The Labyrinth of Passion (romantic experiences)

by Charles Westmont

  “Get up slowly and walk to the mirror,” his voice was getting more demanding and she could not help but obey. She had stood in front of that mirror so often, at times even for hours, rehearsing, studying and adjusting her dance moves. “Bring your body very close to the mirror and look at your gorgeous eyes. Let your eyes travel over your face and then all over your body. You are the most appealing and desirable woman on Earth. Repeat after me: “I am sexy…”

  “I am sexy…” the words popped out of her mouth, without any control.

  “I love to be desired and make men wild about me…”

  “I love to be desired and make men wild about me…”

  “I crave the pleasure of teasing a man to make love to me.”

  “I crave the pleasure of teasing a man to make love to me.”

  Move your fingers to your mouth and watch them rub your lips sensuously.”

  Justine was totally captured by the game. She played with her lips as she had done so often in Vincent’s trailer. “Suck your fingers and lick them one at the time.” She began to feel aroused, hypnotized by the movements of her fingers over her lips. “Stop!” his voice exuded so much power. “You feel your breasts shamelessly demonstrating their firmness through your shirt. Give them the attention they demand. Look at them, but do not touch.” His voice was beginning to sound slightly angry. “Begin to lift you shirt very slowly and look at those enticing fruits of passion that are calling for your attention. Do not touch!”

  Justine was becoming so excited that she felt as though her breasts were being revealed to her for the first time. Her nipples felt so hard, aching for her to pinch and twist them. “Do not touch, just look!” His voice was very firm, mildly aggressive. Justine felt fear invading her, climbing her stomach and throat, but the fear increased her excitement.

  “Let your breasts dance slowly for you when you begin moving your hips. Keep your eyes on your nipples and begin lowering your shorts. Stop! do not go lower, just look at the lovely mound of golden hair. Take your finger and touch the moisture of your nectar. Right…Lick your finger.” In a swaying movement, she stepped out of her shorts and began dancing. She could see herself dancing in front of the mirror at the Corsican discotheque. This time however, she was moving in front of the audience completely nude and shamelessly enjoying every second. “Perfect! Keep dancing for me, for all the men in the world. Show your nakedness in all its glory and fulfill their lust for you. Turn and show your lovely ass. Open it for all eyes to explore.”

  She kept dancing more and more sensuously, her thighs swaying with excitement. She could see all these faces riveted on her body, their mouths foaming with desire. In the far distance of the mirror, a handsome man was looking at her with more attention than all the others and his deep voice, echoing in her head, was prompting her. “You are love, you are lust and you are pleasure.” The voice became more pressing, “You are my mistress, you are my whore, you are my slut, and you are my bitch. I will come for you soon, surrender!” The words were assaulting her like bullets. Except on a few occasions when Wilson had insulted her, Justine had never heard such words thrown at her. But she loved them, she wanted more. She was so aroused that she began to feel weak. She had only enough energy to let herself on the bed. She began experiencing for the first time and with great intensity orgasm after orgasm, as Osiris smiled on.

  She woke up in the late morning. Maman was knocking on the door. “Justine did you leave the phone open?” She extended her hand to close the phone and could not stop laughing her amusement “Yes Maman, I am sorry.”

  The France Telecom operator sounded apologetic, at her request “I am truly sorry miss. We have searched our database thoroughly and our computer reveals no trace of this number. As far as we know, this number was never issued to a customer of the France Telecom, at least over the last twenty years. Are you certain that you have the correct number? This morning, we verified the calls originating from your phone and we have no record of the number being dialed?” Justine was holding the gentleman’s card in her hand. She had repeated the number five times. “This is the only phone number that I have and it is still recorded on the screen of my phone. Thank you so much for your help.”

  Bordeaux

  Justine was a stunning young woman when she entered her last year at the faculty of Law at the University of Bordeaux. She was slightly taller than the average women, her long blonde hair reached down to the small of her back, her eyes were a unique pale blue, with the reflections moving like gentle waves. Her face produced this mysterious glow, overtaking her lovely golden complexion. When she smiled, all of her expression would burst into a symphony of beauty to accompany the most enticing mouth and lips.

