This is a print version of story Counting To Three In French by KDG from

Counting To Three In French

He’d met her at a dinner party, one of those half-business,
half-pleasure things for the university that had filled too
much of his time that summer. The night was hot and
Midwest muggy, but for some reason they’d been led
outside for after-dinner drinks in the bugs and the
flickering light of the citronella torches. He first noticed
her then, pretty, tall but rounded with light brown hair and
hard green eyes, and he had watched her as she leaned
alone against a column on the shadowed patio while his
friends chattered around him about movies and health
clubs, watched until she had finally dipped into her purse
and removed a sleek silver case. She’d popped it open and
pulled out one slim dark cigarette, lit it and brought it up
slowly to set between her full lips. Her eyes finally met his
then, steady over the glowing ember, but he’d made
himself look away. Kurt did triathlons. He didn’t do
Now he lay naked in darkness, silken rope wrapped
round his wrists and ankles, a blindfold tight on his face.
He lay on the floor of the ancient Parisian apartment and
could smell the layers, the generations, of smoke that had
soaked into the wooden floor and thick plaster, the carpets

and battered furniture. Over that ancient scent was a fresh
cloud of harsh fume, drifting on the swell of French
chatter that came from the next room where Marie was
talking with her friends, telling them God knows what,
preparing to bring them in here. In here to where he lay,
helpless, alone, naked. Hard.
The French had caused it. Kurt didn’t know a word, but
its shape in Marie’s mellow alto had thrown him at that
party. After he had looked away, after he thought he’d
refused her, she’d walked up and spoken to one of his
friends. He’d known she was asking about him by the way
her cool eyes slid over his face and body as she spoke, but
what they said had been lost to him. Holding his drink in
the humid night air, surrounded by others but dreadfully
aware of her presence, that sudden sense of helpless
ignorance had made him lose track of his aversion to
smoky clothes and mouths that tasted of ash. When she’d
finally spoken to him in clear English, lightly layered with
her native tongue, he heard sensuality and sureness, and
deep in it all, command. Later that night he was on his
knees in her apartment, mouth on her sex and hands
cupping the warm smooth skin of her buttocks, bringing
her to climax as she stood and stared down at him past the
red coal of her dark cigarette. She had waited until
morning before she had finally smoked him, and he’d
brought her to orgasm twice more with his hands before
that. That was how she wanted it, how she had ordered it,
and so that was what he’d done. One night and she owned
him, and he bent himself to her will, helpless in his hunger
to please her, to bend himself to her desire.
She had returned to Paris in the fall, had left him alone
and lost without her sex and loving disdain. Kurt had been
dominated before, learning and experimenting with three
different women before Marie, but it was different with

her. It was easy, nothing played at, just something that was
between them. Simple, complete, total. When he first had
the chance, he had flown to her, to a smoky city that he
had never thought much of before, in a country he had
never cared for. Two weeks with Marie, five days already
gone, passed in sex, subjugation and cigarette smoke.
Trapped in her city, trapped by culture and language, he
was helpless in a way he had never been before, dependent
on his lover for everything. Marie laughed at his
uselessness and made him pay for her help with his
tongue, his fingers, and his cock.
In the other room, he heard chairs shuffle, floorboards
creak, the sound of the door clicking open. He heard
Marie’s voice, low and darkly amused, mixed with the
sounds of soft laughter and excited French. Kurt couldn’t
tell how many, one, two, a thousand, they were coming
into the room and staring down at him, naked and helpless
and blind, so hard and wanting he was already dripping
wet warmth down onto his belly. Footsteps surrounded
him, soft pad of bare or stockinged feet intermixed with
the clatter of heels, then silence as they stopped. Kurt
could feel them staring down at him, staring with humour
and disdain as they flicked the ash of their stinking Cloves
and Marlboros over his bare skin, coating him in the grey
dust dandruff of their nicotine angels. Beside his head, the
ancient floorboards sighed and popped as someone
stepped close to lean down and run a hand through his
hair. In her beautiful accented whisper, Marie spoke to
him, ‘All here now, pet. I want us to play a game with
you. Each will have a turn, each will touch you three
times, trying to make you mess yourself. You will try to
contain yourself, exhibit your control. You must prove
your mettle. Show some spine.’ Kurt nodded, excitement
twisting with dread, the best of feelings, and listened to the

