“I can see you from the balcony,” he wrote. “Cream top…”

My eyes scanned the white-washed facade of the hotel before me, but there appeared to be no sign of him at any of the large bay windows overlooking the road. How typical! He always seemed to have the upper hand… and that’s how I like it.

There was no sign of him in the lobby either.

Bonjour mademoiselle!” the swarthy receptionist greeted me. “Je peux vous aider?” I could tell he was one of my own kind, grinning at me in brotherly recognition, and so I answered in a suitably curt and dismissive manner. Finally, after what seemed like ages, but was probably no more than a minute, I heard him call my name and turned to see him standing in the lift. As I rushed to join him, I could see that smirking receptionist ogling us through the glass doors – how obnoxious! Oh, but secretly, I love to be stared at…

I had not forgotten the 10-second rule, and so began to strip immediately upon entering the room. It was strange to be naked in front of him again! After my long period of abstinence, I had become very shy and self-conscious about my body. But I felt my shyness melt away as soon as he kissed me, with my body pressed against his, and the familiar smell of his skin like an aphrodisiac to me. Yet I still did not know how the afternoon would go. I wanted so much for it to be worth his while. When he pushed his fingers inside me, though, I knew at once that I would come – soon, often, and hard. I could feel my G-spot responding instantly to his touch, growing swollen as I became wetter and wetter, and then I felt that final gush and burst of pleasure, and I knew it would be a great afternoon… at least, for me.

“Now go stand out on the balcony,” he instructed me.

He had asked me this once before, in London, and then, I had refused immediately, but this time, I gazed at the balcony, in full view of throngs of tourists and migrant workers milling about outside the busy Gare du Nord station, and, in a crazy, lust-filled haze, I considered it, for a few seconds…



He grabbed my neck with one hand and slapped me sharply across the face with the other. I gasped in amazement… and extreme arousal. Then he bent me over on the desk and I trembled, knowing what was coming as he stroked my bare buttocks. Then, without warning, he struck me, hard and repeatedly, his hand flat against my smarting flesh as I cried out and tried in vain to wriggle away.

“Now undress me,” he ordered, and I knelt at his feet, my eyes watering, to do as he bade me. But all my pain was forgotten the moment I saw his erect cock in front of me. With a sidelong glance, I sought permission to take him into my mouth. Oh, it’s true I like to suck cock, but his is the juiciest…

“Do you want me to fuck you?”


“Then say it.”

“Please… fuck me.”

He laid me on the bed with a pillow under my hips, and spread my legs wide.

“Don’t you love that moment when my cock first enters your pussy?” he asked.

“Yes…” I murmured, but already, words were starting to fail me… pace yourself! I thought, but I just couldn’t help it, I was so wet and swollen and turned on, with his hard, thick cock slamming into me, and quickly, before it was too late, I remembered to ask permission: “May I come?”

“Not right now,” he said, and then… “now.”

And ohhh, it was splendid, and as I lay back letting the warm waves of pleasure wash over me, he plunged his fingers into me, and, all of a sudden, it was as though I was coming all over again, and over and over again…

“Oh, I shall die of happiness!” I cried.

“Really? You like being fisted?” he asked, in that dry, matter-of-fact way he has.

“What??” I gasped in horror, for never, never before… but he put his hand up to my mouth and made me lick each finger, in turn.

“See? They’re all wet. And you thought you had a tight cunt…”

I lay back, bewildered, but not for long, as he made me get on all fours, and watch in the mirror as he fucked me from behind. I knew I should feel ashamed to see myself being taken so ruthlessly, but the truth is that I never feel so beautiful as I do when he is fucking me. But I couldn’t keep my eyes open for long, as I was soon clutching wildly at the sheets in the throes of yet another orgasm! It seems incredible, I know, but the more I come, the easier it is. Still, I must confess, it isn’t often like this…

“There’s something we need to discuss,” he said, smiling as he lay back in bed. “Something which worries me, about you.”

I knew what it would be, really. But he went on, kindly. “From what I’ve read in your blog, and what you’ve written to me, I believe you have a tendency to fall in love with people you have sex with.”

Well, I wouldn’t say I fall in love with “people I have sex with”. It would be fairer to say I fall in love with people who make me come. And not just the automatic, almost reflexive orgasm from oral sex, but… this kind of full-body experience. Well, how can I help it? Oxytocin is a drug like any other. And who wouldn’t want more of a good thing? Especially when it is SUCH a good thing. But, more than this, the truth is that it excites me to be vulnerable to a man, and not just physically…

“I like playing with fire,” I told him, and he must have liked my reply, because he pulled me towards me, and kissed me, and he kissed me in the way I had often longed for him to kiss me.

“Put this on,” he said, tossing me a blindfold. It was not the flimsy airline eye mask I was used to, but made of a thick, contoured material which blocked out the light completely. And strangely, as soon as I slipped it on, I felt so much more exposed to him. I shivered at the touch of a metal blade against my skin. Although I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, I was trembling… he stroked the inside of my thighs with the edge of a wooden paddle, striking me lightly, just reminding me… of what he could do to me.

“You can take that off now,” he said. And then he fucked me again, hard, and deep.

“When was the last time you did it bareback?” he asked.

“I don’t know… why?”

“Well, how would you like to go home with my come dripping down your legs?”

“But I thought you said… you said you’d never…” I began, but before I could finish my sentence, I felt something tremendous building up inside me, and I could barely ask for permission in time, before I was practically screaming from the intensity of it, my whole body shaking… because, oh, what a thought! And not just the anticipation of his luscious come dripping down my trembling thighs, but the very fact that he should propose it, when… oh, it was silly of me, I know! After all, I had been the one to say, at the start, that this was one thing I would never do, but somehow, his immediate rejoinder – that he would never even consider it – had so bitterly rebuffed me! I felt a surge of crazy, orgasmic emotion threatening to burst forth from me! But I managed to hold it in check.

I was still reeling when he made me kneel down in the shower, but I was also trembling with a mixture of excitement and fear. I never knew exactly what he would do. He gently placed his hard cock into my eager mouth and began to face-fuck me, pushing it deeper and deeper until it hit the back of my throat and made me gag. His cock was so swollen by now that it seemed to fill my entire mouth, and I began to choke, panicking as I ran out of air. He seemed to delight in my discomfort, his cock growing huge in my mouth, and my eyes were watering as I desperately tried to pull away and keep going at the same time.

“It’s funny, I can’t tell if you love it or hate it,” he remarked. “But we’ll have to find out next time, shan’t we?”

He began to get dressed. Oh no!! Our afternoon of blissful debauchery was already over. I was crushed, and at the same time, how could I be so greedy? Surely I had already come enough to last me for… oh, the next two or three days, at least! I couldn’t help but admire him in his sexy “French” attire as he tried to console me.

“The Eurostar goes both ways, you know,” he smiled. “So now… how much are you worth?”

I didn’t understand, at first, but then I saw the cash he had tossed upon the bed, including two notes in a denomination I hadn’t even known existed until a couple of days before, when he had sent me a photograph to prove it. I modestly picked a few smaller denominations instead, and I think I made the right choice, for while in London I had never spent any of my “earnings” (I like to look over them, from time to time, as I touch myself and think of what I did), here I found myself paying for all kinds of mundane, trivial things like coffee and groceries with the money he had paid me, and every time I pulled out one of the notes he had given me, I couldn’t help but smile, thinking of how I had earned it.


One thought on “The Edge

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