Date: Sun, 17 Mar 2002 05:33:16 +0000 (GMT) From: Justin Silk Subject: Paul & Nicole - Part Two. TG Paul and his French Maid Part Two Chapter Three: Maid in Heaven Copyright JustinSilk 2002. All Rights Reserved "Bonjour, mon homme" Sunday started as it had not done for many a moon. I slowly allowed the unfamiliar to permeate my being. The unfamiliar sound of another's voice. The unfamiliar scent of a French perfume licentiously mingling with sweat and spunk. The unfamiliar squeeze of a soft and sensual hand. The unfamiliar sense of being loved. I opened my eyes and found an adoring face smiling at me. "G'morning," I lazily sighed and smiled back. "Aren't you the doll I fucked couple times last night?" I drawled in my best Sky Masterson Bronxy voice. "Five times," breathed Nicole as she took my nose in her mouth and did extraordinarily erotic things with her tongue, before letting it drift down over my upper lip and into my mouth. I lifted the silk sheet and looked down. No, I hadn't dreamed it. Nicole had a dick. She liked to call it her clit, but for me, straight-until-yesterday-boy Paul, it was a cock, a prick. "Another stiffy?" "In my clitty? My clitty h-always like to get stiffy. Especially now that it have meet your big, hard cock. Oh, Paul, I have never, ever ad a lover like you. You are just sooooo sexy." "Are you a transvestite?" I asked. "No. I have breasts and I never dress like a man," Nicole whispered into my face. "Would you like to know my history?" "Of course, I would. But first I will go and make coffee." "But am I not your maid? Am I the maid? If so, I shall go to make the coffee." Nicole found croissants in the freezer and returned with our petit dejourner. "These are terrible croissants, cheri, but who cares." We ate our breakfast slowly and sensuously, feeding each other and sharing kisses between mouthsful of food. When we had finished, I reminded Nicole that she was to tell me about her `history'. "Ah, yes. Well, I was called Nicolas by my family. When I was 17 I fell for a boy, Gaston, at the Lycee. Gaston was one year h'older than me. And, oh, so `andsome. Usually, I was a very sensible person. But I had a great passion for Gaston. I must have been crazy, but one day I told him what I felt. "Mon Dieu, how stupid. That night, Gaston and some of his friends beat me up. It was very terrifying. Anyway, to be brief, my cousin Chantelle, she heard what had happened and took pity on me. "She was 27 and she was a lesbian. She invited me to her home and asked why I had told Gaston that I wanted him. "When I was finished, she said she had guessed that I was gay, but I protested that I wasn't. I was born a boy. I preferred boys more than girls. But ... but ... but ... Any'ow, after a while we worked out that I worshipped Gaston, not because I was gay and liked -- how you say -- rough trade, but because I thought like a girl. "Naturellement, because Chantelle is a lesbian, she was understanding. She asked if I wanted to be a girl. She was very protective, knowing that in h'our family there was not much sympathy for the gay boy. Her father was brother to my mother. He had a rage against the homosexual. He had disown Chantelle and she did not want that I should be badly treated by `im. "When she was convince that maybe I really knew what I wanted, she said she would show me how to look like a pretty girl. How to `ave the operation. How to be a pretty girl. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. "Chantelle and her girl friend - and me -- we had much fun making me to Nicole. We went shopping in all the best shops in Paris. "The funny thing is that I did not want to lose my penis. I thought I was travesti. And perhaps I was. Certainly, I would get so hot about being like a girl and would get so excited just to think about it. I would buy Elle and Marie Claire and every weekend I would go to Chantelle's friend's house and change from Nicolas to Nicole. "We would go to galleries and theatres and clubs and bars with me in dresses and make-up. Little by little my real personality took over and I would have to work hard at being Nicolas at school. "Three months later, two weeks after my 18th birthday, the three of us decided that I was ready for the ultimate challenge. The last school dance before I would go to the Sorbonne I would go as Nicole. "I was terrified to start with. But I knew I was gorgeous to look at, en femme or, then, en fillette. "Chantelle had had the difficulty to keep her hands from me when she made me up for the dance. Even before, men in the clubs and bars had never guessed I