by MP Frank
“I understand.” Gaëlle reassured her. “The idea is to have sexy fun, not to mess up your life. I’d never want to do that.”
“I can’t put Eric off until next summer, when it would be simpler, either,” Maya said. “If it’s going to happen, it’ll have to be soon.”
“Let me think. The simplest option would be in a context where there are other people exposed, like a sex club. But I can’t see you’d want that, Eric or no Eric.”
“That’s absolutely out of the question!” Maya exploded. “You talk about sex clubs as if they were church socials! I’m talking about looking sexy, not being offered up for a gangbang!”
“Leave it with me,” Gaëlle said.
“What with you on one side and Eric on the other, you’re not giving me a lot of choice, are you?”
“You just want to feel it isn’t your responsibility, Maya,” Gaëlle declared. “If you’re going to explore, at least confess to yourself that the idea is appealing.”
“Oh, I suppose so. Whether I’ll feel the same when I’m stark naked in the middle of the school yard is another matter.”
Gaëlle laughed. “Even I have never done that! And don’t worry, if I come up with a situation in which you can just try it out, it will be nothing too extreme.”
“The only difficulty is that your idea of extreme and mine may not coincide,” Maya said firmly.
Gaëlle suddenly clapped a hand to her mouth, “We forgot to switch the phone on,” she said. “Eric’ll be mad!”
“No, he won’t. There’s a parents’ evening at his school tonight. He was so, so cross!”
“If you want, we can take advantage of that for you to try on some more clothes,” Gaëlle suggested, grabbing Maya by the arm and getting to her feet. “I promise I won’t send any home with you.”
“You’re very persuasive, did you know that?” Maya remarked as she was dragged into the spare bedroom. “Come on, then, let’s go and see.”
Faced with the array of Gaëlle’s costumes for erotic occasions, Maya looked lost, not sure of where to begin. Gaëlle sensed her friend’s indecision. She could tell that Maya didn’t want to appear too keen on the more extreme things, so she started with the green dress she’d worn for Gabi’s dinner group. Maya took off her skirt and blouse.
“You’re not going to try on sexy clothes while you’re still wearing tights and a bra!” Gaëlle insisted. “Get them off!”
“The tights can go,” Maya conceded. “But I’m keeping my bra on. You’re Miss Bare Tits, not me!”
“If you must,” Gaëlle sighed. Down to her red thong and bra, Maya looked at Gaëlle.
“I have to admit that since you’ve confirmed to me that you enjoy sex with women, I do find it a little intimidating to strip off in front of you,” she confessed.
“Maya, you’re my friend. I wouldn’t make any move on you unless I was sure you wanted it,” Gaëlle assured her.
“I suppose that’s as much reassurance as I’m going to get. So, this dress first?”
After half an hour, the spare bed was covered with dresses that Maya had tried. Gaëlle had gradually chosen things that were more and more sexy as Maya had got into the spirit of the moment.
“Actually, there’s something here that you can have, because it’s too long in the body for me,” Gaëlle said. “I get wrinkles at the waist.” Maya peered at the scarlet leotard and held it up.
“I love the colour,” she said.
“It would suit you more than me,” Gaëlle agreed. “It closes with hooks and eyes in the crotch. That’s another reason I haven’t worn it. On me, if I can persuade it not to crease, it dangles!”
Maya pulled the leotard on and grappled with the fastening between her legs. She straightened the fabric with a wiggle and looked at herself in the mirror. She turned, and looked at her bottom, exposed by the thong back.
“If anything, it’s a bit short in the body for me,” she said. “It’s very tight down here.” She eased the thong between her buttocks.
“Not half bad, though, are you?” Gaëlle commented. The leotard had only one shoulder strap, and the neckline slanted down under the opposite arm, passing low across the right breast. It was skin-tight on Maya, and Gaëlle almost remarked on the fact that she could see the lines of Maya’s thong, as well as her bra straps, rather too clearly. She stopped herself in time, though. She wanted to encourage Maya, not frighten her.
