Fanchon's Book

Chapter 5

The taste of Kristi on my lips-and during the next few days I recalled it often, appalled by my spontaneous act of self-abasement and yet excited by the inescapable fact that it was going to happen again. It had to. There was no other way. How else could I apologize for my boorish behavior? In the stress of that insensate moment I had actually bitten the poor sweet kid-and hard enough to frighten her, apparently, although my own memory (somewhat dubious, considering my state of oblivion) just didn't go any farther than the misty cognizance of a wealth of warm wet softness.

I was sorry, of course, and had told her so, but that scarcely atoned for my blunder. So I knew I would be playing her game again-but gently this time, skillfully if possible, and with the fixed purpose of expressing my contrition; how else could I regain the little darling's confidence? True, I might have dropped the entire matter right then and there. Or at least remained patient until time healed the wound. That would have been the judicious course, perhaps, but all my emotional instincts demanded otherwise. The girl had added a new dimension to my life; I looked forward to each day with a feeling of zest now, a hedonistic fervor, an intensity that had been sadly lacking in recent years. Tutto dl novello par bello. I couldn't sit around and twiddle my thumbs and let the sparkling champagne grow flat.

Nor did I. But it soon became evident that I a tough nut to crack. Kristi was my employee. and. never once did she let down in her household duties-indeed she was more obliging than ever in such details-but getting her to relay and discuss the paramount Issue was something else again. Until, m a fit of urgency, I all but ordered her to do so.

She didn't talk much. Worse yet, she listened with a stoic smile on her face and I realized I wasn't making much headway. But I had no choice; I had told her to sit and hear me out-although I certainly hadn't anticipated such an impervious defense. It got to be pretty exasperating, and it was almost m anger that I finally spoke the words that drew a response from her.

"Kristi, what do I have to do, beg you?"

"Ma'm?" Her lashes fluttered, overly coy; there seemed to be mischief brewing inside her. "I guess you really liked the acting game, huh?"

"I've already said so."

"You liked it when I was the princess?"

"Yes dear. It was fun."

"And you want to play again?"

"I'd love to. Any part that suits-"

"Please, ma'm, don't mix me up. I'm not talking about any other parts. Just the game you made up. The princess and the love-slave. Would you like to play that one again?"

I nodded, tense; somewhat bewildered by the repetitious interrogation, but aware nonetheless that she was leading up to something. Something not quite kosher. The tilt of her lips had turned the stoic smile into a challenging smirk; was she teasing me? Trying to get me aroused only to shrug me aside again? I wouldn't put it past her. Not now. This was the devil half I was seeing, not the angel.

"Remember what you said, ma'm? About begging me? Well, if I'm going to be your princess, don't you think you ought to?"

"Hmm?"

"Come on, beg me a little."

What a coquette! Did she really expect me to beg? But of course she did; wasn't it all in the game? Oh, how clever! shifting into our play-acting scene so deftly, such a smooth transition-and how crass of me to have suspected her of trickery: the child was a nugget of purest gold. But at least I had sense enough to pick up her cue and get into the spirit of the thing. I dropped into my school-taught curtsy again, paused for a long moment and then-in a deliberately theatrical manner-sank all the way down upon my knees. "See how humble I am, princess? I'm begg-"

"No, don't call me that. I'm not your princess yet. I'm still just Kristi. If you want to play the game, you'll have to beg me first."

"Kristi… " It was more than I could grasp. But I was already kneeling before her and I simply couldn't get up arid quit, it would have been too embarrassing for both of us. "I'm begging you," I said and was amazed at the throaty, choked depth of my voice. "On my knees I'm begging you. Please?"

"Oooh, I like that. Yes, ma'm, I'll be your princess." A fleeting frown marred her radiant features. "Hey, that doesn't sound right. Ma'm. No, I can't go on calling you that. Not if I'm a princess."

"I understand, princess. My name is Fanchon."

"Yes. Fanchon. Very good. Now tell me, Fanchon, just what are you begging for?"

