cocktail dress- the hem just a bit too short for her thighs- with a plunging neckline, a diamond bracelet, necklace and earrings completed the outfit.

"Isn't it a bit short?" she asked noticing that the bottom of the dress barely covered her at the mid-thigh.

"No, it is perfect for my purposes," Henry replied. Marketa chose not to question his "purposes".

They left the hotel and headed down the street on foot walking arm in arm.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the opera. I know how much you enjoy it... we have balcony seats in a private box. Only the best for my Pet... How do you feel?"

"So aroused I could jump you right here," she cooed.

"The first time a master takes his pet is very special... it means she has proven herself worthy... some wait a long time before they are taken... they 'suffer' being constantly teased, craving their master's approval.... some are never taken and are set free... we have but a weekend and the time to prove yourself is short."

"I sense you have done this before... Is there something more I should know about you?" she asked. Henry did not answer and they continued walking in silence.

Marketa had come to Paris to be taken with few conditions. Yes, she knew he was in control but now the bar was set higher and she wondered if she could meet his expectations. As they walked she marveled at the beauty of Paris and thought how it contrasted with the dirty little secret they were playing out behind closed doors. Thankfully, she thought, that was where it was being kept...

They sat through the first act. At intermission he suggested they have a drink. Standing at the corner of the lobby bar Henry noticed a couple at the other end. The man was eying Marketa. She noticed him and turned her back. He raised a glass to Henry in salutation. Henry leaned over and whispered, "I must say hello to old friends. I did not expect to see them. He is the one who keeps looking at you. Come with me. Not a word unless I tell you so...."