was a boy. Some of them knew me, but never realised that I was Nicolas. Only one, a neighbour, did say that I reminded him of somebody, but he couldn't say who it was. "Any'ow, at the school dance it was essential that nobody recognise me. But if they did not recognise me, they would wonder `who is this beautiful girl and why is she here? You can't just turn up at a school dance just like that. "It was a problem, bien sure. "It would have been impossible without an escort. "One other boy knew I was not like the rest. Jacques Lebouteiller was his name. Jacques was gay. He made the camping with the scout boys so he could be close to Gaston, the boy I desired. Jacques was sensitive, like me, but more sensible. He knew to be careful about Gaston. In fact, he was much friendly with Gaston and Gaston had no idea Jacques was gay. I was the only one he had told -- after I had been beaten by Gaston and his friends. In fact, he was the one who found me and took me home." As she whispered this histoire to me, Nicole started to stroke my cock. I felt sure she wouldn't finish her story before I once again had to fuck her. And it wasn't long before the urgency of my need for her overtook my fascination with her story. My cock stroking her prostate and my hands her clitty, I was falling deeper and deeper in love with Nicole. And her response told me that, without doubt, her feelings for me were just as intense. We came together, my chest and six-pack spreading her semen over her stomach. Kissing and cuddling, we lay contentedly in each other's arms. Eventually, I said "You were saying before I so rudely interrupted you?." Nicole chuckled. "Your intrusion was very welcome. Any'ow, where was I?" "You were telling me about Jacques and Gaston." "Ah yes. Just before the day of the dance Jacques told me that `e was scared that Gaston and his friends were beginning to guess his secret. Gaston keeped on asking Jacques why he have no girl-friend. Almost every boy had the girl-friend and every one would take a girl to the dance. So I say to Jacques that he should take me to the dance." Nicole exploded into a peal of piercing laughter. "Of course, he was horrified. "`You are crazy,' he said. `If I shall go with you, they will know that I am gay. They will kill us, tous les deux ... both of us.' "So I showed to Jacques some pictures of me en femme. The look of surprisedness of his face was wonderful to see." `This is you? Quoi d'extraordinaire. You can make yourself to look like this?' "Certainly I did not have desire of Jacques, but I liked the idea to go to the dance as Nicole and this would solve the problem. I suggest to Jacques that he tell to Gaston that he have met this bad, bad girl at a bar in Montmartre. I give to Jacques the photographie and say he will show it to Gaston and say that he is bringing this girl to the dance." Nicole's story was intriguing and I could well understand that men had never guessed her secret. After all, it had taken me a full hour and a half. "So on the night of the dance, Jacques comes in a taxi and brings me to the school from my cousin's home. And all the boys are looking at me. Perhaps it is rude to say it, but I was the most beautiful girl at the dance. How funny that the girl who excite the most boys has the big cock. "Jacques and I danced quite a lot, but then, suddenly, he says that he is not feeling so good. We go outside for the air and he is very sick. He apologise and asks if I will mind if he goes home. We call a taxi and I ask if he wants me to come with him. He says he will be OK and that I should stay. "Of course, I am now very scared. Gaston and his friends keep looking at me. I wonder if they know who I am. But, of course, they did not. "Any'ow, now that Jacques is not there I am asked to dance by many, many, many boys. At last, Gaston was one of them." "Did you dance with him?" "Of course. But can you imagine what it is like to be, excuse me, beautiful and afraid and to want the most gorgeous man in the room? I felt so sick." "And?" "I teased him mercilessly. I rubbed my thigh into his crotch. Which I could feel made him very, very `orny. Me, too. I was frightened that my cock would jump from my panties or that he would feel it and I would soon be dead. But you don't want to hear about my schooldays. Fuck me again mon grand amour." I thought I did want to hear about her clearly sexy schooldays, but since she was coaxing my hand to her sacred cloister I was reluctant to press her to finish the story. We returned to the present for the seventh time in the past eighteen and a half hours. Chapter