Helena

by Leo Barton

  I gazed over at the bearded cleric who fortunately was too engaged in long-winded pontificating with his bored-looking wife. The man was in his own woolly, muddled way as boring as Anne was.

  He gazed over to me, as his wife temporarily negated her role as diligent audience to wipe the runny nose of one of her offspring. My heart beat with insistent dread: I was sure he had looked at me, his eyes seemingly peering into my own, but then he suddenly turned to his wife, and presumably continued with his unintelligible speech. He hadn't recognized me.

  You see that the bikini buying was not quite as impetuous as I said. Not wanting to tempt fate, and fearing being embarrassed probably more by a conversation with Cussack in front of my new friends as having to invent some ludicrous story to explain my presence, I sped away with the flimsy excuse of purchasing beachwear.

  So, I'll go back to the yacht. We departed early in the morning and Jean-Claude drove us straight along the warm, sundrenched coast to a little harbour where his yacht was moored. We lunched and the effect of the wine made me feel a little sleepy, once we had sailed out of the distance of the shore. I had changed into my little bikini and was taking in the sun, lying on a lounger, my eyes and my mind half-closed, the former against the brightness of the sun, the latter against the turmoil in my head. I was thinking about the immediate future, of Gregory's return and the necessity of preparing a damage limiting speech for all our sakes. I slept deeply to wake to a golden sunset falling over the harbour. I looked for Simone but she had gone.

  That night, Freddie, was it planned? I never asked Jean-Claude or Simone whether it had been preconceived that she should go off alone and leave me to be pleasured by the two men. And how, Freddie!

  I was wearing that sumptuous black halter-neck that I bought in Kensington that you said you admired so much. We dined alfresco, on the beautiful balcony overlooking the sea. We stayed that night in the villa of some friend of Jean-Claude. Frank had made the most delightful meal, succulent fish and fresh herbs.

  The conversation was light, occasionally we found ourselves discussing you, at other times the seeming vast superiority of the continent to smug little England. The atmosphere was so congenial, the luxurious wine glided down my throat, my skin seemed to tingle with anticipation. I could not believe that we would all just go to bed to sleep without anything occurring between the three of us, especially as Simone wasn't there.

  "Helene," Jean-Claude began.

  I tilted my head and gazed into those beautiful eyes of his.

  "We want to experiment a little with you tonight." A brief glance passed between the two men.

  "Experiment? What kind of experiment?"

  "We'd rather it was a surprise, but you know that you trust us, and that we would never do anything to harm you. You do know that don't you?"

  "Of course." I did know it. I trusted these two men implicitly and I knew that I would willingly give myself up to them in just about any way that they desired. The thought of somehow experimenting with them made me very wet indeed.

  Jean-Claude began clearing the table as Frank took my hand and trailed his finger first on the outstretched material that covered my breast, before slipping the tips of his fingers inside my dress, and then my brassiere, tweaking hard on my already swollen nipples. All the time he stared into my face, watching to see how I would react as he pinched hard on my nipples.

  Eventually he began speaking: "We would like you to do everything that we tell you. Absolutely everything! We want you to submit to us, even if we ask you to do crazy things. Think of it as a kind of game, a role-play if you like. Will you do that for us, Helena?"

  The idea seemed so shocking, that I would totally give myself up to anything at all that they wanted me to do. I felt my heart race with excitement.

  "What do you want me to do?" I asked in breathy anticipation.

  "Well, first, we would like you to bend over the table.

  I must admit that I actually gulped at the proposition.

  "And another thing, Helena, we don't want you to say anything at all unless we ask you to do so."

  As Frank pulled his hand away after tweaking me again hard on the nipple, I stood up, noticing that Jean-Claude had also returned from the kitchen and was staring lustily at me with his intoxicatingly penetrative eyes.

  Oh, Freddie! How can I even begin to explain the excitement that seemed to pulse through my whole body! Thinking of these two handsome men staring at me as I bent over the table until my breasts pressed against the polished wood of the table, and my bottom plumped up before their eyes. I felt their hot gaze on me as I looked dreamily into the darkness of the distant waves.