“I’m not sure it would survive Eric’s enthusiasm,” Maya commented, stripping it off. “But I do feel good in it.”
“You look fantastic, you mean,” Gaëlle insisted. “You must keep it. I can’t wear it, anyway.”
“Can I? It is quite stunning.”
“It’s the body in it that does that.”
The doorbell rang, making both women jump. “I’ll go, I’m decent,” Gaëlle said
“It’s Eric, I know it is,” Maya whispered, panicking. “He mustn’t catch me like this. If ever I’m going to wear it, it has to be a surprise.”
Gaëlle was thoughtful as she headed towards her front door. Maya had come a long way in a short time. It didn’t take long for Gaëlle to dispose of the double glazing salesman who had wangled his way into the building, but by the time she came back to her apartment after escorting him onto the street, Maya was dressed again.
“You’re going?” Gaëlle cried.
“I must. As I said before, these sessions are quite demanding for me. I’ll see you next Monday.”
“Have you got the leotard? You must take it,” Gaëlle said.
“It’s in my bag. But remember, please, not a word to Eric about it.”
“I promise.”
From Gaëlle’s Journal
Yesterday evening, I had no idea Maya was going to come asking how to take her first steps towards a more erotic lifestyle. Why would I? I’ll have to be careful what I say. I’d love her to experience some of the sensations that I’ve had, but only if and when she’s ready. She must have a leaning that way or our few discussions so far wouldn’t have produced this major shift, from being intrigued about my sex life to being interested in a change in her own.
On a totally different subject, I put myself through such a hard workout at the gym yesterday. An hour’s swim, then all the weights, plus the running machine. I feel my body is getting back into the shape I want. Maya may think I’m good enough to show, but I want to feel confident that I’ve done everything possible.
Chapter Twenty-one
The stiffness in Gaëlle’s muscles hadn’t gone away when she woke up the following morning. As soon as she was showered and dressed, she dug out Jo Brusque’s phone number and called him. Having massaged her to consecutive shattering orgasms didn’t seem to have improved his social polish, but he told her to come that afternoon. Gaëlle took the bus and made her way up to the apartment.
“Madeleine’s out,” Jo said. “Deep massage, okay?”
“That’s fine. All I want today is a good, hard massage,” Gaëlle replied. She stripped off in the living room and lay on the massage table, rather conscious that she no longer had pubic hair hiding her sex. Jo went to work. Forty minutes later, as Gaëlle was relaxing before getting dressed again, she said to him, “What did you and Madeleine do for Jérôme when he came here?”
“Madeleine didn’t do anything. Jérôme came for a massage, just like the one you’ve just had,” Jo said.
“Then why did you offer me so much more last time?”
“Jérôme never needed what you had last time. He was very happy with his emotional and sex life. When you came here the other day, it was clear you were choked-up and locked in. Our task was to release you, following the instructions that Jérôme left us. But you’re even stronger than Jérôme thought, and strength isn’t always a good thing. We’d expected you a lot sooner.”
“I wish I’d known.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. You found us when you were ready. It wouldn’t have worked before.”
&nb
sp; Gaëlle stood up and started to dress as Jo began to fold up the massage table. Just then, the door opened and Madeleine came in. Without any embarrassment, she and Jo kissed, looking like young lovers, Gaëlle thought. She watched, warmed by this further proof that passion and age were not incompatible. When they broke off, Madeleine turned to Gaëlle and kissed her on both cheeks.
“You look well,” she commented. “I get a feeling that your last visit here was helpful.”
“Oh, yes, and how!” Gaëlle responded. “Actually, I have a question for you.”
“Ask away.”
“Who did your nipple piercing for you, and do you recommend them?” Gaëlle asked.
“It was done by a friend, and yes, he’s good. He doesn’t practise professionally any more, but if you like, I’ll introduce you to him. Maybe he’ll make an exception for you.”
“That would be great.”
“I’ll call him and let you know.”
It was the following weekend when Gaëlle found a message from Madeleine on her answering machine. “Hello, Gaëlle. It’s Madeleine. If you pick me up this afternoon at two, I’ll take you to see Maurice. Call me if you can’t make it.”
