textfiles/sex/EROTICA/0/4nbbs.txt

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        "...and another advantage to using our Carte Bleue service, monsieur,
is three months free access to our bank's MINITEL services," the proper French
banker said to me as I scrawled my signature on the dotted line.

        "What's a MINITEL?" I asked, the name sounding vaguely familiar.

        "Monsieur," he responded, slightly offended that I wasn't aware, "it
is France's newest technological achievement. It is a small terminal one uses
in the home to access a variety of data bases, such as your bank balance here
with us, a telephone directory listing, theatre and cinema schedules, and
much, much more," he continued proudly. "You can shop for things
electronically. You can even reserve seats for sporting events using your
Carte Bleue and your home MINITEL terminal."

        "Sounds wonderful," I said, wondering just how much of all that would
be available to an American with little command of the French language.

        "Ah, oui," he beamed again, "it is wonderful. In some ways, monsieur,
we French are not always following behind you Americans, n'est-ce pas?"

        "Surely," I said, and we discussed how I was to go about getting this
marvelous device for my apartment.

        "In fact," he continued," all that is required is for you to go to
your closest post office, and tell the clerk you want one. He will direct you
to the location where you can obtain a terminal, and also arrange for a
technician to install it for you. All completely without charge."

        What a deal, right? "So, what's the catch?" I asked him.

        "No catch, monsieur. You simply pay for the time when you use it, on
your phone bill, that's all. You may even discover some of our wicked--how do
you call them -- ladies of the evening. In France, monsieur, everything is
available on our MINITEL system," he said with a grin.

        Riding home on the train, from the giant skyscraper complex just
outside Paris where all the biggest office buildings are located, returning to
my 'bachelor pad' in the city, I couldn't help remembering the banker's last
words to me. "Everything is available on out MINITEL system.

              *                 *                *                   *

        How right he was! A few days later, terminal installed, I spent my
first evening exploring MINITEL. The procedures for using it are remarkably
easy. I turn on the terminal, dial one of three network telephone numbers,
wait for the answering tone, push the connection button on your terminal,
hang-up the phone, and that's it!

        The next thing to do is to select the service you wish to access.
These are advertised all over town, and are also listed in the directory
provided by the phone company specifically for the MINITEL networks. Even with
my limited abilities in French, I could see that some of the services looked
more appealling than others. For example, a full page ad, in color, picturing
an incredibly sexy pair of red, moist lips and telling me to dial E-R-O-S
seemed as good a place as any to begin. So I began.

        After a couple of seconds, a sensuous drawing of a beautifully
voluptuous woman began to appear on screen, one line after another. The lacy
bra she wore only half covered her breasts. From a list of choices, I selected
"DIALOGUE DIRECT" and hit the SEND key. The next message asked me to type in a
pseudonym, so I responded with A-M-E-R-I-C-A-N-- why not?-- and entered my
'name' into the system. Immediately a new screen appeared, with a full list of
names of other people "talking" on the network that evening.

        Each pseudonym had a number in front of it, so sending a message to
any given person was simple. A quick scan told me I wouldn't be interested in
talking to PENIS or GAI-BOY or GROSBITTE(French slang for cock). I studied the
list a bit more carefully, with the help of my French-English dictionary, and
selected what I presumed would be a woman, who called herself CHRISTINE THE
HUNTRESS! Intrigued, I entered her number. A blank screen appeared, and I
typed in my message. PARLEZVOUS ANGLAIS? JE SUIS AMERICAN, ET MA FRANCAIS EST
PAS BIEN.

        A few seconds later, I received a reply. YES, I SPEAK ENGLISH. ARE YOU
REALLY AN AMERICAN?

        YOU BET! I replied, enjoying the fun of a new game. WHAT ARE YOU
HUNTING FOR? I typed.

        IF YOU ARE REALLY AMERICAN, she answered, WHAT IS THE CAPITOL OF THE
STATE OF NEW YORK?

        ALBANY, I responded, amused. AND LANSING WAS STILL THE CAPITOL OF
MICHIGAN THE LAST TIME I CHECKED. NOW TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE HUNTING FOR!