"I-I'm begging for a second chance. Let me kiss you and prove I can do it without hurting you."

"Well! You might say please."

"I'm sorry, princess. Please let me kiss you?"

"Yes. Here, you may kiss my hand."

Her imperious gesture stunned me. The little monster-sticking her hand out like that-wasn't she carrying the charade a bit too far? But how beautiful she looked sitting here, how bright and piercing her eyes. Emeralds, truly. I knew she was stimulated: And hadn't she told me about getting all wrapped up in her acting role?-I should have expected something like this. What else could I do but humor her?

I kissed the extended fingertips lightly. They wriggled in a peremptory request for more; my lovely little princess was getting hot-how nice! and I parted my lips and bathed her hand with kisses. A finger slipped into my mouth; I sucked on it, quivering in a warmth of my own as it squirmed a small duel with my tongue.

"There now, Fanchon, you've kissed me. Satisfied, "Princess… no-oh, you know. Not just your hand."

"Umm, I suppose not. All right then, you may help me undress. You do want to see me naked, don't you?" My eager compliance was sufficient reply. Hastily, although rather awkwardly, all thumbs in anticipation, I tugged her clothing off. And once again, much as I should have been accustomed to it by this time, I went numb with intoxicated fascination at the sight of her nude body. The sheer splendor of it!

"So beautiful," I murmured. "Hmm? You like?"

"My beautiful princess… "

"Am I beautiful? From my head to my pretty toes? You said that, Fanchon, remember? I didn't even know my toes were pretty until you told me so. But you did say it, even though you probably didn't mean it."

"I-I meant it. You're beautiful. All of you."

"I'm glad you think so. It's the way a slave should feel about her princess. Would you like to kiss me now?"

"Please… yes, darling princess."

"Then kiss my toes. My pretty toes."

In the murky whirl inside my skull there was a bubble of clarity. Such a diabolical little scamp! taking my words and twisting them to suit herself; even the idea of the worshipful slave had been mine (maybe I should have copyrighted it?) and she was stealing the whole plum right out from under my nose, taking over like a petty tyrant.

"What are you waiting for, Fanchon? You don't want to be my captive slave? The beautiful slave I bought in the marketplace for my pleasure? But you do, you know you do. And I want you to. So come now, obey me-kiss my feet!"

A tyrant, no less; ah, but what a lovable tyrant, a spoiled and saucy child, willful, outspoken, afire with brash vivacity, so utterly free of adult inhibitions. The shell of shyness was gone. I crouched low and pressed my mouth to one bare foot, then the other-beautiful feet, slender and high-arched and without a single blemish-but I couldn't stop to admire them, no, I couldn't stop for anything: two kisses weren't enough. Her toes pried my lips apart-forcefully; the command was implicit-and my only concern was to please my princess.

And please her I did. Nor did I have to be told how. Her little sighs and squeals and giggles kept me in line, informing me of my progress; I wondered if I would-have done all these bizarre things without that joyous pattern of noise to follow. Would I have opened my mouth like this? Licked the soles of her feet with my tongue? Sucked the pretty toes that wiggled between my lips? I didn't know. I didn't care, really. I just knew I was doing them-worshiping the beautiful feet of my beautiful princess-and adding every possible fillip that might bring another sigh, another giggle, another surge of heat in the already molten pit of my loins.

Then, quite abruptly, she rose from the chair and moved over to toss herself upon the bed, leaving me on the floor, still kneeling, avid for a greater intimacy and yet almost afraid to ask for it. But I had to. The hunger within me had grown too insistent to deny.

"Princess? May I kiss you some more?"

"No. Not yet. Let's just relax awhile. Uh… I think I'd like a cigarette, Fanchon. Are there any around?"

I scurried to fetch the pack. I lit one and placed it between her lips, hoping to keep her in the "princess" mood. Holding up the ashtray in both hands, I went down on my knees beside the bed, letting her know that I was still her slave even though she had interrupted my caresses. Oh, it wasn't difficult to figure out the reason for her sudden coolness. She was punishing me.

