A French Postcard

Pierre-Paul Lamarque was in the study of the main house of his wall enclosed compound. He sat behind an opulent, dark brown desk with intricate carvings and fluted details. An oriental rug was in the middle of the mahogany hardwood floor. Taking up one whole wall was a floor to ceiling bookcase, and there were numerous object d'art distributed throughout the room. Basque tapestries hung on the rough stucco walls.

The bald, fifty-something year old Russian-born man was wearing a gray suit. Nearly the entire right side of his face was covered by a leather patch, starting at the bridge of his nose and descending to his jaw line and wrapping around his skull to overlay his ear, totally hiding it.

The tall, busty, brown-eyed woman from the casino stood before the desk as Lamarque examined the envelope she had handed him. When he opened it, he found an archetypical postcard so popular in Paris during the twenties and thirties. A sepia tinted reclining nude woman, her lower half wrapped in sheer lingerie and her right breast exposed stared into the camera. Her wavy, frizzy hair was characteristic of the jazz age.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he looked up at the woman, still wearing her evening clothes from her night out on the town. He passed it to her and she smiled in amusement.

"If it is, he paid me five thousand francs to play it," she replied. But as she held it up, Lamarque saw what written on the back. He reclaimed it and studied the four symbols. RFX6.

"What is his name?" Lamarque asked; she did not know. "Where does he live?" She told him the hotel just on the other side of the rear wall. "He is either a fool or clever. Which would you say, Babette?"

Babette: Clever.
Lamarque: What nationality?
Babette: British... Although... he is quite un-British.
Lamarque: Tall?
Babette: Yes.
Lamarque: The body of an athlete?
Babette: Athletic.
Lamarque: Good-looking?
Babette: Yes... Look, why don't you just come right out and say it, Pierre-Louis? The type of man I find attractive.

"You know," he said slowly, rocking back in his executive chair. "I think it may be time for a session. You have not had one since..."

"I know, I know," she nodded her head in resignation. "Since I botched photographing the formula during the break-in."

"Yes," Lamarque nodded, reaching for the phone, "Ten weeks between sessions is far too long." As he dialed an inhouse number, he remarked, "I hope the groundskeeper is not asleep already."

"I am certain he will not mind being awaken for a session," Babette replied.

***** ***** *****

By descending a set of stone stairs lining a rock wall, one can enter the mansion's wine cellar. A high, arched ceiling rose over the center of the room. The other three walls had entrances to enclaves with racks of bottles. In the center of the dank room was a solid, upright wooden beam. About two-thirds the way down metal wrist clamps were attached. A few feet back, there were two small wooden blocks that had metal ankle clamps. The top of the post had been beveled, with a leather padding covering it. A bottle of Mustela baby oil was on the floor next to the post.

Lamarque and Jacques, the large, muscular African groundskeeper, sat in wooden arm chairs, awaiting the arrival of Babette. The men wore black tee-shirts and laced up, ankle high 'boondocker' boots. From the waist down, they were nude, except for the foot wear. Between the chairs was a small, unfinished wooden table with a carafe of water and three glasses.

The creaking of the door caused their heads to turn towards the direction of the stairs, and the clop-clop-clop of Babette's medium-heel mules announced her arrival. She had tied up her long, brunette hair into a pony-tail and was wearing a light blue, terry cloth robe reaching to her mid-calves. Jacques arose to go over to the post. Without hesitation, Babette slid off her robe, revealing that underneath she was totally naked. Draping the robe over the back of the chair Jacques had just vacated, she slid off her shoes and padded over on bare feet to join the groundskeeper. She greeted him as she placed a foot next to each small block, spreading her legs wide.

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Babette," he replied in his deep voice, squatting down by the post to secure the clamps to her wrists when she leaned forward onto the leather padding. She smiled when she noticed that he was already fully erect, a testimony to her beauty. Going back to the small blocks, the groundskeeper closed the clamps around her ankles and stood up, looking towards the still seated Lamarque. The bald man with the half-mask nodded.