        SORRY, she replied, BUT SO MANY FRENCHMEN WILL SAY THEY ARE AMERICAN
JUST TO GET ATTENTION. I HAD TO BE CERTAIN. I AM VERY WELL KNOWN IN FRANCE,
AND MUST BE DISCREET. THAT'S WHY I PREFER AMERICAN MEN, she continued. TO
ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, I AM A WEALTHY FRENCH ARISTOCRAT SEEKING MALE SEX SLAVES
FOR MY CHATEAU IN THE COUNTRY.

        Quickly I typed, EXACTLY WHAT DO YOU DO TO THESE "SLAVES"? DO YOU
ALLOW THEM TO FUCK YOU?

        OF COURSE, she replied, as my cock began to swell. BUT ONLY AFTER I'M
THROUGH USING THEM. DO YOU UNDERSTAND AND ENJOY S&M? OTHERWISE, IT IS RATHER
COMPLICATED TO EXPLAIN.

        I DON'T KNOW. SHOULD I? I typed. I DON'T THINK I'D ENJOY BEING TIED UP
AND WHIPPED.

        PITY FOR YOU. I CANNOT FIND JOY IN VANILLA SEX, ONLY SEX WITH FLAMING
BOTTOMS, she answered.

        WHAT DO YOU DO FOR A LIVING? I asked.

        I AM A FAMOUS MANNEQUIN AT ONE OF THE FASHION HOUSES HERE IN PARIS.
EVERY FRENCHMAN KNOWS ME, WHICH IS WHY I MUST BE SO DISCREET. YOU HAVE SEEN MY
PICTURES, I'M SURE. BUT I REQUIRE MY SPECIAL KIND OF SEX, AND AM CONSTANTLY
SEEKING NEW SLAVES. IN FACT, AT THE MOMENT I HAVE OPENINGS FOR TWO NEW SLAVES
FOR A COUPLE OF MONTHS. BUT PROBABLY YOU WILL GO HOME TOO SOON FOR MY
PURPOSES.

        I'LL BE HERE FOR TWO MORE YEARS, I answered, feeling like a
thirty-eight-year-old job applicant trying to land a position where the work
was a bitch, but the bonuses outstanding.

        PERHAPS WE COULD MEET, was her next line.

        TELL ME HOW! I replied, asking for her phone number.

        GIVE ME YOURS, AND PERHAPS I WILL CALL YOU, she said. IF SO, IT WILL
BE WORTH IT. I AM VERY TALL, WITH GREEN EYES, LONG LEGS, AND I DRESS IN BLACK
LEATHER. I DO NOT NORMALLY WEAR PANTIES. I AM DEMANDING, BUT ALSO EXTREMELY
UNINHIBITED SEXUALLY. AFTER I HAVE WHIPPED YOU, I WILL DO THINGS TO YOU THAT
YOU WILL REMEMBER FOR ALL YOUR LIFE. I AM, AS YOU WOULD SAY, VERY ORALLY
ORIENTED. I CAN DO THINGS TO YOU WITH MY TONGUE THAT YOU CANNOT IMAGINE.

        By this time, my cock was so hard and hot, I had it out of my pants
and was slowly rubbing the pre-cum that seeped from it over the head, while it
twitched with excitement. I knew that what I was about to do was pretty
stupid, but my cock said go ahead and give her your phone number, anyway. When
my dick is as hard as it was that night, it has a way of taking over functions
normally handled by my brain. I keyed in my number.

        CALL ME RIGHT NOW, OKAY? MY COCK IS SO HARD AND WET, IT'S GOING TO
EXPLODE ALL BY ITSELF IF I DON'T HEAR FROM YOU IMMEDIATELY!

        PERHAPS. PERHAPS TOMORROW NIGHT, her message read. I MUST GO NOW.
THINK OF ME AS YOU MASTURBATE YOURSELF, TONIGHT, she said, adding, MY SWEET
LITTLE AMERICAN SLAVE, and signed off.

        "Merde!" I said to myself, looking at my watch, shocked to see that it
was after midnight. Frustrated, I went to bed, and yes, I jacked-off as I
fantasized about what it would be like to really be whipped and then fucked by
a beautiful French fashion model.

        After I came, my brain took over the controls again. Sure, I thought.
She's probably a seventy-eight year old retired English teacher with a vivid
imagination.

