Melissa Smith-Jones

Warning: This story contains bondage scenes, stalking, and adultery. This is Chapter 1 of two chapters.

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I. Melissa and Jane, in a café in New York

"He's married," my best friend Jane told me for the fortieth time.

"I know. That's his problem and that of his wife," I replied for the fortieth time.

"No children?" Jane asked.

"I don't believe he's had one since last week when you asked me," I said.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Adultery is a crime, for what that's worth," she said.

"Jane, he's the adulterer. I'm just the mistress. With some luck, I'll also be the home wrecker," I replied.

"He's seriously older than you," Jane said.

"He's taking me to France!" I replied.

"He is?"

"Yes. We leave in two weeks. Paris, and then the Riviera. Best hotels in Paris, and a beach hotel in Antibes," I said, studying Jane's reaction. She was impressed. Shocked was more like it.

"You're going to France?" I nodded. "You've got a passport?" I nodded again. "Paris and the Riveria?" I nodded a third time, smiling hugely. "Where is An, An,.."

"Antibes?"

"Yes, Antibes. Where is that?" Jane asked.

"It's in between Nice and Cannes. We're actually staying in Juan-les-Pins, a little beach town barely west of Antibes. It has sandy beaches, nice hotels, nightlife, and of course French food," I said.

"Shopping?" Jane asked. She knew me well.

"Just down the road a piece in Cannes," Mike says.

"Cannes??!! You're going to Cannes?" Jane was now incredulous.

"Yep. All I have to do is be eye candy on his arm. Not bad, eh?" I said.

"Eye candy in his bedroom, too?" Jane sarcastically asked. She was just giving me a hard time.

"Of course. I do that already here in New York," I replied. My eyes were twinkling, I'm sure.

"How is he in the bedroom?" Jane said. "If I may ask," she added, and she nervously giggled.

"You may not," I said. Now I was giving Jane a hard time back. We always give each other the 411 on our men.

"Melissa Smith-Jones. Tell me," Jane said.

"Okay. It's a reward for using my correct name. He's good, even very good, but also strange," I said. I'm fussy about my surname. A silence ensued.

"You just going to let that hang there? Come on woman, tell all!" Jane said in mock exasperation.

"He has unusual tastes. Unusual demands, I guess one could say," I replied.

"Uh-oh," Jane said.

"Exactly," I said, hoping that would end it. Knowing Jane, though, I knew it would end nothing at all.

"How strange, exactly?" Jane asked. I knew she'd ask. I just knew it.

"He likes bondage, and also some discipline, if you know what those are," I said.

"Melissa Jones! I'm the same age as you, twenty-three just last week. You really think I don't know what B&D is?" Jane asked, in mock outrage. "Who gets bound? Him or you?"

I looked at her and raised a single eyebrow. I did my best to muster an air of contempt. I said, "It's Melissa Smith-Jones, not just Melissa Jones."

Melissa Jones sounds so common, so ordinary. Melissa Smith is worse. But Melissa Smith-Jones? That sounds as if it has a bit of class to it. At least it does to me.

"Well I figured it was you," Jane said. "It's usually the woman, isn't it?"

"I haven't seen any statistical studies yet," I said, and we both began giggling. When we both get the giggles they can last a while and get loud. Other people in the café began to look at us.

"You're not into that," Jane said definitively. She did know me, after all. She added nervously, however, "Are you?"

"No. Not at all. But my role is to please him and I'm good at it," I said.

"I wish I could see that!" Jane said, blushing red after she realized what she had said.

"Probably you can. He makes videos and takes pictures. It's well documented," I said.

"You let him do that?" Jane asked. Now she really was incredulous. A man takes one of those pictures and it's a short step to having your nude and compromised body all over the Internet.

"Jane, I'm naked, bound and gagged. How exactly am I supposed to protest or to stop him?"

"Good point. Before? Or after?" she asked.

"I thought about that, but my goal is to please him, isn't it?" I replied. "It gets worse."

"How so?"

"Now he wants a threesome," I said, softly so nobody else in the café could overhear.

"Can I apply? I'd love to go to France!" Jane gushed.

"That sounds much nicer than what he wants," I said, a tinge of distaste evident in my voice.

"You said a threesome. Isn't that two plus one?"

"You're still good at math. Yes, but he does not want two women," I said.

"Oh," Jane replied. A silence ensued. "Tell me what you're planning to do in France!" Jane said, changing the subject.