Jacques returned to the beam to retrieve the baby oil, Babette's eyes following his movements as much as she could from her bound position. Suddenly, she sucked in her breath when she felt the cool, viscous liquid come into contact with her lower back. The groundskeeper was pouring out nearly half the bottle over her bottom, moving the container from side to side. Re-capping the bottle, he placed it on the floor near one of her feet and used both of his wide, calloused hands to smear the oil over Babette's smooth skin. He made certain that the crevice between her butt-cheeks was lubed up as well.

Again Babette gasped, but this time it was Jacques inserting his middle finger into her vagina that was the cause. She closed her eyes and titled her head back, slowly rotating her hips as he fingered her. Once the muscular man was satisfied that Babette was properly 'prepped', he placed the wide tip of his cock against her glistening pussy lips.

The bound Babette open her eyes at that, bracing for what was going to come next. She had experienced the African's spear before, and once things got going, she thoroughly enjoyed its width and length. But the initial stages were always difficult.

"Uggghn!" she grunted in discomfort when the man pushed his cock all the way inside her pussy, not stopping until his testicles were touching her oily labia. Jacques gripped Babette's hips, and rocked back and forth, plowing into her. Her head dropped and she clenched her teeth as she was used by the big man.

Gradually, the discomfort became less intense as her body adjusted and she lifted her head and opened her eyes. The sight that met her gaze was Lamarque's erection pointed at her like a loaded gun, right between her eyes. She parted her lips wide, offering him access to her oral cavity. Lamarque took a half step forward, his dick entering Babette's mouth. The young woman closed her lips around the cock, her head moving back and forth as she sucked. Wet slurping noises from her head and loud, oily squishy sounds from her bottom filled the cavernous room as she was buffeted back and forth between the two men.

After several minutes, Lamarque made eye contact with Jacques and nodded his head. Babette felt the two cock leaving her and she took deep, cleansing breaths while the men exchanged positions.

The African's cock was wider than the Russian's, so Babette had to open her jaws as wide as possible but still she struggled to get him inside. Unlike Lamarque, who had merely stood there as she fellated him, Jacque actively arched his pelvis to and fro. Often Babette would gurgle out, "gack... gack... gack..." whenever the head of his cock would ram against the opening of her throat. With her mouth crammed so full of that black fuck-stick, she scarcely noticed the taste of oil and her own pussy juices.

Meanwhile, at the other end, Lamarque's fingers were dug into the soft flesh of Babette's hips as he slammed into her. Fucking her as hard as he could. Over the noises that she was making, Babette could hear her employer/lover's grunts as he drove into her.

Again a swap was made. Her brief reprieve was quickly ended when Lamarque shoved his hard, sticky cock - coated, as Jacques's had been, with oil and vaginal secretions - into her mouth. Gripping the top of her head with one hand, and clasping her chin with the other, the bald man held the brown-haired woman's head securely and face-fucked her. Ramming his rigid pole repeatedly down her tight throat. She gagged and coughed, saliva oozing from the corners of her lips as her mouth was used like a pussy.

When the men exchanged positions once more, Babette's body was shaking and she was covered with sweat. She did not have time to fully catch her breath before that thicker, longer cock of Jacques was using her throat as Lamarque had. With her nose pressed against the tightly curled pubic hair and her chin resting on those heavy nuts of his, Babette was afraid that she would pass out from lack of air. Jacques kept himself shoved down her throat, her lungs burning and her shoulders twitching as she struggled for air.

Finally, he pulled all the way out, a thick rope of spittle connected from the head of his wide cockhead to her bottom lip. As she repeatedly filled her lungs with air, her eyes widened. For she felt Lamarque's dick leaving her pussy to press against her anus. She started crying out in pain as he **** the head of his cock into her resisting butthole, her body trembling. But her screams were muffled when Jacques decided that she had had enough time to catch her breath and plunged his over-sized dick back into her mouth and throat.