        Naturally, I didn't get a phone call. Even so, the next night as soon
as I got home and poured myself a glass of wine, I sat down at my new toy and
dialed the EROS network again. I was disappointed upon finding no lady
huntresses on-line, so I talked to a few other sweet young things, with names
like COQUINE  and NICOLE and SALOPE-- French for "bitch"--it's amazing what
one can learn with the aid of a good French slang dictionary. I found couples
seeking other couples, or bi-women, lots of gay men, a few lonely women just
looking for conversation, and a few straightforward hookers, who wanted to
meet me, if I would agree to "help them out with some francs." I finally
signed off and had a late dinner.

           *             *              *              *              *

        The next few nights, my mystery lady still declined to make an
appearance. Then finally, about 10:30 , as I was preparing to sign off again,
she reappeared. As soon as I saw her code name, I sent her a message. HI--WHY
HAVEN'T YOU CALLED ME?

        She answered, SO AMERICAN, I STILL EXCITE YOU, YES?

        OF COURSE, I replied. BUT I WANT TO HEAR YOUR VOICE. CAN'T WE AT LEAST
TALK? PLEASE CALL ME, OK?

        I LIKE TO HEAR MY MEN BEG, was her message, then HANG UP. I WILL CALL.

        I disconnected, and waited a very long, sweaty five minutes. When the
phone rang, it seemed like a bomb going off next to me. I let it ring once
more, then lifted the receiver.

        "Hello," I said deeply, trying to sound as cool and sexy as possible.

        "Hello, American," a delicate French accent answered. "Are you happy
to speak with me, at last?"

        "Yes," I said, unzipping my pants, lying back on the bed. "Very
happy," I sighed, taking my cock out,stroking it slowly.

        "You are excited. I can hear it in your voice. Perhaps you are
touching your, how do you call it, your big American cock, yes?"

        "Yes, I am touching my big American cock, and it's getting bigger by
the second," I breathed, telling the truth.

        "Really?" she said, mocking me with her voice.

        "Yes, really," I answered seriously. "If you were here, you could see
for yourself."

        "And what would you do for me?" she asked.

        "Whatever you asked me to," I answered, half seriously.

        "Would you like to meet me?" she teased.

        "Of course. How? Where? When? Tell me, and I'll be there," I said
quickly. I meant it by now. My cock was swelling under my steady attention.

        "I can tell by your cute accent that you must be American," she said.
"Be in front of Cartier tomorrow night at eight o'clock, and we will pick you
up. Look for a dark blue Jaguar sedan. Hold a copy of your silly colored
newspaper, USA TODAY, under your arm. Be on time, or we will leave without
you. Is that clear?"

        "Yes," I answered, "I'll be there."

        "Yes. You will," she said with a laugh, then hung up.

        The next evening, feeling very self-conscious, I was standing outside
of Cartier at 7:45, wondering again just what I was Letting myself in for. At
eight, her car still hadn't shown up, and I began to feel even more foolish. A
moment later, a blue jaguar did pass by. It circled the block, pulled up
slowly next to me, and stopped. The back door swung open, and her voice said,
"Get in."

        I climbed into the car, and could hardly believe what my eyes were
reporting to me. She really was beautiful. She appeared to be about 28 years
of age, close to six feet tall, wearing short blonde, almost punk-cut hair. A
short, black leather mini-skirt revealed long gorgeous legs. She wore
spike-heeled, black leather boots, and patterned black nylons, held up by
black garters. The white skin of her thighs was exposed, and looked very soft
and touchable. A black chiffon blouse, very transparant, revealed small, but
well-rounded tits. Long dangling gold earrings accentuated her high
cheekbones.

        "So, American, you are happy now?" she asked, grinning at me.

        "Very," I answered, noticing for the first time the huge black Great
Dane peering at me from the front seat. It looked nearly as mean as did the
driver, a stocky, bald black man.

        "Don't mind Brut, or Andre. They will not harm you. Only I will harm
you, my pet," she said, stroking my cheek lightly with a black-suede-sheathed
hand. I was beginning to have sincere doubts about the wisdom of this entire
undertaking, which she must have noticed.

        "Here," she said, handing me a pair of black bikini panties. "These
are mine. I wore them especially today, just for you. Sniff them for me."

