Giselle, Clarize - A Love StoryChapter 3 free porn video

Pierre.

The car hummed comfortably. It did not seem to touch the road. The landscape flashed by. So did age old trees and even older houses. It drove through crumbling villages and past endless knee-high walls that were meant to protect them from a dive into the lake.

The twilight had a golden touch. The sun had already sunk behind the mountains, but the sky still held on to the light. It painted a myriad of feathery clouds in a shade of apricot.

Angique sat in the corner of the tan leather seat. She had her legs pulled under her. She wore a black silk dress that clung to her body. It seemed simple. The top was straight with narrow lace straps. Her left leg showed almost to the pale top of her thigh. There the dress fell open because of a deep slit. She wore no stockings and had kicked off her backslung heels. They lay on the floor.

Kristie sat next to her. She held knees together. Her back was very straight. Her fingers played with the tiny purse in her lap. She wore a dress of silk similar to Angique's. But hers was a very light blue and it seemed closed at the throat. When she moved one would get a look into a deep slit. It exposed part of her cleavage, way down her bra-less tits. The hem of the dress did not begin to cover half of her thighs. It failed to meet the lace top of her white sheer stockings. She wore patent leather heels in the colour of her dress. And she was extremely nervous.

"Don't be nervous, sweetheart", Angique purred. She laid a hand on her arm. "They will all be very kind, truly."

"I am not used to this, Mistress", Kristie said with a very timid voice. "I don't know a thing about etiquette or how to dine the European way. I'll get drunk surely and that will make me do silly things. I have never worn a dress like this or even shoes like these." She let out a silent sob. She almost tore the delicate purse in two. "I am so afraid I will let you down!", she squealed and buried her blonde head in Angique's dress. She sobbed her heart out.

Angique rolled her eyes. She patted the golden curls.

The girl did not stop sobbing. She even started to cry. Angique grabbed her shoulders. She janked her up until the streaked, miserable face was in front of hers. Then she screamed, at the top of her lungs: "STOP THIS, YOU FOOL!!"

Kristie stopped her wailing at once. Her body shook with frustrated sobs. Her eyes opened wide. Her lower lip trembled.

"Cut this out, you sorry little idiot. Would I ever ask anything of you that you could not deliver? Is this how you regard me? How you thank me for taking you away from your miserable life? I hate this, this way you degrade yourself. Stop it! Stop distrusting me, you ungrateful bitch. Look at yourself. Look at your smeared face. Look at the running mascara, the snot dripping from your nose. STOP IT NOW!!"

To underline her words she shook the girl severely. She made her free tits bounce inside the dress. The blonde curls danced around her face.

The girl was in shock. Her lips moved. They were glossed over with tears and snot. Little squeaks escaped her panting chest. Her hands fluttered like pale nestlings not knowing how to fly. Then she sniffed. She pulled the back of her hands over her nose and eyes. They left streaks of make up. Her eyes sparkled in a dramatic frame of ruined mascara.

"I... I am so sorry, Mistress", she whispered. Her voice was hoarse. It still choked on the afterquakes of her emotions. "I... I let you down... I am not worthy... I..."

The wet slap rang through the car. It made Kristie's face snap aside.

"WHAT did I tell you, you damn nitwit?" Angique's green eyes blazed. She pushed her face into the girl's. "What did I tell you not a minute ago about diminishing yourself, you dumb little ass? Not worthy, you say? Do you doubt my judgement, you insolent cunt? Do you think I would even waste a second on unworthy fools? Do you suggest I would choose an unworthy girl to become my creature? Do you think you know better? Well??"

Angique had pushed her face forward with every screaming word. She forced Kristie back into her corner. She ended up with her head pressed against the window. Her eyeballs ran amok inside their sockets. They were two panic stricken mice cornered by a bloodthirsty cat. The blush of the slap ran diagonally over her face. She half-heartedly tried to protect it from the fearsome fury.

To her utter dismay she noticed how a gush of urine left her quaking pussy.

A minute of silence passed. It was the kind of silence that makes holes in time. It was void of more than sound alone. Caught in a halo of panic Kristie imagined that she could smell her piss. Then she felt two warm, soft hands cup her face. A slow tongue licked the salt off her skin. It lapped up the sweat of fear, the tears of despair. And the mascara of a long since ruined make up.

