I was sure the woman was following me. I had noticed her early on , just after I entered the market. I had bought a chocolate waffle and turned around to walk on, and she was standing just three feet from me and looking directly at me. I didn't pay attention. It wasn't the first time since coming to France that a woman had appraised me, and it didn't mean anything. And it wasn't only men-- here, women ogled men as much as the other way 'round.
I walked on , stopping here and there to see what was on offer. I stopped by the used book stand to see if there were any paperbacks in English. I glanced up and there she was again, standing at the other end of the stall. She stood out because she was dressed rather better than most of the Saturday morning shoppers-- a brown suit, an expensive looking handbag, and a small hat perched on her head. It was hard to tell how old she was, even from a short distance of 5 or 6 yards.
Then, when I stopped at my favorite vegetable stall to buy some tomatoes from the three Moroccan brothers, I saw her out of the corner of my eye standing at the other end of the stall by the cabbage. When she noticed me looking her way, she turned and walked off through the market. I turned back to the vendor and chatted with him as I paid for my purchases.
I turned and had taken about three steps when one of the brothers called out, "M'sieur, m'seiur!", and he was holding out a slip of paper. I went back and took the slip from his hands. "The woman there"-- and he pointed to the end of the street where she was just visible, standing on the opposite side of a navy blue car-- "she said this is for you."
"Thanks Mehrdad," I said. "Who is she?"
He shrugged. "Don't know-- rich woman."
I looked at the slip. In elegant handwriting it said: "The Mercedes at the end of the market."
My curiosity piqued, I walked in the direction of the car. I didn't hurry-- if she really wanted to see me, she would wait. I stopped once or twice to look at things, but I made sure I was visible. She was no longer standing outside the car, but had gotten in, I assumed. When I got close enough, I could see that the Merc was one of the older ones which used to be for people who wanted more sophistication than a Cadillac, but couldn't afford a Bentley. I walked over to the car and looked in. There was a chauffeur in the front and she was sitting in the back, looking straight ahead. I opened the rear door and she looked across at me, smiled, and patted the seat beside her. I got in and closed the door.
As I was settling in to the seat I was noticing a number of things. The car, although probably forty years old or more was in beautiful condition. The seats looked new, the carpet wasn't worn and not a speck of dirt anywhere. The rear was separated from the front by a sheet of glass.
The same thing could be said of the woman: She was clearly an older woman, but in immaculate condition. Her face was mildly attractive, but also rather tight-looking, so I guessed plastic surgery. But I looked at her hands and her neck-- the two places where plastic surgery doesn't work-- and I guessed she was in her 60's at least. She was skillfully made up, by which I mean you didn't notice it unless you looked very closely, and she was wearing a brown suit and beige blouse, both of which looked expensive. She had on expensive looking high heels and seamed stockings. She was also wearing a tiny bracelet and earrings, both of which looked like diamonds.
That's a lot to notice while you settle into your seat, you say. OK, I noticed some of it after I had settled in and was waiting for her to speak. "My name is Madame Leleu," she said, "and I wish to hire you for a small job." She had a quiet, cultured voice.
"Why do you think I can be hired?" I asked.
"A young man-- a student perhaps-- buying tomatoes at the market and checking the used book stall-- probably doesn't have a lot of money."
I
was
a student-- but I wasn't poor. I just liked the hustle and bustle of the bi-weekly market. Still, the oddity of the situation appealed to me, and I decided to see what else she had to say. "Tell me more."
"I am rich, and you will be well-paid for obeying me. I assure there is nothing painful or distressing about the – the er, task. In fact, it will be pleasurable for you. I only ask that you obey me completely."
It was weird-- she spoke very formally, but she seemed to be talking about something much more earthy. "Is this task something – um, carnal in nature, Madame?" I tried to match her tone.
She hesitated. "Yes," she finally replied, "and I do not wish you to feel that you are being coerced or abducted. If you wish , you may get out now-- and you may quit the job at any point. However, you will only be paid if you complete it. Do you accept?"
I nodded. "I can stop whenever I want?"
"Yes, but you will experience only pleasure..." She leaned forward and pressed a discreet button and spoke to the driver, saying only "Go."