  It was Frank who pulled up the hem of my dress until my panty-clad bottom was revealed before him. He gently ran his fingers along the cleft of my bottom before prodding his finger into my anus through the silky material of my underwear. I wanted to turn my head to look at the two men, but something told me instinctively that I was not permitted to do so.

  My panties were firmly tugged down. I thought again of my childhood fantasy with Terrence, but it didn't matter this time if they saw how excited I was. My panties were very moist by then. I lifted up my stiletto heels to aid their removal.

  In my dreaming, wild imagination I had never anticipated what they were about to do next. Then came the swish of a cane through the air before the crack of it on my firmed bottom flesh. I jolted upright, emitted not a scream but a whine, before I had even sensed the burning heat of pain the cane had made on my buttocks.

  Hadn't this been one of my oldest fantasies, Freddie? How did they know? I had never talked to them about it before. Of that I was sure. Maybe they had assumed from my behavior my own submissive tendencies.

  Just as in my ancient fantasies with Terrence, the pain suffused to a warm burning glow before I received another firm stroke of correction. Isn't that what it is called, Freddie, correction? That was how it felt too, as if somehow in this blatantly masochistic act I was somehow correcting myself of all those errors of timidity and half-heartedness.

  "You like that, Helene, don't you?" Jean-Claude asked me, and I could tell from the breathiness of his voice that it had been he who had administered the strokes on me.

  "Oh yes," I said, my voice barely above an enthusiastic whisper.

  "Would you like me to hit you again?"

  "Oh yes," I replied equally breathily.

  The cane came down again on the meat of my bottom.

  "OH!" I screamed in my perverse delight. Again, "Oh! Oh!" as I was caned twice more.

  This time I knew what they had planned for me as I felt Frank stretch my buttocks apart, revealing the little hole of my anus opening up before their eager eyes.

  The stroke this time was incredible, right across the crater of my anus, the pain immense, shot through me, my voice wailed into the empty night. I felt weak with pained excitement. They had told me that I had to trust them, that I couldn't say anything, and I knew that they would be incredibly disappointed with me if I was suddenly to tell them that they had to stop. I couldn't do that, Freddie. It seems incredible doesn't it, but I would have felt that I was letting them down. There was something else, too, Freddie. Part of me - I suspect it was the essential part - didn't want them to stop. I wanted them to take me to the limit of pain, to even go beyond it.

  Another crack of the cane!

  "OH!" I whimpered again. My whole bottom was stinging with the pain.

  I felt Frank's hands on me, untying my halter-neck dress, and then liberating my firm and heaving breasts from my brassiere.

  "Now kneel on the floor," Jean-Claude commanded.

  It was almost disappointing to do so. They hadn't taken me to the limit yet.

  "Put your hands behind your back."

  I passively did so, feeling the silken scarves being wound around my wrists then fastened in a tight knot that I knew I could not untie without their help.

  As my wrists were being fastened tightly together, my eyes stared at
Frank as I watched him disrobe until he was completely naked, his majestic cock in full erection.

  The cane lashed me on my bottom again. I knew what the game was this time, what exactly they expected me to do. Using only my knees I was to move towards Frank's cock and sink my mouth onto its pulsating head, while Jean-Claude caned me from behind.

  Frank positioned himself on the floor, so that my bottom was plumped up to Frank's delicious view and the mighty thwack of the came.

  How exquisite a sensation this was, to slide my ruby mouth along Frank's slicked tool while Jean-Claude administered his firm punishment. Frank was grabbing me hard by the crown of my head, pushing me further onto him, until my lips almost reached the base of his shaft as Jean-Claude increased the force of each blow of the cane.

  Frank felt that he was about to come so I eased the pressure of the grip my mouth had on him, until he had eased me off him altogether. I tongued him, dragging the tip along the length of his shaft before licking and then sucking on his balls.