Four : Maid in Heaven WE spent a lazy day that first Sunday and I lost track of how many times we made love. During the afternoon Nicole took a taxi home to `get some clean knickaires, as she charmingly pronounced the word, and I took the opportunity to do a few officey things that I should have done earlier. Needless to say, I couldn't keep my mind off Nicole. Particularly that I had made love to a creature with a cock. Did that make me gay? As I sat in my study I considered what lust had prevented me thinking about during the preceding hours. Having spent the night with a penissed woman was, I reflected, slightly alarming, but I couldn't get away from the fact that the past few hours with the extraordinary Nicole had been the most satisfying of my life. Nicole was every inch a woman. Except that she had a good eight inch start on most women who look as good as she. She was, in fact, a man with silicone breast implants. Fully-dressed, she looked like a woman. She sounded like a woman. And smelled like one, too, except for the few most intimate minutes when the aroma was positively male. On balance and to all intents and purposes, she was a woman as far as I was concerned. Not that I was, in the least, for the present anyway, concerned. For a few minutes I drifted off into a mental debate about how you define such things as gender. She hadn't set out to fool me or take me in. I guessed that she had given up such delights as gender deception soon after the school dance she'd told me about. In her mind she had been a woman for years. I recalled, probably not exactly, a quotation I'd learned in childhood. "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so" As Shakespeare had written in Hamlet, the mind determines all. All our perceptions, all our desires, all our fears, all our `understanding' are formed entirely in our minds. Most particularly, our prejudices. Our pre-judgments. And we're all inclined to prejudge, based on `ideas' that have formed and hard-wired themselves into our brains, often without even the briefest thought. Prejudice is rarely premeditated. How many of us believe, perhaps in good faith, that our `convictions' are based on logical observation? It was likely, therefore, I mused, that Nicole would, over the coming hours, days, weeks, reveal some of her own prejudices. Yet so far as her femininity was concerned, I was sure that it was her instincts, her courage and her intelligence more than any deviousness which helped her navigate through life. I wondered if she wanted to become a full woman. And it was quite a shock to realise that the last thing I wanted was for that to happen. But there was very little chance of Nicole wishing that. She had told me, during one of those post-coital interludes when secrets are shared, how, during her teens and after she had revealed her desires to Chantelle, her greatest wish had been to achieve breasts. "'aving only my chests was limiting. I would buy some gorgeous clothes and be very excited to wear them, but my chests spoiled the look. And I did not at all like the false soutien-gorges. I loved to `ave the orgasmes from my penis, so I did not wish to fuck around with the `ormones. Then one day I meet a danceuse from The Crazy Horse -- she was lover to Chantelle -and she tell me about the implants. Et voila!" I still worried about being gay. Unimaginably, I had that morning taken her very impressive prick in my mouth. I had eaten her to climax and although the first load of her semen had made me gag, I had swallowed almost all of it. I had certainly liked having that pulsing stem in my mouth. It was too early to say that it was `love', but there was a fair chance that it was full-blooded, heart-charging, stick-stiffening lust. You can generally be certain of that. Tired from the exertions of this new involvement, I dozed off and it was dark when I was awakened by the insistent ringing of the intercom. It took a second or two for the significance of this to dawn on me. When it did I leapt to my feet and rushed to the door phone. "You don't want me h'any more?" whined a voice through the wires. "Come on up," I replied. "Will you please come down and `elp me wiz my knickaires?" "Of course. How many are there?" I replied, charmed as always by her voice and intrigued by the fantasy her request created. Grabbing my keys, I slipped on some shoes and went down to the lobby. Nicole was wearing a stunning fur coat, under which, so far as I could tell, she could be naked. "I have brought my camion." I could see no lorry or truck. Outside, by the kerb, was