rustle of whispers and clothes being shed. He wondered
who was out there, if he had met them before in one of the
crowded coffee shops or clubs that Marie had pulled him
through, foreign and mute, what they looked like…were
they all women, or had Marie included men in this? His
jaw clenched, and he fought the urge to buck and twist, to
try to pull free and see.
Now in his extremity, someone came, and he heard a
soft chorus chant out Un, then felt the hands. Warm
fingers traced a feather touch on his lips, one parting them
to stroke gently through and slip along teeth and tongue,
then away. They came again and he sucked at them, hot
and slim and long-nailed, and he could see in his mind the
stain of ash and nicotine that must mark them. Deux came
the chant, and spider light the fingers traced circles around
his nipples before moving in to roll and tug them into
hardness. Too light, a tickling torture that tormented as it
pleased. Trois, and the hands lifted away, were gone, and
then settled down again on his cock. Like a startled bird, it
jerked up at the touch, and Kurt gasped at the intensity,
felt how close he was to coming just with these first
caresses. He heard laughter, and his panic and desire
tightened as he fought to keep himself from climaxing as a
hand wrapped around his shaft, firmly squeezing as
another finger stroked the tip of his sex and spread the
droplet of slick liquid that clung there over its swollen
head. Kurt whined with the pleasure and felt himself
move, hips fucking the hand even as he tried to reign
himself in. Then the touch was gone, and he was alone and
trembling on the floor.
‘Don’t embarrass me, pet. At least try to pretend you’re
not pathetic.’ Marie’s voice was still light, but there was
the cold note of threat to it that Kurt knew well, a promise
of punishment if he were to disappoint. Listening to her,

he didn’t notice the approach of the next person until the
word Un cut through the air and he felt lips touch his ears,
teeth bite light on the lobe. The sudden touch was more
startling than erotic. He managed to regain some control
even as he yelped at the contact. With Deux the mouth
lifted and touched his throat, sucking and biting him
lightly over the lines of his pulse, a sensation that always
went through him. His newly found control began to slip
rapidly as teeth pressed into his skin, until he felt
something new, a harsh scrub against his neck that made
his hands clench even before the word stubble could form
itself in his head. A new twisting anxiousness brought
with it another wave of lust, and he began to really feel it
now, the dizzy pull of separation that came over him
during an intense session of dominance, when he really
lost himself in what was happening and let go of
everything but the experience. He missed the word Trois
entirely, only knew distantly that it must have been spoken
when he realized that the mouth was gone from his neck,
that instead it had taken the tight knot of his balls into its
warmth. Pulling free, he floated in the sensation of the
tongue that twined and lapped at him until it was gone.
Distant soft laughter, scolding French as bodies
shuffled, a murmured Un, then hard soft against his lips a
nipple pressed, while the other breast’s heat brushed
against the side of his face. He opened his mouth and let it
in to suckle, nursed on sweat and nicotine until it was
lifted away. He licked his lips after it had slipped from
them, missing the comforting erotic touch of it in his
mouth, then came the next count. With Deux he felt both
breasts return, large and heavy, not Marie’s. They pressed
against his chest, big nipples rubbing over his small ones,
their heavy softness stroking across him, the silk of them
burning trails across his skin. Trois, and down his chest