  After a few moments he placed my mouth firmly onto him again. This must have been a sign to Jean-Claude. Maybe they passed a knowing glance at one another I don't know, but that was when I felt Jean-Claude's slicked fingers slide into my anus. He slid his fingers further and further up, twisting the tips around, pressing hard on the stretched flesh. He was greasing my bottom, preparing me for what was about to come.

  It did not last long. I felt his thick helmet press against the taut surround of my anus, before he gained access to my most intimate place. It felt as if my whole body had been spiked on him. Both of his legs were placed either side of my hips as he lowered himself harder and harder into me. Oh, it was such a stunning experience, to have his hot burning cock stuffed up my bottom like that, pressing out the tight flesh. It hurt, Freddie, it hurt me so much, but at the same time I was so excited, and the pain felt so exquisite. As Frank roughly pulled my mouth harder onto his cock, Jean-Claude fucked me mercilessly, as if I was some mere object, a fleshy toy.

  "Do you like that Helena?" Jean-Claude panted. "Do you like my hard cock up your ass?"

  "Mmm," I moaned, my mouth full of Frank's cock.

  "Do you want it harder? Do you want my hard cock to fuck your ass harder?"

  Not being able to speak, I simply nodded. I wanted him to fuck me so hard, to hurt me, to make me squeal with pained delight. His tensed hips slapped against my burning skin. He clenched my upper thighs tighter and fucked me in the ass remorselessly.

  First Frank shot his load into my gaping mouth, holding my head firmly so that all I could do was swallow every drop of his sperm, and then I felt the burning heat of Jean-Claude's jism as he orgasmed inside me. My muscles contracted immediately and I felt one of the most intense orgasms that I had ever felt in my life.

  Oh the games we played that week, so many, so much intense excitement. I felt like I was living a completely different existence, an existence that could not be lived outside the world of my sexual fantasies.

  There were so many, for the game hadn't ended. Simone joined in too. I was to do whatever they told me to do. Did I tell you how we entered the forest and Simone strung me up on a tree, while Jean-Claude and Frank ripped off my clothes and then lashed me whole body with their leather belts? Or how they left me there while they gathered some old men from a neighbouring village to watch the spectacle as I was lashed again?

  Imagine me there, Freddie, your English rose, blushing from head to toe as Jean-Claude let some septuagenarian crack a belt over my exposed flesh. Imagine how terrible, how exciting, to be laughed at like that by those dirty old Frenchmen.

  And how Jean-Claude and Frank made me suck on their old cocks until they shot their ancient seed into me, me all the time dutifully obeying them because it was part of the game, because it was part of my education, of my liberation. Me, sucking on their wrinkled cocks, listening to their wheezy, lusty breaths, laughing at me as I avariciously sucked them until they came.

  Imagine the meal we had, and the waiter they told me I must fuck before dessert came. Imagine my embarrassment, a still shy woman, leading him by the hand, then kneeling on a toilet seat for him. I, pulling my panties down, running my finger along first my labial lips and then my bottom, tugging at his cock until I had placed it firmly inside me and then letting him fuck me and later ream me until I came in my shameless delirium.

  I had to do everything they said and I did. I took my beatings with an unsurpassed joy. I took everything. I did everything. I did it willingly, freely. I did it because I knew, and not even that deep down, that I wanted to. I knew also that I was making myself ready for you.

  Chapter 7

  This is the part that I didn't really want to come to, the part I wished I could erase from these pages as if I could erase them from my mind. I am not sure whether I believe in the therapy of catharsis. I want you to know that as I write, even as I recall those last days of pleasure my eyes are heavy with tears. It's what happened afterwards, it's not that I knew you were going. I accepted that. You see, whether it was love or not, I never really did know. But you did liberate me. Without you... without you I don't know whether any of this would have happened. What I mean, Freddie, is that you went with my blessing. You know that's not it at all.