On the ensuing drive, she explained a bit more. She was the last living member of what had once been a powerful industrial family, and a widow. She lived in a big house and had money to spend on anything she wanted-- but she didn't want very much. Hiring me for a "task" was a whim which she could indulge. She was quite friendly, but reserved. I complimented her on her appearance, and she laughed: "It was my job for years to look good for my husband and his associates and at his functions. Old habits die hard."
After about 15 minutes we arrived in a neighborhood of large houses-- mansions really, built in the style of th the 19th century-- the houses built by industrial barons to show off their wealth. I had no idea of what part of the city we were in-- there were several possibilities and I hadn't paid attention as we drove there. We pulled into a semi-circular drive and stopped in front of a three story brick house with a flight of wide steps going up to the massive front door. I started to open the car door to get out, but Madame Leleu laid a hand on my arm and shook her head. The chauffeur opened her door and then came around and opened my door.
As we went up the steps the door was opened by a maid. You've heard about French maids? Seen them in porno movies? Well this one was just like that-- except for the mini-skirt. This one had the white blouse (buttoned up to the neck), the frilly cap on top of her dark curls-- and a dark skirt that went all the way to the floor. She curtsied as we came in.
The entrance hall was like the car-- well taken care of and rich. One could say that of Madame Leleu herself. The maid led the way up a staircase which ended in a long, broad hallway, heavily carpeted with expensive burgundy wallpaper with gilt-framed pictures on the wall. She opened a door and Madame Leleu motioned me in without a word. "You may go back downstairs now, Marie," she told the maid.
I was confused but intrigued. She had admitted that the task was "carnal", yet she had remained reserved, even slightly distant during the ride and our entrance into the house. The room I was in was a bedroom-- the sort you might expect in a house like this. It had old-fashioned, dark and heavy furniture, a nice rug on the floor, and heavy drapes, which were closed. There was a big, four-poster bed, a large walk-in wardrobe, and various dressers and tables.
I needed some answers. "So, what is this task you have for me?"
She stood a near the window as she turned to face me and began to explain what she wanted. "I want you to get undressed-- completely-- I will tie you very loosely with soft bands to the corners of the bed. You will wear a blindfold. Then, I will pleasure myself with you. Afterwards, you will be released and taken back to where I met you. And, as I said, -- you will be well-paid."
"Wait a minute-- you want to tie me up, blindfold me, then fuck me?" I didn't ask how much I would be paid.
""Yes," she said, "that's the idea. I will tie you with one had in a slip-knot so that if you become frightened, you can pull it loose. I will tie you with these"-- and she opened the wardrobe and took four neckties off a hanger. There is no pain or danger involved. In fact, I can guarantee you pleasure."
"Then why the games-- why the kinkiness?
"It is what I wish to do-- and you should not ask questions. Remember, you will be able to release yourself rather quickly if you must and you will be paid. It's your obedience that I am paying you for."
I was a little afraid--, but she was small-- almost bird-like-- and if I could get one hand free, as she promised...
"Undress yourself and lay on the bed." Her voice was commanding.
I did so, and she gently tied my right wrist to the bedpost in a slipknot with a silk tie. "You see, if you wish, all you have to do is pull, and your hand will be free. She then proceeded to tie my other limbs. Finally, she took a velvet blindfold off the dresser and placed it over my eyes and tied it securely. As she did so, I tried to rub my face against her tits. There was almost nothing there to rub against. I wondered what it wold be like when she fucked me.
"Are you comfortable?" she asked. I settled in to the bed ad pillow, which were indeed comfortable. It was just slightly unnerving to be naked in front of someone I couldn't see. But then my attention was captured by soft hands rubbing my body. They ran lightly up and down my body, soft and warm, pausing occasionally at my nipple or my groin. I was becoming aroused. A warm hand took my cock and massaged it. My cock became complete erect. The hand withdrew and I heard Madame Leleu suck in her breath. Apparently she liked my erection.
I heard some rustling-- like someone getting undressed-- and then I felt the bed move as she climbed onto it. She took my cock in her mouth and I just about came on the spot. God, she was good at blow jobs! I'd never felt anything that good before.
