PARISIAN INITIATION by JO DEAN
I was eighteen and after five years at a British public school, I was ready for adventure. I was delighted when my parents sent me to Paris for a month to learn French before I began a career in banking. They arranged for me to stay with an attractive widow, her pretty daughter, Henriette, and her aged mother-in-law in their spacious apartment overlooking the Seine. By day, I studied hard at the Sorbonne and in the evenings I flirted with equal zeal with Henriette. She responded, lowering her eyes and giggling at my efforts to speak French until I was driven mad with lust for her. So mad, that one night before supper, when I thought we were alone, I embraced her, locking my mouth on hers, and was rewarded by the dart of her tongue. ‘Arêtes!’ We leapt apart as her grandmother flung open the doorway. Her eyes fell on the protrusion in my trousers, which I was too late to hide.
Following the discovery, Henriette was locked in her room and I was marched back to mine and instructed to drop my trousers. Somehow my embarrassment did nothing to quell my erection. It was still there when Madame joined her mother- in- law. They left me standing in the middle of the room, while they covered the narrow single bed with a black rubber sheet. I had noticed the bucket in the bathroom with the tubing coiled around it, but had assumed it was some emergency measure to overcome the ancient Parisian plumbing. But when Madame carried it into the room, filled to the brim with steaming water, I didn’t know what to expect. The grandmother urged me towards the bed and before I knew what was happening, she had me on my left side, my right leg raised. She tilted my chin back to make made sure I watched while her daughter-in -law uncoiled the tube. The water fizzed lightly when she added two heaped spoonfuls of soda and swished it around.
The two women were clearly very practiced at their art. The grandmother ran her finger between my cheeks and found the ring. I struggled a little, but it was pointless as Madame was in front of me, holding me down. So I took a deep breath and resigned my self to my strange situation. I cried out afresh when I became aware of the warm flow seeping onto me, but Madame soothed me, stroking my thigh. For a while it felt strange but not unpleasant but soon I was begging again. The flow was clamped off but not before a slap on my buttocks from the grandmother to silence me. With each pause, she checked and pinched my stomach for hardness, making me wince with the effort not to expel. As the clamp was reopened, Madame massaged the swelling more gently. I was beyond shame and more grateful for the distraction when she took hold of my erection, and squeezed it hard. At the same time, my thighs were developing an ache that spread like oil through my stomach. They may consider this a punishment, I thought, but at that moment, it didn’t seem like one.
It must have taken a full twenty minutes to empty the pail of water into me. The grandmother spilled very little onto the rubber sheeting when she skillfully removed the tube and inserted a plug in its place. ‘Restez la!’ – ‘stay there!’ I was told, but in case I had other ideas, my ankles were fastened to the foot of the bed. I began to panic when they left the room, taking the pail with them. The cramps were beginning again when I heard them unlock Henriette’s door. Suddenly my own condition seemed less consuming. As the sounds drifted down the corridor, it was impossible not to imagine Henriette being undressed and spread on the bed. I heard her pleading, her mother cooing softly and her grandmother’s firmer tones. Before I knew it, my hands were working between my thighs, my wrists against the hard drum of my stomach, images of Henriette flooding my thoughts; how her soft belly would be swelling up and how her ripe buttocks would be raised and exposed. It wasn’t long before I was overcome but with a new intensity that I hadn’t experienced until then, enhanced by the vulnerability of my position.
When the women returned from dealing with Henriette I was untied and taken to the bathroom. The sense of release when the plug was removed was overwhelming and I was finally allowed to evacuate. They left me alone but several times, the grandmother came to check on me, watching me heave and strain, a look of triumph on her face. At last I was allowed to return to my room where the evidence of my pleasure still lay in a creamy white pool on the black rubber sheet. My French was good enough to understand that the grandmother regarded this as proof that I was not yet sufficiently purged or repentant. Lying face down on the black rubber, she spanked me until every final drop of liquid had drained out of me.
I returned to England a few days later without daring to flirt with Henriette again. Just as my parents intended, I went on to have a long career in banking. I’ve traveled the world, and confess that what began that night has become an obsession. I have discovered extraordinary women all over the world, all with their own special techniques, but I confess, that the trio of women who first initiated me in Paris are rarely far from my thoughts.