Gaëlle sat in her car outside Madeleine’s block of apartments. Promptly at two, Madeleine appeared and got in. She directed Gaëlle out to one of the suburbs, to a neat little house set in a well-cared-for garden. As Gaëlle parked the car, a man at least as old as Jo appeared on the veranda.
“Hello, Maurice, it’s me,” Madeleine called out.
Gaëlle was a little surprised, since they were only twenty metres or so from the house. Things became clearer as they walked up the steps to the front door. The white stick in his hand told Gaëlle everything. Maurice was blind.
“Maurice, this is Gaëlle,” Madeleine said. Maurice held out his hand and Gaëlle shook it.
Maurice laughed. “I may not be able to see you, but I can feel you’re nervous,” he said. “I was a tattooist for thirty years before I lost my sight and I assure you, I do know what I’m doing. But today is just to meet and find out whether what you want is right for you.”
They went into the house. Gaëlle noticed immediately that the flowers, which were everywhere, had been chosen for their scent, not their colours. Maurice might not have been able to see, Gaëlle thought, but that hadn’t prevented him from furnishing the house with taste, as well as keeping it spotlessly clean. They sat in the living room and Maurice brought coffee, moving confidently between kitchen and coffee table. Gaëlle watched in admiration as the cups were filled, with never a drop spilt.
“So,” Maurice said, settling himself in an armchair,” what piercing appeals to you?”
Gaëlle felt slightly intimidated, but cleared her throat and said, “A deep hood.”
“Deep hood. Hmmm. You know it isn’t possible for everyone?”
“Yes, but I think it will work on me.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Maurice said. “If I say it isn’t right for you, I won’t do it.”
“Of course,” Gaëlle agreed.
“I’d better examine you. I’ll be able to tell straight away,” Maurice said, standing up and going over to what looked like the twin of Jo’s massage table. Gaëlle followed him. She stepped out of her knickers and lifted her skirt, then sat on the table.
“I need you to lie down, knees apart and soles of feet together.”
Gaëlle complied, feeling rather inelegant. Maurice put on a pair of thin latex gloves and began to examine Gaëlle’s sex.
“Hmm. You used to have a hood piercing, didn’t you?” Maurice observed.
“How do you know?”
“I can feel the thickening of the skin where it’s healed.”
Gaëlle had examined herself that morning and had been unable to find any trace of her hood piercing. She was impressed by the obvious sensitivity of Maurice’s fingertips. He continued his exploration, and then gently eased the clitoris hood out of the cleft of Gaëlle’s sex.
“Hmmm,” Maurice said again. “There’s enough space, but I’d prefer to do a triangle piercing for you. That will give you a piercing immediately behind the shaft, so you’ll always be aware of it.” He took a felt tip pen and made a little dot on the skin of Gaëlle’s clitoris hood, well inside the cleft of her sex. “Just here. Is that what you want?”
“I think so,” Gaëlle said. “Can you do it now?”
“Go away and think about it, then come back if you’re sure.”
Gaëlle steadied her voice and said, “I’m sure now.”
“As I said, go away and think about it.”
It was clear that Maurice had no intention of doing her piercing there and then, so Gaëlle dressed, drank her coffee and made small talk about the garden, since it was evident that Maurice spent considerable effort in maintaining it. She drove Madeleine back home, then returned to her own apartment.
Chapter Twenty-two
The idea that she was going to be pierced encouraged Gaëlle to look over the little collection of jewellery that she had worn in her previous piercing. Most were gold rings. There were small ones, which could be tucked away, and a couple of hoops, which she’d worn when she’d wanted her pierced state to be very obvious. Some of the rings had coloured beads, to coordinate with whatever she was wearing, as well as to rub against her clitoris, of course. She was looking forward to putting at least some of them back into use. Finally, she took out her favourite, the little pin that Jérôme had given her. It was designed to sit across and outside the cleft of her sex. She took off her knickers and examined herself. The point indicated by Maurice’s pen was deep between her outer labia and she had to pull her hood well out to work out where the piercing would be. Gaëlle wondered whether it would even be possible to wear Jérôme’s pin. She couldn’t be certain. She tried to imagine how it would look and feel. Not comfortable, she was sure, probably not even aesthetic, but extremely sexy. That made her heart race. The prospect was turning her on.
