Chapter 6
One week later Monique was on a train bound for Paris. She couldn't forget the wounded look in Selma's eyes when she'd told the woman that Claudie Merval had called and told her that some sudden employment opportunities had become available.. .if she returned immediately. Monique had hesitated not at all, though she felt her "education" had been prematurely terminated. She was sure, however, that she would see Selma again. She realized there was no chance that the Nordic mistress of pain would permit her to escape permanently.
She put the book she'd been reading back on her knees and watched the passing landscape through the large picture window. The train was panting through a dry country of olive trees and thorny bushes. The sky was grey, promising storms and winds. In the compartment, despite the open windows, the heat was almost unbearable.
Monique examined her traveling companions. One was a priest, if his black suit and constricting collar were any indication. He was reading his prayer book, but his eyes were more often reading the curves of Monique's legs than the lines of the psalms. By his side slouched a red-faced merchant whose complexion deepened each time he caught sight of the white flesh above Monique's stockings. In another corner, two lovers were kissing passionately without paying any attention to the other travelers with whom they shared the cramped quarters. Monique closed her eyes and imagined the welcome she would receive at the hands of Claudie Merval. Claudie. There were so many remembrances attached to that name; she owed the woman so much for taking a personal interest in her welfare and education. Sadly, some of those educational episodes were already fading in her memory.
The two lovers were still embracing when the train came to a sudden stop. The girl's skirt had ridden up, exposing a generous expanse of thigh that had attracted the eyes of the men in the car. Monique smiled to herself and felt a naughty twinge. She made a pretense of resuming her reading, but through her lowered eyelids she could see the men trying to get a closer look up the girl's skirt. She guessed they saw the buttocks that no panties covered. They didn't dare to lean over for fear of being too obvious and ruining the show. Instead they twisted and turned and sought every advantageous angle from which they could obtain a better view. When the dark shadow of the girl's pussy hovered into view for just a moment, they both put their hands in their pockets. Monique could see the movements of their fingers under the suddenly swollen material. A moment later the couple rose from their clinch, realizing they'd reached their destination, and left the train.
Determined to continue the fun, Monique slowly parted her knees. Under the material of her short skirt, the compass of her legs opened. The passion-entranced girl wasn't the only one not wearing panties. The lustfully inquisitive eyes across the coach could now see the joint of Monique's thighs and the enticing slit of her cunt. It seemed to her that their eyes were like a caress on her unveiled secrets. The two men looked at each other with knowing confidence, smiled, and this time leaned down for an unobstructed view.
Monique had to admit to herself that she was enjoying the exhibition in front of perfect strangers. She was hot under the heavy cardigan that molded her imposing breasts. The nipples were thrusting against the material as if they would burst free; the bra she'd put on was much too small. She was consumed with a sudden desire to show them her tits. Her temperature seemed to rise in direct response to her fantasy. She sponged her temples and mechanically unbuttoned the first button of her blouse.
"Are you hot, my dear?" asked the merchant. "Your face seems terribly flushed."
Monique hesitated a moment in front of the red and sweaty face of her companion, but some inner demon was pushing her to answer to his ill-concealed desires. "Yes, I'm very hot," she breathed throatily. "I was wrong to put on a blouse so thick in this heat..."
"Well, change it," suggested the man, hopefully. Monique smiled and did her best to appear ignorant of the true meaning behind his request. "I wouldn't mind.. .but here...?" She looked around the compartment, at the corridor window with the shade drawn, at the priest.
"Don't worry about me, my child," he assured her, "my prayers absorb all my energy." But Monique could see that his palms were sweating.
"The same goes for me," piped up the merchant too quickly. "We wouldn't think of making this trip unpleasant for you."
Monique hesitated, then turning around she pulled her suitcase to her from the rack. In the mirror on one side of the carriage she could see that the two men were avidly staring at her. She opened her blouse unconcernedly, removed her bra - holding it out absently so that they could see - and then removed the blouse entirely. Her bare back was offered to their greedy eyes.
Monique knew her magnificent breasts were fully exposed to them in the mirror. Her nipples were dark and hard from the excitement of the moment. She felt an urgent desire to turn around and offer them the full view of her tits. The blood was beating at her temples and her throat was dry and parched. She made a show of picking up the filmy blouse that she'd chosen to put on, but she hesitated, accentuating each movement. She put the blouse back in the suitcase and lifted her arms as if she was about to rifle through her belongings and look for a different item. The motion made her breasts jiggle wondrously, and she could hear the sharp intake of breath across the compartment. Just then the train lurched and started to roll forward once again, giving Monique the excuse she needed to fall backwards between the two red-faced men.
She began panting and moaning immediately as she felt the voracious mouths on her tits, pulling at the nipples, aspiring the red strawberries for an ardent sucking. She protested, weakly, for the sake of propriety, and then allowed them to do whatever they wished.
