glitters like mica in the hollow of her throat, at the base of a neck so slender and delicate that one could grasp it with one hand.
Her soft brown hair has been cut short, helmet-like, Ã la Louise Brooks.
She looks chaste, her face without a trace of makeup, her arms hugging her slender chest in a sweet shivering pose, a graceful androgyne whose silhouette is outlined by the dancing flames.
Françoise takes her hand and leads her toward Sebastian.
She says, in an indifferent tone of voice: ' Lie down on him, on your belly."
She does so, stretches out on the docile mount, her head above his neck.
Françoise' s first lash, striking her back, is like a caress. The second one, on the buttocks, is sharper. Marie trembles, presses herself against Sebastian hugging his shoulders.
Each time the whip strikes her, Marie trembles more violently, hugs her mount with a stronger grip... She sticks to his skin, all of her skin adheres to his.. He, thus fused to her, senses the spasms as they come and go; he vibrates under the cracks of the thongs that curl around the back and thighs of the woman weighing him down. I know that.
I have an urge to feel Marie's hair on the back of my hand; it is very fine and has the scent of crushed mint. I raise the strands that are hiding her profile and whisper into her ear: "Bite him."
At first, she gives him little cat nibbles, but then starts biting him in earnest, as if she'd been waiting for permission to bury her incisors all over his neck. She worries the flesh between her molars. Fired up by her excitement, I sink my teeth heedlessly in the only region within reach of her mouth that she has left intact, the area around his shoulder. My cheek brushes against hers. She turns to look at me, with shining eyes. We kiss, chins leaning on Sebastian's ravaged neck. He sighs plaintively. He stops doing that when I caress his lips with my palm: well-trained, he immediately moistens it with the tip of his tongue.
Françoise stands above us, watching.
Then she bends down to kiss the purple traces of the whip on Marie's back. She stretches out her hand, says "Come," and dresses Marie again the way she undressed her: ceremoniously, in front of the flames.
***
F. has a suggestion: why not play with the contrast between Sebastian and the Black? The opposition of colors is, indeed, a theme I have included in my notes. So, let them immediately roll across the carpet, head to foot-but no! The head-to-foot exercise isn't pretty. Let them, rather, embrace like lovers. The Black throws himself on the White. Launched by a blow from the crop, they cross the room, their bodies intertwined, from the fireplace to the couch where they end up in the desired position at Françoise's feet who is now sitting there. They each grab one of her ankles, kissing them and licking them without having been told to do so. Going by the rules, we should tell them to stop; but we relent, amused by the way Francoise, leaning back on the couch, lets herself be adored with the lazy air of someone who magnanimously accords a favor that has been extorted from her by surprise.
To put an end to their kisses which have now lasted quite long enough, I tell Francoise that I think she should get rid of them by sending them back with a kick to their point of departure. She finds my advice opportune and acts in it instantly.
It is time, my friends agree, to have some refreshments.
Aren't we, too, a little hungry?
The Black is sent to the kitchen and returns with warm savory snacks, serving them on porcelain plates, and with delicacies on round confectioners plates, graced with paper doilies with scalloped edges. While the ice cubes are melting in our glasses and we are nibbling at sugared trifles, we make idle conversation interspersed with calculated confessions and commentaries regarding the Black or Sebastian. Why be bothered by the presence of men of so little importance? No need to feel embarrassed, is there, about
Her soft brown hair has been cut short, helmet-like, Ã la Louise Brooks.
She looks chaste, her face without a trace of makeup, her arms hugging her slender chest in a sweet shivering pose, a graceful androgyne whose silhouette is outlined by the dancing flames.
Françoise takes her hand and leads her toward Sebastian.
She says, in an indifferent tone of voice: ' Lie down on him, on your belly."
She does so, stretches out on the docile mount, her head above his neck.
Françoise' s first lash, striking her back, is like a caress. The second one, on the buttocks, is sharper. Marie trembles, presses herself against Sebastian hugging his shoulders.
Each time the whip strikes her, Marie trembles more violently, hugs her mount with a stronger grip... She sticks to his skin, all of her skin adheres to his.. He, thus fused to her, senses the spasms as they come and go; he vibrates under the cracks of the thongs that curl around the back and thighs of the woman weighing him down. I know that.
I have an urge to feel Marie's hair on the back of my hand; it is very fine and has the scent of crushed mint. I raise the strands that are hiding her profile and whisper into her ear: "Bite him."
At first, she gives him little cat nibbles, but then starts biting him in earnest, as if she'd been waiting for permission to bury her incisors all over his neck. She worries the flesh between her molars. Fired up by her excitement, I sink my teeth heedlessly in the only region within reach of her mouth that she has left intact, the area around his shoulder. My cheek brushes against hers. She turns to look at me, with shining eyes. We kiss, chins leaning on Sebastian's ravaged neck. He sighs plaintively. He stops doing that when I caress his lips with my palm: well-trained, he immediately moistens it with the tip of his tongue.
Françoise stands above us, watching.
Then she bends down to kiss the purple traces of the whip on Marie's back. She stretches out her hand, says "Come," and dresses Marie again the way she undressed her: ceremoniously, in front of the flames.
***
F. has a suggestion: why not play with the contrast between Sebastian and the Black? The opposition of colors is, indeed, a theme I have included in my notes. So, let them immediately roll across the carpet, head to foot-but no! The head-to-foot exercise isn't pretty. Let them, rather, embrace like lovers. The Black throws himself on the White. Launched by a blow from the crop, they cross the room, their bodies intertwined, from the fireplace to the couch where they end up in the desired position at Françoise's feet who is now sitting there. They each grab one of her ankles, kissing them and licking them without having been told to do so. Going by the rules, we should tell them to stop; but we relent, amused by the way Francoise, leaning back on the couch, lets herself be adored with the lazy air of someone who magnanimously accords a favor that has been extorted from her by surprise.
To put an end to their kisses which have now lasted quite long enough, I tell Francoise that I think she should get rid of them by sending them back with a kick to their point of departure. She finds my advice opportune and acts in it instantly.
It is time, my friends agree, to have some refreshments.
Aren't we, too, a little hungry?
The Black is sent to the kitchen and returns with warm savory snacks, serving them on porcelain plates, and with delicacies on round confectioners plates, graced with paper doilies with scalloped edges. While the ice cubes are melting in our glasses and we are nibbling at sugared trifles, we make idle conversation interspersed with calculated confessions and commentaries regarding the Black or Sebastian. Why be bothered by the presence of men of so little importance? No need to feel embarrassed, is there, about
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