Gaëlle sat still for a few moments, wondering how she could satisfy her itch. She didn’t fancy going to all the trouble of changing into something sexy, just to masturbate at home. She looked at her skirt, a Scottish kilt, which was just above knee length. She had bought her pullover on the same occasion, at the Edinburgh festival with Jérôme. It was he who’d suggested that she could wear thigh-high socks, rath*er than stockings, with the kilt. He’d always loved the moment when the pale skin of Gaëlle’s upper thighs was revealed, as well as the contrast between the formal woollen cloth and her bare, hairless sex. Gaëlle reached for her sex-chain. She’d never worn it with the kilt and she wanted to see the effect.
She attached the clips to her inner labia, went to stand in front of the big mirror in the spare bedroom and slowly began to lift the hem of the kilt. She imagined a hidden watcher following her every move. The dark blue of the knitted socks gave way to skin before the first links of the chain appeared. By the time she’d allowed her sex to come into view, Gaëlle was breathing heavily. She not so much inched her skirt upwards as millimetred it, delaying the proof that she was bare under the kilt for as long as she could, to make the final exposure feel sexier.
She felt ready to take another step. The following afternoon, she walked into town and up towards the station, where she knew there was at least one sex shop. It took only a few minutes’ browsing to spot what she was looking for, an updated version of the remote-control egg that Jérôme had bought for her and that she’d used in her office with Gabi. She paid, carried it home triumphantly and unpacked it on the kitchen table. The new remote was black and looked a bit like an iPod. It looked rather more stylish than the off-white plastic original. There were three lights, red, amber and green, to display the strength of the vibration, which was controlled by a knurled wheel. Gaëlle dropped her knickers, inserted the egg and turned the remote to red. The powerful vibration deep inside her vagina made her knees wobble almost immediately. She experimented for some minutes, working out that the gre
en light indicated a pleasant tickle, amber was quite strong and red, as she’d just discovered, was mind-blowing. She used the red to blast herself to a very satisfactory orgasm. Her plan was to ask someone else to operate the remote control in public, and to allow them to decide when and how much vibration to give Gaëlle.
The next question was whom she could ask to share the experience. Maya had said that Gaëlle had an involuntary reaction to attractive women at the gym, something that Gaëlle hadn’t realized herself. Perhaps she could persuade Maya to demonstrate what she meant? The thought gave Gaëlle a warm feeling. She looked at her watch. Maya would be leaving work shortly. There was no time like the present, Gaëlle decided. The egg was still in place and all she’d have to do was go to meet her friend and see whether she’d co-operate. She picked up her jacket from where she’d dropped it on the floor in her rush to try out the egg and set off for Maya’s Collège, not even pausing to put her knickers back on. Outside the school buildings, she checked to make sure that Maya’s car was still parked, then went up to reception.
“Is Maya still here?” Gaëlle asked the secretary.
The woman gave her a disapproving look. “If you mean the Directrice, then yes, Madame is working in her office,” she said stiffly.
“I’m sorry,” Gaëlle corrected herself, noting the implied capital letters in Maya’s title. “Of course, I should have said the Directrice, but I’m a friend of hers and I think of her as Maya.”
The secretary was not mollified. She tossed her head as she went through to the back of the office. Gaëlle heard a murmured conversation, then Maya appeared, a broad smile on her face.
“Gaëlle! What a nice surprise! What can I do for you?”
“Do you have time to come for a little walk?” Gaëlle enquired
Maya raised an eyebrow. Gaëlle felt herself flush. Maya took pity on her.
“Give me five minutes,” she said. “Mademoiselle Maurer will get you a coffee if you want one, won’t you. Clothilde?”