II.Antibes, France

"You need a bikini, Melissa," he said.

"A one piece is better for swimming. You know how I love to swim," I replied.

"I want every man on the beach to wish he were with you. I want them all jealous of me," Mike said. The man knows what he wants and he's not afraid to say it.

Mike took me to Cannes and he had me model bikinis for him. He chose a string bikini that barely covered my lady parts. Two pulls of strings and I would be naked. When he told me he wanted me to go topless on the beach, that would mean one pull and I'd be naked. I was horrified, scared witless.

Before I met Mike I was shy and private. These days however I don't know how many men have seen pictures of me naked and bound, and videos of well, you know, complete with a sound track of my moans. I'm not a natural moaner. I do it to please Mike. It makes him feel macho, like a man, and lord knows he seems to need that a lot. I don't know why, since no girl could ever complain about his equipment or how he uses it. He's damn good in bed! Insecurity, however, is not necessarily tied to reality now, is it?

Still, being a couple of square inches away from stark naked on a crowded beach put the fear of the almighty in me. How could I brazenly flaunt my body in front of everyone on a crowded beach? I knew I could not do that. Nevertheless, I let Mike buy me the bikini, along with a sheer cover-up to wear away from the beach. The so-called cover-up covered nothing at all. My body was clearly visible right through it.

Things changed when we went to the beach. Quite a few other women, mostly French, were topless when we arrived. Their bikini bottoms were just as close to nonexistent as was mine. Suddenly, seeing all the other women happily baring their boobs and almost everything else made it easy for me to do it too. Nobody cared. Nobody stared. Except for my stunning body and good looks, I fit right in.

I know it's tacky to brag. It's just that I'm pretty and sexy and have known it since I was 14 and boys discovered me. I don't have the usual bilateral symmetry of a pretty cover girl type of woman. My face is not perfectly symmetric. It's symmetric enough though, and my high cheek bones, naturally long eyelashes, liquid brown eyes with specks of gold hidden within them, blaze of headlights white teeth and just the right level of prominence to my jaw, and damn it, I give a pretty effect.

My sexy effects come from my eyes. I like sex. I always have. If a man looks me in the eyes and smiles, he knows instantly that I do more than tease. I get wet at the drop of a zipper and I cum quickly and easily.

Then there's my body. I feel ill at ease describing my body. Let's just say I've got the standard equipment all us girls have. Mine is just proportioned perfectly and encased in skin so soft and smooth it makes silk seem like sandpaper in comparison.

As one of my high school lovers once put it, I am the entire package. Granted he said that right after he shot his load deep inside me and men might say just about anything in such circumstances, but I think it reflected his true feelings nevertheless.

Mike and I lay down on the lounge chairs, themselves covered with a mattress and the mattress in turn covered with a beach towel. There even was mattress service. I raised my hand and a waiter instantly appeared and I ordered an ice-cold Perrier. In English!

I did not have to order in English. I'm fluent in French, but Mike does not know I am, and for reasons I did not understand myself, I wanted to keep it that way. It also allowed me to eavesdrop on the French couple sitting next to me. Sadly, though, they had nothing interesting to say. I listened in, nevertheless, until I finally got bored stiff and I took out my novel.

Mike left to make a phone call, and I stayed on my chaise lounge, soaking up the sun. God, it felt good. A man approached me and asked me in perfect English if I had the time. He was staring directly at my boobs. Suddenly I was freaked. It had seemed fine when I had assumed everyone else was blasé French, but hearing an Anglophone man and seeing him stare, and practically drool, over my boobs was a bit shocking for me. I'm sure I blushed bright red.

"I saw you were reading a book in English. That's why I asked you. I figured you'd understand," the man explained. He was my age, maybe slightly older, and cute as the dickens. He had a hard body, too. "My name is Nigel," he added. Well, that explained the accent. He was British, probably English.

"It's a quarter past three o'clock," I said, and then added, "I'm Melissa. Pleased to meet you, Nigel." I had sat up, my boobs bouncing slightly with the movement. Had they been a tad smaller they might not have bounced. He did not seem to mind. Au contraire.

"If I may be so bold as to say it, Melissa, you are by far the prettiest girl on the beach," Nigel said.

"Woman. Not girl. I'm a woman, I would hope you would have noticed," I said, feeling frisky and teasing him. I moved so that my boobs bounced a little more. I was getting into flaunting my body a little.