And I deserved it. This time when the moment came for me to bury my face in the lush sweetness of her flesh, I would know better than to bite. I had lost my head once, I had actually hurt that delicate treasure but never again! Oh no. Trembling in my need to prove myself, I prayed that she would hurry and finish the cigarette and give me my second chance. But she leaned back against the pillow and smoked lazily.

"Fanchon… "

"Yes, princess?"

"You like it? The way I play? It's not too much for you?"

"I'm your slave, princess. See how I'm kneeling and worshiping you even now? Nothing my beautiful princess could do would be too much for me."

"Don't be so sure about that. I might really get carried away some day. But we'll see. Meanwhile, though, let's just chat a little bit, shall we?"

"If you wish, princess."

"I do wish. But you don't seem very chatty, so I guess I'll just have to ask and find out what I want to know. Remember the other night when you got so excited? Tell me what you were thinking about. I'd like to hear it."

"I-I don't understand. You were my princess and I was a slave making love to you. Is that what you mean?"

"Sort of. But try to think back. Right to that very last minute. Was that the only thought in your mind?"

"Well… uh… " I felt a rush of shame: how right she was! But the thing wasn't easy to talk about and I had to grope for a way to say it aloud. "Funny. You'll probably laugh at me. But I did think of something else; it was almost a hallucination, really. I-I thought of myself as a mouth."

"A mouth?"

"Uh-huh. A sucking mouth."

"Hmm, interesting… "

I waited. She took the ashtray from me and balanced it upon the creamy curve of her belly. It perched there like some barbaric ornament and I only wished that it might have been encrusted with shining jewels. Then, in a languid whisper, "Kiss me now, Fanchon. Show me what a good love-slave you can be."

Ah, how quickly I got between her legs! For this privilege I had gone down on my knees and kissed her hand and licked her feet; now at last she was relenting-and I plunged my lips into the pink-and-gold nest before she came up with some other wild task for me to perform. I sucked her. But slowly, gently, especially so-up above me she was still smoking the cigarette and I had to be careful of the precariously positioned ashtray.

"Ooh, that's good, Fanchon. It's getting me hot.

How about you? Are you getting hot, too?"

"Ummm… " I nodded my head.

"I love your tongue. Do you like doing it to me?"

"Yes… mmmm… "

"Swing around a little so that I can see you. I want to look at your bottom. You have such a nice plump bottom. Yes, that's the way. So nice and plump." Her hand stroked my buttocks. Feathery fingers darted here and there; I squirmed closer, dividing my attention, trying most to concentrate on my mouthful of succulent flesh. She patted me, her palm soft on my skin, the touch light, tantalizing, maddening-but not once did I break the rhythm of my lapping tongue; oh, I was so determined to show my princess what a fine slave I could be. And grateful for the opportunity.

We remained like that. Minutes, hours, years? I had no idea how long it lasted. An eon, perhaps. But there was no doubt about the end: her fingers shot into me suddenly and I erupted, stifling my shriek of ecstasy in the furry warmth of her. After a while my body went flaccid, drained of all but the contented afterglow.

"Stay there," she murmured. "Keep kissing me. I'll tell you when to stop. I haven't finished my cigarette yet. I do like these extra-king-size ones."

Incroyable! All that joy in the time for one cigarette. And it would always be like that, I realized, just as long as I could hold the little darling close to me. A lifetime in every day. A new, ageless Fanchon in a new, wonderful world. Even now, exhausted from my orgasmic upheaval, I was happy to obey; I went on kissing her, sliding my tongue between the swollen lips that seemed to pucker and kiss me back.

"A mouth… " Her voice was faint, pensive. "Yes, I do find that interesting. A sucking mouth. Maybe I'll think up some kind of scene for next time."

The satisfied afterglow faded; I was getting excited again. Next time? I could hardly wait. Energy poured back into me, the suggestive words rejuvenating my tired body. I raised my bottom-the nice plump bottom that she liked so much-and waggled it to gain her notice. For another touch, hopefully. Another caress. But she only went on smoking the extra-length cigarette.