Their hands became more demanding, fumbling under her skirt. They massaged her thighs and slid between the lips of her twat, stopping to caress the engorged love bud that was already damp with the juices of expectation. The heads were suddenly lowered, abandoning the nipples. Monique smiled voluptuously. That perpetual curiosity, the peeping tom complex that waited to be awakened in every man. They all wanted to see that obscure object of their desire, and before penetrating it they wanted to study the delicious aperture and its moss-covered borders, the thick and slightly palpitating lips.
Monique made a final weak effort to free herself. Her spread-eagled body was pushed onto the cushioned bench. They tore the skirt from her, revealing the mysterious mouth between her thighs. Both heads immediately leaned over the offered secrets. The ardent tongues probed and prodded at the exacerbated flesh of the exposed clitoris. Monique panted quietly, arching her back to offer her belly to a more intimate penetration by the men's lashing tongues. She could feel her orgasm approaching. They licked her insanely, arousing in her that blind, unseeing passion that demands nothing other than its fulfillment. They alternated penetrating her crevice with their tongues, sometimes inserting a finger or two to stretch the willing folds and allow easier entrance. The finespun gold on her mount was sopping with their saliva as they left little of her unwashed between her belly and her thighs.
It seemed unlikely that she would be brought to completion, though, when the brakes of the antiquated train began to squeak and the transport perceptibly slowed. The two upstanding men panicked. A station was approaching and each participant suddenly, hopelessly, tried to regain some semblance of composure.
Monique got up and dressed quickly. The adventure came to an end as suddenly as it had begun when the train stopped and a matronly woman entered the compartment, seating herself solid as the Rock of Gibraltar opposite the two men. Monique frowned and decided she wasn't yet finished with them. She avenged herself by making them mad with desire, opening her thighs from time to time and affording them a full view of her yawning cunt, still oozing its juices. Monique was the first to leave the train. To her disappointment she learned that the connecting train to Paris was going to be delayed until the following morning. In response to her inquiry, a man on the platform advised her that she could find lodging at a small hotel by the edge of the woods near the station. From there she could, if she wished, take a bus to Paris instead should the train fail to arrive.
The building was a modest but pleasant one, with whitewashed walls and bright shutters at each window.
It contrasted sharply with the dark tonalities of the pine woods surrounding it. It was furnished in common country style, but dust on the floor and on some of the tables indicated that customers must have been scarce. By the counter in the small dining room a man in shirtsleeves was just finishing his lunch. He dispassionately evaluated Monique when she entered the room, but she noticed that his eyes lingered on her bobbing tits and the jutting nipples.
"I'm Cesar Jouve, the boss," he said, a string of meat hanging from his mouth. The way he stressed the word "boss" indicated his satisfaction with the self-appointed title.
Monique explained what had happened and asked for a room, which he provided with a listless shrug and a demand for the appropriate number of francs. When he called out, a young girl of perhaps sixteen appeared to assist Monique to her room. Her name was Sweet, she said, and Monique could readily believe that. She was tall and lithe and curvaceous, though she'd not yet fully outgrown the coltishness of youth. Her hair was dark with red highlights and her eyes were an intriguing shade of green.
To Jouve, the girl must have been sweet indeed, Monique came to realize later in the evening. For as she snuggled between the warm covers that swathed the bed in her room, she heard the familiar sound of the whip emanating from the bedroom across the hail. She knew it must be Jouve and Sweet, acting out that voluptuous song, for there were no other guests. She nodded.
So even in the most remote backwaters the whip was king. What part of Sweet's body was being attended to now? Her swelling breasts?
Monique's hands were busy on her own body as she thought of this. She left her right mound, lathered with her own saliva, and started on the left. Her other hand was busy at her cunt, dipping into the secret grotto and becoming saturated with its juices. She removed the fingers and rubbed the right nipple with the musky oil. The engorged cap rapidly became pebble hard. She lifted the breast to her mouth and lapped at it with her darting tongue. It circled the darkening peak. Then she sucked her finger and returned to rubbing her clit. Her masturbation, stimulated by and combined with the moans and smacks coming from the other room were the most exciting things she'd experienced alone in her life. She accelerated the pace of her activities as the cries became more violent.
The crack of the whip had ceased not long before, and Monique knew the man was fucking the girl. Her orgasm rose in a tidal wave of pleasure as she imagined the delicate body of Sweet used in bestial manner by "the boss" of the hotel. She could almost picture his dark, thick cock shuttling in her mouth, or filling the tautness of her young pussy.
Better still, she could picture herself lying with her, massaging the alluring limbs, kneading those pert breasts, and licking the lightly furred mount to a state of excitation. The image remained with her as she drifted into oblivion...