"I did in fact notice," Nigel said, continuing to stare at my boobs as he spoke. He smiled. "Well, thanks for the time," he said, as he spied Mike approaching.

Mike came back in a foul mood. "I have to go to Paris. There's an emergency meeting of the European team there tomorrow at 2pm. I'll take a morning airplane from Nice. This sucks."

"That's okay, love," I said, as Mike too stared at my boobs. I shifted position to get them to jiggle for him. "We can snuggle on the airplane."

"You are such a sweetheart Melissa. I can't do that to you. I know you were looking forward to the beach. I'll be back in a few days. Keep the bed nice and warm for me, won't you love?" Mike said.

"There's something else, isn't there, Mike?" I said. I knew Mike by now and I could read his face. His foul mood meant more than just a few days of unexpected crisis management in Paris.

"Ann Christine is coming to meet me in Paris," he said.

"She doesn't know about us, right?" I asked.

"Right. Let's please keep it that way, okay?"

"Of course," I said. "Do you really think if Ann Christine is coming to Paris you will be able to come back here in a few days?"

Mike said nothing and looked away.

"I'm on my own, aren't I?" Mike replied with his facial expression. "It's okay, Mike. It won't be much fun without you, but the water, sand, and sunshine will do me good." Mike looked relieved.

Mike took me for a wonderful dinner that night. It was one of the best meals I had ever had. Then we went home, he applied the bondage restraints, took some pictures, opened the blinds, and we made love. With Mike no faking is needed. He drove me to two wonderful orgasms, and I moaned them out louder than was usual. Whenever his body was within range I was kissing him.

He left me tied up for the entire night, and I had to sleep spread eagle on my back, with his cum seeping out and creating a large wet spot on the bed between my splayed legs. Mike got an early wake-up call, fucked me to smithereens again, got dressed and left. He left me there, ravished, naked, and still bound, breathing heavily.

Apparently that had been Mike's plan. He called the hotel from a taxi and explained he had 'forgot' to release me from my restraints and could someone from the hotel please do it? I lay there, spread eagle, naked, bound and gagged, when a room service waiter from the hotel entered into my room. He stood still, staring at me, and when he recovered he released the restraints. I quickly ran to the bathroom to pee. When I emerged from the bathroom he was still there. Why hadn't I wrap myself in a towel? Sometimes I'm such an idiot!

The waiter approached me and hesitantly fondled my boobs. I startled him when I said in my near perfect French, "I prefer to tip you with money rather than sexual favors."

He stepped away, and still naked, boobs jiggling, I went to my purse and took out some euros to give to him. Maybe I bent over more deeply than I had to. I wanted to give him a treat via another look at my freshly fucked pussy. I handed the euros to him and he took my wrist, pulled me into him and kissed me. I told myself WTF and kissed him back. I understood. I have a gorgeous body and I was naked and completely bound like a good little submissive. What does one do with a woman in such a state? He was simply a normal man.

His hands roamed over my body, squeezing my ass and heading down to the special area between my legs. I pulled away and said, "Ça suffit, monsieur. Au revoir," and dismissed, clutching his euros and his memory of me in my submissive state, he finally left my room.

Unfortunately however, that little encounter got me thoroughly aroused. I went to the bed, lay down on my back, spread my legs, and let my fingers do the walking where they did the most good. I gave myself a nice little orgasm. It was nothing like the ones Mike's wonderful cock could give me, but it was enough for what I needed just then. Anyway, his cock would soon be busy with his wife's pussy, not mine.

I got up, still nude, and went to the window to check out the view. I remembered that Mike had made a point of keeping the blinds up, which had puzzled me at the time. Now I understood right away why he had done that. It wasn't enough to take pictures and videos of me and to show me off to his sick friends, he had to do this, too? There were at least a dozen windows that had a spectacular view of our room and our bed, now my bed.

How many people had seen me naked, bound, and ravished? How many had just watched me pleasure myself? How many of his friends had the waiter who released me this morning told about seeing me naked, spread eagle, bound and gagged? How many had he told I had let him molest me a little?

Mike knew when he did all this that he would not be here to protect me, to possess me. What is wrong with the man? What was I to do now? I dashed off an email to Jane.

III.Antibes, Day Two

I figured the best way to deal with my newfound vulnerability was to affect the mien of a stuck up French bitch. I would be unapproachable. I would inspire fear in all the men as they leered over their private visual knowledge of my entire body. They knew what I looked like when I was having a sexual climax! Jesus. How could I hold my head up proudly? I knew I had to, though.