That was when Kristie broke down for real. Angique held her tight and allowed her to destroy a priceless dress. The black haired woman shhhh-ed and clucked. She cradled the blonde girl. And she hummed an age old lullaby.

The crying subsided. She knocked at the window pane that separated them from the driver. As it slid down she asked him to U-turn. He should take them back to the Villa to refresh themselves and change.

The restaurant lay below the corniche. It straddled an inlet for boats that had been hewn into the living rock. It went by the un-Italian name of Chez Pierre. The owner was of French origin. The place was the former boathouse of a villa higher up in the hills. It had been enlarged and rebuilt into a modest, but very tasteful restaurant. The entrance was at the top of a few steps. It was set inside a portal overgrown with vines and bougainvillea. To the right was a spectacular terrace. It stretched out, overlooking the lake below.

Pierre himself greeted them as they reached the steps. He was a tall dark man. He had a gallic nose and quick, mischievous eyes. He greeted Angique in rapid French. Then he took her pale hand into his. He grazed a kiss over its backside. Kristie prepared herself for a greeting. She extended her hand. But the man totally ignored her. He lead Angique inside. Kristie hesitated for a second. Then she followed with a mute sigh.

Both women had changed into dresses similar to the ones her emotional breakdown had ruined. Her own was a sky blue silk with a precarious decolleté. It would only hang on to her nipples as long as she kept them excited. That seemed the easiest task of this evening. It would take her the rest of the night to get used to not wearing anything under it at all.

The hem of the dress, like the first one, hardly reached down half her thighs. If she pulled at it enough, it might reach the elastic lace at the top of her white stockings. Which of course was a very unwise thing to do. Her shoes were the same as before. They had embarrassingly high heels and gave hardly any support. They made her wobble at every step.

In front of her Angique walked with an easy sway. The black lustre of her ankle long gown cascaded down the curves of her body. She chatted lightly with the dark man. He led her by the elbow.

Ah, how she admired this woman. Would she ever be able to belong to the world she lives in? This world of grace and elegance? My, how she'd melted to nothing in her embrace. How the emotions had taken away her breath. They had made her cry like a baby.

Even now she felt the relief. God, it took tons off her shoulders. The catharsis had pulled her up like a drowned swimmer from a deep ocean of misery. It left her to shiver on a beach of silvery sand and radiant sunshine.

Kristie shook her head. She took a deep, shaking breath. Then she followed the couple into the restaurant proper. The place was lovely. It had white washed walls and a high wooden ceiling. It was shored by ancient beams. Huge bouquets of flowers stood everywhere.

Most tables were occupied by elegant people. They were gorgeously dressed Italian women and men in immaculate summer suits. Lovely waitresses glided around as if on roller skates. A tall blonde waiter immediately captured her gaze. She felt a hot blush rise from her exposed cleavage. Her skin rubbed utterly naked against the clinging silk.

Pierre took them up a few steps onto a low balcony. A round table was set for two. On bright white damask linen everything seemed to sparkle. The light of tall white candles lit up the china, the silver cutlery, the crystal glasses. The dark man slid back a chair for Angique to sit down on. Then he left, leaving Kristie to stand in flustered uncertainty.

Angique took the menu. It lay beside her plate. She opened it and concentrated on its contents. All the while Kristie stood. Her head was aflame. She looked out over the restaurant below. She was totally bewildered by what might be expected of her.

Should she take the initiative and sit down? Or would that enrage her Mistress? Would she, on the other hand, not be even more enraged if Kristie kept standing? Minutes passed. As they ticked on Kristie got more and more overwhelmed by her dilemma. She bit her lip to keep the damn tears back.

Then Angique looked up. She frowned her eyebrows.

"Sit down, silly girl. Don't keep standing there."

With a sigh Kristie sank down onto the dainty rococo chair. Right then the blonde young god approached. He served them both a flute of pink kir royal. He also carried two small eggs in tiny silver cups. He set one in front of each. "L'amuse gueul, madame. Bon appétit." And he left. He not once let on that he had seen more than one person at the table.

Kristie tried to smile. The skin of her face seemed to have lost its elasticity. She hummed a little hum. She made it seem accidentally.