  The move to Bordeaux had been uneventful. It was quite a difficult adjustment after the fiery summer vacation. She took pleasure in taking her books to a small garden across the entrance leading to the military quarters, and studying there. She was wearing blue jeans and a yellow shirt revealing her enticing golden shoulders and arms. She would stretch innocently, spreading her long body on the grass, while her face was buried in her notebooks and manuals. She did not appear to pay attention to the dozens of young soldiers who were coming in and out of the barracks. From the corner of her eye, she could not help but notice the excitement that she was creating in these young men.

  A young second officer, more daring than the others, came by to sit at her feet. “I hope I am not disturbing your work. I wonder if I could introduce myself?” She answered his words with an inviting smile. The young officer was taken aback by so much charm. He went on hesitantly “My name is Stéphane. I could not help but notice your occasional presence when I report to my quarters. I thought that you were very pretty, but not as much as you look from up close. I am glad that I gathered the courage to come and meet you.”

  She placed her books at her side on the ground and grabbing her knees between her arms, she smiled at him without a word. He stood awkwardly and muttered something, his face turning to the deepest crimson. He left and crossed the street to his barracks.

  She sat for a while, carried by in her thoughts. “He was quite handsome. I find that young men are quite gauche in their demeanor. And they have so little courage. Had he been more patient, I could have… she started giggling nervously, when she noticed she was sucking her thumb. Hum! I guess that he will never know what he missed.” Then frowning, she thought: “Maybe, I was not impressed. I think I have to be impressed or excited to let myself become prey to men’s desire. But how I love to be attractive to them! I get a kick out of the smallest expression of attention. I enjoy making myself attractive and sometime enticing, but only the brave who have the attribute of creating a strong impression, a mixture of charm, power and patience, will enjoy the prize.” Feeling a little guilty, she thought, “I shamelessly took pleasure at exciting this group of soldiers.”

  It was not entirely by chance that one afternoon she saw the same man coming nervously up the steps of the faculty. She was feeling quite lonesome in Bordeaux. The large city had so many people, yet everyone went by about his business, not paying the least attention to anyone else. Maman, on her weekly visit, would take every occasion to meet with her. The visits became less frequent though, after Maman restructured her organization and delegated the Bordeaux operations to a new manager. Maman was concentrating her attention on the Bergerac headquarters. Justine spent most of her time alone, studying in her apartment. The summer vacation had awakened her appetite, but she found little in this large city to encourage relationships. “It is probably the climate that makes people so indifferent,” she thought.

  She felt relieved to see someone familiar. “Wow! Stéphane I like your uniform,” she welcomed him, smiling. They sat all afternoon, sipping hot chocolate and becoming more familiar with each other. It became her afternoon routine to stop at his apartment. They soon became lovers. He was so gentle and so patient with her. When they made love, he would penetrate her only after long sessions of kissi
ng. She would always remember the gentle softness of him entering her. One afternoon she found him playing mechanic with his motorcycle. She moved toward him and found the odor of grease and oil exciting. She began kissing his hands and face with growing passion. Stéphane was not idle either, he brought down his zipper, popping up a new player. He grabbed her head in a deep kiss and attempted to force her face on his crotch. She was expecting something else, she was not up to it. He did not initiate the maneuver again.

  As the semester was coming to an end, Stéphane invited Justine to join him for a visit to the Netherlands. One evening on the highway, she began to undress and lowered the Citroen seat. She offered herself, completely nude, without a word. Stéphane had problems keeping his eyes on the road and his situation aggravated for the worse when he felt her undo his belt, part his pants and engulf his erected penis. In no time, she felt the warm hazelnut nectar fill her mouth.