        I did as I was told, as she slowly spread her legs, and began to
fondle her totally shaven, glistening pussy. Between the view and the essence
I was inhaling through her panties, my cock began to stiffen again, and she
knew then that she had me.

        "Lick my cunt, slave," she said, as she grabbed my tie and pulled me
down by it, until I was on the floor of the auto. Her fragrant, open wetness
thrilled me, and I eagerly did as she had commanded. Her fingers tugged at my
hair, her nails dug into my scalp as I ate her there in the back seat of her
Jaguar. I still could hardly believe this was actually happening to me.

        "Andre, take us to the apartment. I want him now," she said. In a
short while, we stopped, and went into her apartment. Once inside, she led me
back to her "playroom," locking the door behind us.

        She undressed me and led me to an exercise bench. I was tied to it,
face down. I watched as she undressed, leaving on only her garter-belt,
stockings, and boots. Humming to herself, she selected a cat-o-nine-tails from
a selection of various whips that hung on the wall. Then she positioned her
cunt directly in front of my face.

        "I am going to whip you, now, while you bury your face where it
belongs," she said. "When you have made me come twice, I will stop, and then
you shall have your reward."

        The next half-hour was a strange combination of pleasure and pain.
Each time she struck me, I began to cry out, but the sound was muffled as she
used her other hand to press my face into her pussy. After a while, the action
blurred and the whipping and cunt-lapping merged into a singular experience.
The more she hit me, the faster my tongue moved, and the more of her pungent
juices I drank, the more I wanted her to whip me.

        She came the first timeafter about ten minutes and I moaned in
protest. I didn't want this to end.

        "Beginning to like it, aren't you, little slave?" she purred. "Dig
deeper!" I was happy to obey her, and curled my tongue as far into her oozing
pussy as I possibly could, back where the secretions were really thick and
musky.

        I could tell I was getting to her, not only because her thighs began
to tremble, but the strokes across my ass were sharper; I heard the slap of
leather against flesh reverberating across the tiny room. When she came for
the second time, my cock felt hard enough to bore a hole fight through the
bench that held me captive.

        After a short rest, she walked around by my feet, and lay face-down
between my legs. She spread the cheeks of my ass, and licked the dark valley
that lay between. Then she flicked all around the puckered center, and then
forced her tongue inside me. The little gurgling sounds she made in her throat
excited me more than anything I've ever known.

        When I was about ready to burst my bonds, she stood up and untied me.
She then reached under my waist and tipped me over so that I fell to the
floor. I screamed in pain as my ass hit the ground, but I had only a second to
conplain as she swooped down instantly, her mouth covering my throbbing
erection.

        All I can say about that evening is that she certainly delivered on
her promise to do things to me that I'd never forget. She lovingly carressed
the head of my cock, then focused her tongue along the little groove. Next she
washed the entire shaft, top to bottom, with quivering, wet strokes, before
taking the bulk of it between her lips. She slowly slid her head down until my
cock was lodged deeply in her throat, with her face buried in my pubic hair.
Just as I began to fear she might pass out from lack of oxygen, she pulled
back like a diver suddenly surfacing, then dove back down again, this time to
lick my balls.

        She sesed that I was close to exploding, for she slipped my cock into
the warm nest of her mouth once again, this time sucking and licking both, and
providing me with the promised thrill -of-a-life. She wrapped her fingers
around the base of my cock and bounced her face up and down, faster and
faster, her lips tightening, her tongue working its magic, until I could no
longer contain it, and I erupted, my sperm cascading into her mouth as she
gulped and swallowed.

        Afterwards, she slid up and lay in my arms and we dozed off, together,
there on the floor. Later, we got up and showered. Her chauffeur, now doubling
as a waiter, brought us bread, wine, and cheese.

        I never saw Christine again, although we do "chat" occasionally on the
MINITEL. I've met several other women through the computer, though, as well as
two or three couples.

        I've met airline hostesses, female advertising executives, one woman
who owned a boutique, a computer sales-woman, and at least three secretaries.
I don't date all of them, of course, but do manage to keep my evenings full of
adventure, or at least promise. Someday, I may even convince my friend, "the
Huntress," to invite me to her apartment again. I keep my fingers crossed.