Angique laid the menu aside. She looked up. Her gaze at once caught the blue shifting look of her girl. She nodded at the egg and said: "Do you know what this is, ma petite?"

Kristie knew it was a soft boiled little egg. It was probably a quail's egg with a vinaigrette of spices and herbs. "I think it is a quail's egg, madam. A small appetizer to go with the kir."

Angique said nothing. She just held the girl's gaze until Kristie shifted on her chair, nervously. The silence went on. And she started to hear the rush of her blood. It pumped against her temples.

Why did Angique act like this? She had given the right answer, she knew for sure. She wasn't a peasant girl from somewhere way back. She was a waitress in a restaurant in Florida. It wasn't a posh restaurant like this one. But they knew what an appetizer was. Sure they did. So why...

Her thoughts raced on like this. They pointed into an angry direction. Then Angique's face suddenly brightened. She took her glass and held it aloft.

"Sweet Kristie", she said. She wrapped her words in soft velvet. "Please take your glass and let's drink to my obnoxious arrogance. And then let us drink to its expedient burial."

She laughed her silver laugh. She laughed on until Kristie joined her. The blonde girl laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. This time she wasn't the only one.

The dinner was a feast. Kristie hardly knew what was being served. She immediately forgot. The portions were tiny, but there was no end to the amount of them. There was a little dish of delicious mushrooms. It was followed by a bird's wing in glorious marinade. Then came a single, fat white asparagus. They sucked on it greedily, giggling when they looked at each other. Then they almost gagged on it.

There were three raw oysters. Angique slid them down Kristie's throat. Her kisses traced their way down. Her face almost disappeared between the free dangling tits.

By then they had moved their chairs together. They both looked into the restaurant. They commented on people like naughty schoolgirls. They giggled. They pointed and burst into uncontrollable glee.

Angique took the bottle of lovely Sancerre wine. She filled both glasses again. Then she bid Kristie to lock her arm through Angique's. That way each could drink out of the other's glass. "But please, darling, don't swallow", she said. They both grinned at the innuendo. They drank. Their eyes were locked as fast as their arms. Then they kissed and mixed the wine with their tongues.

It was a kiss that lasted and lasted. Angique held Kristie's head. She drove her pink tongue as deep as she could. Then she retreated. She took Kristie's in and sucked on it till it ached.

When they let go at last, Kristie's head was spinning. Her ears were filled with a buzz. Her heart beat like a hammer. Oh God, and her body. Her half exposed nipples ached. Her bare pussy glowed like a soft swollen light bulb. She ached to spread her thighs. But her silk cocoon would not let her.

A groan rose from the deepest of her throat. She whispered: "Oh my, sweet Mistress..."

Then the daze cleared. And she saw they were not alone. Pierre had returned to their table while they were kissing. He seemed not at all embarrassed. He stood smiling his mischievous little smile. At least he sees me now, Kristie thought. And she felt a touch of sweet revenge.

"Un café, s'il vous plait", Angique said. Then she waved nonchalantly with her hand. "Et vous pouvez l'avoir, maintenant."

Kristie's French was close to non-existent. But even if she would have understood what was being said, she might not have gotten it.

Pierre smiled. He thanked Angique with a nod and a tiger's grin. Then he stood back. He looked at Kristie with a frown. Kristie did not move. At first she wasn't even aware that anything was expected of her. But the silence told her that things were not all right. She looked up into the host's eager gaze. Then she turned towards Angique. Her eyes widened.

"Don't make monsieur Pierre wait, little slut. Be honoured. Please him as well as you can. Now hurry."

Stunned is a word. So are stricken and dumbfounded. Kristie was all of those and more. Her eyes flew from the Frenchman to the woman she had been kissing. They had joked together like little girls. That was not even three minutes ago. And now...

She tried to form words. The first one was "But", so were the second and the third. "But, Mistress... he is a MAN!" The words stumbled and struggled until they culminated into the last one. She stretched it and twisted it into a wail. "A MAN!"

Angique looked amused. She let her eyes wander from the girl to Pierre. "Damn, Kristie", she laughed. "You are right! He is a man... and quite a man too." She sank her hand into the crotch of the waiting man. Slowly she kneaded the bulge she found. She felt it harden under her touch.

"Un homme, bien sûr."