  Exploration

  “Wham! Bam! Thank you Ma’am!” The stud was pulling up the zipper of his jeans on his way out. Without a word, he left the apartment. Justine was still bent over the arm of the large sofa, stunned. “What a weirdo!” she mumbled, laughing.

  The curriculum of the graduation year was easy, leaving her with a lot of time in her hands. Stéphane had been transferred to a new army base in Alsace. He had promised to visit, but he had not appeared yet. In his letters, Stéphane had become insistent, pressing her for an engagement, but she knew that she had grown out of the relationship. The Corsican experiences had given Justine a new outlook on life.

  Wednesdays were not demanding, only a short class after lunch. She had stopped for a coffee with classmates. A blond Greek god crossed the room in front of their table. One of the girls pulled a card from her wallet. “Is he not something else? What a stud! And girls, there is more. Look at this, Maria gave me this card. Ladies, I hold in my hand the keys to Shangri-La: his name and phone number.” Justine was listening but her eyes were following the young Apollo. “He is from somewhere in Eastern Europe. He is offering his very special personal services to support his education.” The girls were getting excited, comparing dreams filled with the lust of an experience with him. “But he does not come cheap, 5,000 quid!” Justine grabbed the card and registered the phone number.

  On the way home, she was assessing the situation. “No name, no questions asked, no obligations. This is certainly an experience worth a try.” The very next day, she called the number and made an appointment for the following evening at her apartment. During the morning session at the auditorium, she was continuously distracted by her thoughts. She was comparing in her mind various options to take advantage of the situation. She had graduated from the summers’ experiences with a master’s degree in lovemaking and in her mind, a definite proficiency at handling men. At least, these were her thoughts of the moment. “First, I will entice him with a dance and a strip-tease. Then, as it has worked so well with Marcello before, I will force him into submission, order him on all fours to masturbate for my pleasure and send him away, without giving him the pleasure of taking me. That will teach him to prostitute himself and take advantage of girls. But… on second thoughts, maybe I will show pity; I may want to use him again.”

  She heard the knock on the door and called him in. She had purposely remained seated on the couch to demonstrate her indifference. He came directly to her and asked for the payment. She pulled the bills from the side table drawer and handed them, surprised at the extent and courtesy of his elaborate introduction. He proceeded to count the bills one at a time and then turned, showing a look of satisfaction. He came to her and pulled her by the hands. In a blunt move, he turned her body around and pushed her over the arm of the large sofa. She heard his zipper and felt her skirt climbing up her back. He slid his penis between her thighs, without removing her panties. She felt the hardened flesh slide in over her butt. He found his way into her chatte, thankfully dampened by the long anticipation. Without a word or the slightest caress, he began to move quickly back and forth, pumping her. Justine was numbed by the unexpected behavior. She remained totally still, incapable of the smallest thought or movement. His moan brought her back to reality. He pulled out of her, jerking his liquid on the small of her back, wiped his penis on her panties and left, slamming the door behind him.

  After the graduation ceremony, Justine remained in the hall awaiting Maman’s return. “What do you do with a degree in commercial law?” she was thinking. Being an intern in a legal Cabinet did not appeal to her in the least. She had met a friend of Maman at dinner one evening. The woman was moving to Cairo to manage a program teaching Arabic languages, sponsored by the French government. “Justine should join me in Egypt,” she heard the lady whisper to Maman, after she left the table to fetch the coffee. There were no other words of this suggestion after Justine came back to the table. Since that night, the exotic note of an experience in a distant country had stayed ringing in her thoughts, haunting Justine’s vivid imagination.

  Back Home in Bergerac

  Maman had just completed the construction of the Bergerac ‘Versailles’, baptized as such by Wilson, not without a perceptible touch of envy. The walled modern courtyard and manor sprawled over two hectares complete with a swimming pool, an adjoining oversized garage and a warehouse on the embankment of the Dordogne River.