  The final separation with Gregory was not so terrible. You know that. He told me that he had sort of known, as he said in his inimitable way, that we were drifting apart, and that even though in his eyes I would always be his wife, he knew that he had to let me go. There followed tears on both sides, but no recriminations, and I have to say much tenderness.

  It was much harder trying to explain the whole sorry business to my parents, who were terribly shocked, and didn't really believe the lame excuses I gave of "drifting apart" of "needing space" of "irreconcilable differences". I knew that in some way they held me to be the guilty one, and that nothing I could say could stop them believing that it was not I who was culpable.

  When I came back, Freddie, I wanted to spend as much time as I could with you. We only had two weeks. As I had been with the other three, I was also willing to do anything that you wanted. I let you beat me, do you remember, lash me with a whip until I screamed with pain. You sodomised me; you invited your friends to debase me, more so than you probably needed to do. You knew, I'm sure, from Jean-Claude and Frank's reports that I had enjoyed being debased, but there was something else, wasn't there? I felt it instinctively: you were fighting your love for me, a love that I don't know that I ever actually felt.

  I knew it long before that night, you asked me to come to Boston with you. I knew it long before then. I couldn't, I couldn't go Freddie, because where would my liberation have been if I had. You had liberated me; you had set me free. I was no longer willing to stay with any man, even one as wonderful as you.

  My one regret was not going to the airport with you. I know now I should have done, but I had been through so much, I couldn't face seeing you leaving like that, the departure gate scene, you flitting through the gates, me left standing. You see there are always contradictions. I heard you cried, Freddie, that you cried for me. Simone told me. I can barely believe it. I don't like to think that that was why...

  One last story, my love, one last story. The night I found out about... That horrible night, the shaken voice on the telephone, the... No, let me tell you what I had been doing before. This after all is a celebration, and, if you like, a homage to you, to what you have done for me, rather than to me.

  You see I had taken to walking the streets, not as a paid prostitute I hasten to add, although there have been times when I have been tempted. Well that night after I left school was like many others. I took a train into the West End and searched around for somebody to fuck me, better still to lash me, to bugger me, to make me come with pain if they could.

  I still, of course, had my regular encounters with Jean-Claude and Frank and Simone, and there have been many others added to the list too. Some of them no doubt acquaintances of you, but I did li
ke the taste of the new, the frisson of the fresh, the unpredictability of a stranger in my bed. So I enjoyed very much seeking new pleasure where I could.

  Well that night in London, as would occasionally happen, there was nobody that especially took my eye. I decided to go home and relax, maybe take one of those lingering baths. I am, as you know, an inveterate masturbator. I don't see any reason to change now.

  However, when I entered my modest house, there was a message on the telephone from Jean-Claude, saying that he was going to call around and that he had a surprise for me. He arrived twenty minutes later. It gave me time to shower and to dress up in something sexy.

  Jean-Claude didn't have just one surprise for me, there were two, and their names where Andrea and Juliet, two students from the occasional creative writing course that Jean-Claude would teach at the university. Andrea was English, petite, and fair-haired cropped in a pageboy style, and with startling green eyes. Juliet was her virtual opposite, a girl from the South of France, dressed in a white cotton dress, the nipples of her ample breasts visible through the cotton. Her jet-black hair was long and lustrous. She smiled invitingly with her dark Latin eyes when I invited her to sit down.

  It's true, Freddie, that as I saw the two girls sitting down, both obviously enamoured with the handsome Jean-Claude, that I thought about you, how much you would have enjoyed these two beauties, who could have been no more than twenty years old. By then they must have already taken you to the hospital. I can still barely imagine it, your beautiful body all broken and crushed. Horrible to imagine the horrible crash. You always loved speed, but you were an expert rider. It is difficult to imagine you making a mistake like that.

  Anyway, Freddie, it was clear that Jean-Claude had already had his wicked way with Juliet. I can usually tell these things; a look of intimacy, the way, maybe, she had brushed his arm, but the other girl, Andrea, appeared to be more innocent of his gallic ways.