They both grinned, the big nosed Frenchman and the woman who owned her. Something inside her seemed to unhitch. But not quite. From even deeper came a little girl's voice screaming no... noooooooo.

Her soul turned into a battlefield.

"But Mistress," she croaked, her eyes pleading. "You know I am a lesbian. I can't make love to a man?"

Angique laughed, a sweet but cruel laugh.

"Elle est une lesbienne, Pierre. Vous écoutez? Ma petite esclave dit qu'elle est une lesbienne."

They both chuckled. Angique reached out to touch Kristie's glowing cheek. Then her hand slid down. It rested on the narrow spaghetti lace that held up the flimsy dress. With a sudden flick she tore it. She pulled the silk off the girls chest, exposing her tits.

Kristie fought valiantly. But the cool breeze fingered her nipples. It made them stand tall for all the world to see. A torrent of tears flooded her cheeks.

"Rise, bitch!", Angique hissed.

In her dazed state the girl did not even hear what was told her. She sat like a statue. Tears rained on her breasts. They soaked the torn pieces of silk.

Angique reached out with red nailed fingers. She pinched the closest nipple and twisted it left and right. This shook the girl out of her apathy. She pushed the chair back with a yelp. Then she stood on shaking knees. The dress sagged down to her hips.

"Listen to me, Kristie", the seated woman said. She put in a pause to get the sobbing girl's full attention. "It is your right to regard yourself a lesbian. It is your right to refuse pleasing this man. It is even your right to tell me here and now: fuck you, Angique, and leave me. It is all up to you, darling. But listen..." She now rose herself. She walked two small steps to Kristie. Then she cupped her face and stared her down with the smouldering emerald of her eyes.

"If you decide to be a lesbian, you can't be my slave girl. Slave girls can't be lesbians. Nor can they be straight or bi or whatever they might fancy to be. They have no choice." She pulled the girl's face even closer. She repeated, much softer now: "They have no choice, darling. The choice is their Master's or Mistress's. Do you understand, sweet slut? I need you to tell me if you understand. You can't be mine and have a choice too."

The silence mingled with the murmurs of the restaurant and the soft sobbing of the girl.

"Do you understand, Kristie? Tell me."

"I... eh, I understand, Mistress", she whispered almost inaudible.

"You understand what, Kristie?"

"I eh... I understand I have no choice if I want to stay yours, Mistress."

Angique now took her shoulders. She turned the half naked girl around to face the Frenchman.

"If you want to be mine, Kristie, you have to go with this man. You must suck his glorious cock until he comes in your throat. Tell me that this is what you want to do for me."

She felt the girl tremble through her clutching hands. The aftershocks of her misery slowly got less intense. She pulled the girl towards herself. She made her breasts press into the bare back. Then she put her mouth close to the left ear. She whispered: "Please, beg me to be mine, my sweetest love."

Angique's hands sensed it before her ears heard the words. The change, the subtle sweet change when a girl surrenders. When both wills align. When at last a girl sees who she is. When destiny reveals itself.

"Please, Mistress... allow me to be yours."

That evening, back at the Villa, Angique asked Kristie to crawl into the huge bed with her. And to snug up into her embrace. They kissed and hugged and kissed again. Then they formed the sacred number. They gave each other numerous intense orgasms, before falling asleep.

"Did he treat you right, sweet angel?", Angique asked. She lay stretched out in the dark.

"He did, Mistress. And thank you for showing me who I am. It feels great to know that. And to know that I pleased you."

Another silence fell. Then the girl's sleepy voice said: "I am sorry I resisted you, Mistress. I am a stupid little girl. I shall never resist you again."

No answer. Then, minutes later: "I saw you serve him, darling. I saw you recline on the table. You rested on your back. You let your sweet head dangle from the edge so he could pump his big cock deep into your throat. Deep enough to get all of his nine fat inches embedded without fear of gagging you. You did very well, sweet slut of mine."

Silence again.

"Thank you, Mistress."

Putain.

She put the ticket into the lower drawer of her pseudo antique little cabinet. But it didn't collect dust there. It was taken out regularly, mostly at night in those bleary eyed hours. The hours we number three or four. The first hard-earned sleep has worn off and the second seems to elude our tired grasp.