It's hard to be a bitch when it does not fit one's personality. I dressed. I would have dressed conservatively, especially after all that had happened, since Mike was far away in Paris. I just had not brought any conservative outfits! I wore my longest skirt even though it was still a mini skirt that showed off my long legs. I went to put on a bra and all my bras were missing! Damn that Mike! What kind of game was he playing, anyway?

I wore my skirt and blouse and went out without a bra. I went to a lingerie store. French lingerie stores give every appearance of appealing to a porn star clientele. Worse, French women are all A cup and B cup, and I am a healthy C cup. I'm a very healthy C cup, truth be told.

My choice was limited, but I did the best I could. In my size they only had black. I could have any color I wanted, as long as it was black. What was this, Ford Motors of the early twentieth century? I wondered to myself. I bought a black bra. I of course wore the black bra under my blouse right out of the store. It looked a bit slutty to my eyes, since the black bra shone right through my sheer white blouse. In Juan-les-Pins, however, I looked reasonably normal.

I wandered around taking everything in. Juan-les-Pins is one of those places where many stores, bars, and cafés open only at noon. Being a nightlife-oriented place, it was pretty dead at 10 in the morning.

I was being followed. I wasn't sure at first, or at second, but after wandering around for twenty minutes I was sure. Did Mike arrange a body guard or something? I could use one perhaps after the way he had exposed me in the most intimate ways possible! It would be inconsistent, though, and Mike if anything was always consistent. I was sure it was not Mike's doing. So what was going on?

After a while I became convinced. I had a stalker. I know they're supposed to be harmless, but trust me, if you were ever being stalked you would be just as freaked out as I was! When I saw Nigel leave a café where he had doubtlessly just finished the classic French breakfast of bread, jam, and coffee, I practically ran to him and as if he were a lifebuoy being thrown to me after I had washed overboard.

Pleasantly surprised he said, "Good morning, Melissa. Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you. And you?" I asked.

"I had trouble. I kept thinking of this gorgeous woman in a bikini on the beach. She haunts my thoughts. It's hard for a man to fall asleep when he's in a constant state of arousal. Are you going to the beach today?"

"Maybe. I haven't decided yet," I replied. I was a bit put off by his arousal remark and my tone of voice doubtless revealed that. Was this crude British flirting or something?

"Where's your partner?" Nigel asked.

"He got called away to Paris, and his wife surprised him there. I'm on my own down here," I replied.

"I'm sorry," Nigel said, clearly insincerely.

"Yes, it's a problem, especially since I'm being stalked," I said.

"Are you now?" Nigel obviously did not believe me. Maybe he thought I was paranoid or something. He smiled. "Stay near me and you'll be safe. Love your bra, by the way."

"It's a long story," I said.

"How about this? Let me buy you lunch and in exchange you can remove your bra. You'll look so much better," Nigel said.

"Being topless on the beach is one thing. Wearing a sheer blouse about town with no bra is another altogether, and you know it, Nigel. Besides, didn't you just finish breakfast?" I said.

I looked in a shop window and in the window's reflection I saw my stalker across the street. A shiver ran up my spine.

"Behind me, Nigel. Two o'clock. Take a good look. Do you see him?" I asked.

"I see a man on the sidewalk. It's not unusual, you know. I do it myself."

"You stalk women?" I asked.

"No, I walk. Often on the sidewalk, to boot," he said.

"Let's walk," I said. "We can stick to the sidewalks."

"Where to?" Nigel said.

"Cap d'Antibes. The Eden Rock Hotel. By the time we get there, it will be lunchtime, and you can buy me lunch. I'll even remove my bra if you do. I hear it's beautiful there," I said.

"It's very expensive," Nigel said.

"Yes, but I'll remove my bra," I said, my eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe you think I'm worth it?"

"Go swimming with me naked, and I'll buy you dinner too," Nigel said.

"Don't be silly, Nigel. Many women are topless on the beach. Nobody is naked anywhere, and there are people everywhere. Sorry Charlie, it's not possible," I said.

"But if it were possible, you would do it?"

"As we say in the States, I don't deal in hypotheticals," I said, but I gave myself away when I giggled. "You've already seen 99% of my body, anyway, Nigel. All I have left to myself is my tiny private spot."