and belly they stroked, finally brushing over his cock so
that he was cradled in the space between. She moved,
pressed her breasts together; Kurt felt himself wrapped in
them, surrounded by their softness until she slowly pulled
away. Kurt lowered his hips, slowly realizing he had
raised them to thrust deeper into the cleavage whose heat
still ghosted on his skin. Outside of his head, out there, he
heard more talking, the clink of glasses, and twisting
anticipation and shame moved in slowly quickening
currents through him.
Footsteps finally close again, and a whispered Un
followed by heat and scent and suffocation as a cunt
pressed against his mouth. His gasp flooded his mouth
with the taste of her, and he lapped at the soft flesh, not
caring that he could only barely breathe. The woman
pushed herself down into his face as he pressed his tongue
up into her, and he heard a distant moan muffled by her
thighs and felt her legs tremble against him. With a
reluctant seeming slowness she moved then, pulling her
sex away from his hungry mouth and went sliding down
him until he felt the hot wetness of her resting on the skin
of his chest. Lost, Kurt licked her taste from his lips and
waited for what would come next. With Deux, her small,
sweat slicked hand grasped his cock and pulled it up, and
he groaned through clenched teeth as his body arched,
working desperately to help her sheathe the painful
hardness of his cock in her. Warm wet lips brushed him,
then with one strong motion she rose up and then came
down on him, her cunt clenching his cock as tightly as her
hand had. In his distant space, Kurt could feel the currents
of desire and torment begin to spin in him, to strengthen
and turn in a growing gyre, a storm of release in whose
slowly shrinking eye he centred himself. Another moan
from the woman who rode him echoed through the eye,

and from some far place he heard Marie say something in
a different language. The woman above him stopped her
rocking, relaxed her body’s grip on him and stood, leaving
him wet and groaning in the storm. He could hear Marie’s
soft laughter somewhere above him, and he knew she
knew where he was.
In a soft mutter he heard another order from her, then
Trois, and the woman returned, pressing down on him
again, naked skin warm against his chest, hair brushing
across his face, buttocks pressed against his hips. The tip
of his cock brushed against the hollow sheltered between
her soft cheeks and he pushed forward as she pushed
down, helping him sink onto her. He thrust hard, groaning,
straining against the ropes that held him as the eye of his
storm began to fray and collapse, all control lost as he
fought to reach out to hold whoever it was down on him so
he could finish; sheathed in her flesh, and with a sudden
desperate cry, he was slammed back into himself,
sensation pouring through him as he shuddered and came
in her.
When he finally stilled, his body slowly relaxing back
to the floor below him, he could feel that the woman
above him still moved and thrashed, her hands gripping
tight on his forearms and her feet hooked around his
calves. He pulled in his breath and listened to her
whimpers, began to wonder about them as his heart
stopped pounding, then someone yanked the blindfold
away from his eyes.
On him, a woman, slim and small with short dark hair
panted, thrusting her hips up to Marie who stood over her
and rubbed her stocking clad foot over the woman’s cunt.
Marie flicked ash from her cigarette and stared down at
Kurt, then flicked her eyes to the woman that he was
buried in as she shuddered, groaned and stilled. Kurt felt
her ass pulse around him as she came, and a low wash of
pleasure went through him, making him close his eyes and
‘Not so long then, my pet. Your control is lacking.’
Kurt opened his eyes and stared up at his mistress, unable
to cope with answering her. Behind her a couple stood, a
heavy woman bare to the waist and a slim man with a thin
graze of stubble. They spoke to each other in French, then
the woman said something to Marie. She looked at the two
of them, her foot still pressing down on them both, and
then she nodded. The couple smiled, and without another
word gathered up the woman’s shirt and bra and
disappeared out the door.
When the sound of the apartment’s door clicking shut
came, Marie lifted her foot away, dropped the smouldering
butt of her cigarette into a half empty glass of wine, and
then plucked a short length of chain from around her wrist
and snapped one end to the collar around Kurt’s neck, the
other to the woman’s identical collar.
‘She is Gretchen. She belongs to me now, like you. A
German, and another fucking purist non-smoker. You
should get along fine.’ Marie stepped back and stared
down at them. ‘Another thing in common, she doesn’t
speak French either. Or English. Bonne nuit, my pets.’
Marie turned and stepped out of the room, snapping off
the light and closing the door, leaving Kurt and Gretchen
bound together by flesh and chain on the floor in the
smoke and shadows.

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