Brigitte knew she was stalling. She knew she was acting as immature as Justine. Justine spread a blanket of silence around her since their last eventful meeting. Maybe she had lost her. Maybe the shame was too great to meet the cause of it again. Whatever, Brigitte thought. She shrugged. Who was she to moralise?

And again she dragged herself to the restaurant. She put on a smile. She served all the Cédrics and Justines and the heavy handed, hard laughing business men. The men with their cute, steel eyed secretaries. And their fellow business men from all over the country and even abroad. She served the tourists with their little booklets and their halting French. The French they quickly changed into English as soon as the impossible numbers had to be understood. "Quatre-vingt treize, my God, what IS that?"

She handed out menus. She pointed out the specialities. She tried to sell the top listed wines and overprized champagnes. Then she dragged herself back to her tiny apartment to fall asleep like a log. And she woke up at three to open the lower drawer again. She slowly fingered the sleek ticket's cover, imagining.

One evening she saw the real Cédric walk into the restaurant. He had a very slutty girl on his arm. She was a tall, classic platinum blonde. Her tits were twice the size her tube top could handle. Her face was cute in a Barbie kind of way. But she was heavily made up. Her mouth screamed cock, her eyes begged: fuck me.

Brigitte held herself back not to embarrass the man. Through him she might hurt Justine. Although she doubted that he would recognise her. She had been at their wedding. She even had been Justine's bridesmaid, but that was a few years back now. And Cédric was, well, let's say not the type to remember faces he saw outside a mirror.

"Tu connais l'homme lá? Et sa putain?" a throaty female voice said at a table right beside her. Brigitte started and turned. She looked straight into the chuckling face of a business type woman in her thirties. She had straight brown hair, an intelligent face, a twinkle in her gray calm eyes. She held a new cigarette between long, slim fingers. She looked like a strong woman. She had a strong voice too, but with a surprisingly sensuous edge.

Brigitte agreed that she knew the man. She added he was the husband of her best friend. This made the woman click her tongue. She added a soft oh-la-la. Then she asked if this was a place for men to take their maitresses to. Brigitte thought about this, but no. Although it was a favourite hangout for corporate types, she didn't think so. But yes, she had to agree, this definitely wasn't Cédric's wife. She definitely wasn't his secretary or business partner either.

The woman chuckled her throaty laugh at this again. She reached out a hand to lay it on Brigitte's arm. She asked her if there was anything on or off the menu, which she would recommend. The hand seemed to send little pulses through her skin. Brigitte immediately understood what she meant by off the menu.

But she dutifully pointed out the specialities. She also dwelt on the fresh délices du marché. She felt herself smile beyond the call of duty. And she noticed how she started to respond to the cool and easy gaze of the woman. The husky voice seemed to tighten its control with every new word. It caught her in a soft web. It subtly wove a cocoon of intimacy.

She returned to bring the wine, the entrée and the dessert. And each time a new sweet layer was added. At last she brought the coffee and the bill. She did not even blink when the woman told her to go to the restroom and wait for her in one of the stalls. And please to get rid of her soaked panties.

In the last half-hour every touch and every whisper had made the short hairs in her neck rise. They made her nipples tingle and her crotch swell. When she walked to where the restrooms were, her knees trembled. The wetness of her panties made her thighs squish at every step.

In the room two lady guests were checking their faces. They gossiped in a flat Canadian English. Brigitte smiled at them, Then she went to the first stall. She got out of her soaked panties and sat down on the bowl. She stared at the closed door. She felt a throbbing pulse in her throat. The scent of the balled up panties in her fist started to permeate the air. They made her nostrils flare. My God, Brigitte, she thought. Now who is the whore here?

But she did not move. She just sat there and heard the ladies leave. She sat and waited for the woman to visit her. She was ready to do whatever she was supposed to.

Then she heard the door to the restaurant open. She noticed the click of heels. They hesitated for a second. Then they came in her direction. The stall's door opened. The woman stood silhouetted against the cream tiled background.

"Brigitte", she said and smiled. "Ma belle putain. Tu es si gentile et patiente." Then she stepped forward. She tucked up her gray business skirt. She exposed strong, athletic thighs framed in black garters. She wore no panties. Her nicely trimmed crotch was a perfect triangle.