  Justine elected to take a little time off with Maman and her younger sister Romy. Justine always enjoyed being home, if Wilson was not around. The difference between them had grown into hatred maybe even loathing. They avoided each other. Wilson did not insist, staying away from the house and only showing up at the warehouse office to keep track of his interest in the business. His irresponsibility had driven the construction equipment company to receivership. Wisely, he was keeping his investment in Revlon under close scrutiny.

  Justine was alone at the house on this quiet afternoon of Périgord summer bliss. She was taking the sun at the poolside. Coming out of her dreams, she raised her head to notice two young men peeking in her direction over the gate from the jogging path, a high point along the river. Quite amused at the attention, she lifted her body in her catlike manner and removed the upper part of her bikini. She stood for a long time, her nipples pointing at the young men and conveniently delaying a dive into the pool. She could see that the two boys had swollen to a group of many. They were standing still, observing her.

  She raised her arms, exposing her full breasts to the growing audience and dove in the pool. She lifted herself from the pool and turning towards the still awaiting crowd, she stood and began shaking her long blonde mane. She could not repress a smile, enjoying this exhilarating cocktail of pleasure and embarrassment. She took a long time to place her towel on the stones at the poolside and turned on her belly after undoing the ribbon of her bottom. She lay completely naked. Her buttocks slightly lifted, forcing her thighs open and calling for observation. She felt compelled by a force that was buried deep within her soul to respond to their attention. She lay still, offered, without inhibitions, her body covered only by the warm caresses of their admiration, mingling with the rays of the mid afternoon sun. Had the young men been closer, they would have noticed her lower body begin lifting and pulsating from the manipulation of agile fingers, slowly at first and then faster and faster. Her outstretched free hand was reaching for something to grip. She could not repress a mild scream when the pleasure overtook her body.

  Within a few days, her afternoon jog around the river was joined by an increasing number of young recruits of the military academy. After the run, they would gather at the gate, carrying conversations, until she would punch the security code and disappear inside the garden. She was overcome by so much attention.

  In no time, she had become the mascot of “C” Company. They insisted that she join their daily jogging practices, and that she participate in their local competitions. One afternoon, they were joined by an older gentleman. The group presented him as their commander. “He is the best marksman in Eu
rope,” boasted a young recruit. The officer began appearing most every day for the afternoon jogging practices and invited Justine to visit the military facilities. She took a lot of pleasure acknowledging the military salutes of all the young men, while she pretended to inspect their lot from eyes to toes.

  Montbasillac

  Lying awake in bed one evening, Justine’s eyes were focused on the 45 caliber hand gun sitting on top of the large wooden cabinet at the foot of her bed. It was part of her inheritance from her grandfather. The gun was a gift from Spalding, who was inserted in Périgord by the British under Victor’s protection at the end of World War II. She had removed the weapon from the secret compartment of the old secretary to place it in front of the bed. She could observe it before she would turn the lights off. It was a proud reminder of her grandfather’s bravery at war so long ago. Thinking of the officer, she wondered if he would accept to teach her to shoot.

  In no time, the commander took the young beauty under his wing. Twice a week, they met at the Montbasillac practice range. Montbasillac, located in the Périgord Noir east of Bergerac, was the site of large grottos at ground level that had been used for centuries for military shooting practices and competitions.

  “Keep both eyes open. You have in your hand one of the most accurate pistols ever designed,” his words were caressing her ear. His forehead was brushing her shoulder and she felt his breath on her neck. She was trying with all her strength to keep the heavy 45 caliber leveled at the target. She felt the excitement of power from the roaring of the explosions, amplified by the high vaults of the Montbasillac grotto. A sweet tingling in the pit of her stomach was competing for her attention, making her task more difficult during recoil. The scent of his maleness, mixed with gunpowder and a persistent cologne, melted in a disturbing cocktail, overpowering her concentration. “It will be enough for today. Next week, I will lend you a lighter weapon. The long cannon 22 caliber will make it easier for you to learn the basic principles of target shooting. If you become dedicated to the discipline, and practice regularly, you may have enough talent for competition.”