"Mange-moi, saloppe", she whispered. Her words were like steel darts dipped in honey. Brigitte never even wavered. She leaned forward to press her lips against the slit. She opened it with the tip of her tongue. She rested her hands on the woman's hips and pressed forward. She tasted the slick pink linings. Then she moved upwards to search for the clit.

"Fuck me with your pointed tongue, cheap little whore."

The words seemed to float in the air. They did not touch her as she started to bob her head. She drove her tongue into the moist, narrow cave. My God, the heat of it.

"Plus vite! Aaaah, mais oui, ma jouet, plus vite! Plus profond... aaaahhh..."

She felt the woman's cunt hump against her face. The nicely trimmed hair filled her nose. A low, soft moan rose. It blended with the hoarse purring of a cat. Her own pathetic gasps for air mixed with the sloshing sounds her tongue made. Yet again she speeded up.

Two insisting hands pulled her hard against the crotch. All air seemed to vanish. She became a pistoning machine. All thought left her. All consciousness fled her mind. She pushed and pushed her stiff tongue to greater depths. Their movements started to synchronise to a devastating rhythm of one, two, one, two, in, out, in, out. The lack of air made her feel dizzy. Her body got limp. Only her tongue held its dutiful rigidity. It pumped and darted. It fucked.

The woman's moans rose to screams. She tightened even further. Her thighs stiffened. She started coming. She held her pet like a vice. Her shrieks followed the pattern of her increased motions. She spasmed. She buckled against her whore and cried obscenities. She called her the worst of names. Then she sank down to her knees and pulled the ruined face of her toy over her silk clad chest. She held it up against her shoulder.

For a while she lay panting against the door. She hugged her unconscious plaything. Then she at last came down from her incredible high. She kissed the girl on her brow and let her slide to the tiled floor. She straightened her own skirt and blouse and stepped out of the stall. She closed the door behind her. Then she walked over to the mirrors. She retouched her face and hair and went back into the restaurant. There she asked for a cab. Two minutes later she slid into the back of the car.

She pointed out the directions to her hotel.

It took longer for the fazed out fucktoy to change back into the waitress Brigitte. Or what was left of her. They were minutes of gasping, gagging, almost throwing up. Then there were more minutes of sobbing muffled wails. And a low, sad repetition of no's.

At last she grabbed the top of the toilet bowl. She dragged herself up to her feet. Her head throbbed. Her jaws ached. She tried to focus her eyes. She struggled to stand on her feet without help from the walls. Then she pushed at the door and stepped into the tiled space outside.

At the dainty china washbasin she dabbed her hot face with cold water. She redid her ruined hairdo. She restored her make up as far as she was able to with only her hands. Seeing herself in the mirror made her wince.

Then she turned to leave. The door opened and in walked the platinum escort. Her signal red lips curled into a knowing smile. She winked a heavy lashed eye.

Leather.

The day had been long. It had been filled to the brim with sweet Italian spring. Now the last rays of the sinking sun played along the top of the summer room's walls. The rest of it was already in shadows. Angique lay on the velvet-clad chaise longue. She sipped espresso from a tiny cup. A burgundy robe of glowing silk was wrapped around her. Kristie knelt naked at her feet. She hugged Angique's legs. Her blonde head lay against them. Her skin held a fresh glow from a day in the sun. It shone with a layer of scented oil.

They had been down at the lakeshore. Arnold had filled the hold of the elegant, classic Riva speedboat with a tall basket containing the ingredients for an unforgettable picnic.

He had taken them to one of the tiny islands. As soon as he left, they both tore the flimsy summer dresses off their bodies. They plunged naked into the cool, deep water. Kristie was a great swimmer. She seemed a little golden dolphin. She sped her strong, sleek body effortlessly through the clear waters. Angique wasn't. She was content to be able to thrash around. She could just keep her pale mermaid's body from sinking. Swimming had never appealed to her. Even the few humble strokes she'd mastered had cost her years of suppressing fear and gaining control.

But right now she was glad she had not given up. She loved to feel the girl's slick body slide along her back. She loved the dainty hands teasing. Cool wet titties fondled hers. And yes... few things beat the immense pleasure of kissing a wet, shivering face. To hug like mating nymphs below the huge coppola of a summer sky.