parked a little Nissan Escargo van. "Your truck?" I asked. "Where?" "My snail truck," said Nicole. "The little Nissan truck." It was so very Nicole, the unexpected. I would have guessed at a Citroen 2CV, my own favourite car, had they still been easily available. Here, I recognised was a genuine eccentric. A very beautiful eccentric, to be sure. But an eccentric nonetheless. Opening the back doors, Nicole revealed that she had been joking only a little when she had asked for help with her knickers. Two garment racks stood side by side inside. Every manner of clothes hung from them, including some panties and bras and chemises (as I think my American friends call slips). "Hey, limey, how ya goin'?" The voice was unmistakably that of Harvey my neighbour. Beside him stood Sharee, breasts fighting off the attentions of a white satin dress through which her nipples were thrusting. "Hi," said a little noise emanating from a scarlet hole just north of her chin. "Hello, Harvey ... Denni ... I'd like you to meet your newest neighbour. Nicole may I present Harvey and Sharee, our next door neighbours. I employed, following your good advice, Nicole as my maid yesterday." "Plusieurs fois," grinned Nicole, guessing, I suppose, that Harvey might not have a great deal of French. He didn't have all that much English either, if one was frank. "Excuse me?" asked Harve. "Nothing, Harve. Just a French joke. Nicole is from Paris. France." "Nice to meet you," smarmed Harvey. I hoped that my new buddy hadn't re-discovered a long-forgotten penchant for drop-dead gorgeous French transsexual university lecturers. He did have a slight resemblance to Tom Crueez. Glancing at Sharee, I noticed that she too had reservations about the friendliness of her lover's welcome for Nicole. I thought I heard her say "Shit". Quite a mouthful for Sharee. "Hey, Paul, need a hand helping mamselle move in?" "Non. Merci." Nicole answered on my behalf. Sharee and I smiled. As the neighbours drove away, Nicole and I started to unload the van. "I'll take this up and you can wait here, cherie." "I don't like that `Arvey. And his girl friend, she is neanderthal, no?. Oooops, excuse-moi, mon amour. Keep your mouth closed, Nicole. Paul, embrasse-moi." I needed little prompting to kiss her. As we embraced the clothes rack began rolling out into the road. A pair of very expensive silk french knickers fell from it and as I grabbed the speeding rack a nattily-dressed man in his sixties picked up the transparent garment and gave it to me. With his silver-topped cane. "What exquisite taste in underwear you have young man." I think he was being ironic. Across the road, I saw Michel watching from Aerobleu. As I caught his eye, he waved. He looked sad, I thought. That night Nicole made dinner while I worked. When I emerged from my study at about eight, Nicole was setting the table in the dining room. The room was rather large for a man who couldn't cook and didn't know enough people in his new city to fill the twelve seat table. Two places were set. One at either end of the table. Candles had been lit at the silver candlesticks I'd bought in, of all places, Melbourne in Australia. Guessing that Nicole wanted this to be a surprise, I was glad that she had her back to me and I tiptoed down the corridor to the en suite bathroom where I had a shower. Towelling myself, I heard Nicole calling. "Paul. Ten minutes for dinner." "I'm in the bathroom," I called back, pulling on a black silk yukata or kimono. (I'm never sure which is which or why). Entering the bedroom I whistled. Nicole was changing. She jumped and covering her naked body with the white silk slip she was about to put on, she grinned and then, looking very stern, said, very convincingly, "You startle me, monsieur. Please, a lady must have the privacy in her boudoir." I played along. In my worst French accent. "Forgive me, miss, I have not the idea that the beautiful room is not empty." Laughing, Nicole shot back, "Monsieur Paul, va-t'on." So I va-t'onned back into the bathroom. Through the door Nicole asked if I had a d.j. [or Tuxedo as I was learning to say.] "Of course." "Please wear it for dinner. I will go to another bedroom to change. I have already been dressed, but I `ave change the mind. Cinq minutes." Five minutes was all I needed to slip into my satin briefs, dress shirt and freshly-cleaned and pressed tux. As I tied the bow-tie, I concluded that I was actually quite good-looking. It was a pleasant feeling. Nicole and I emerged from our separate rooms at the same moment. We both whistled our approval of the other. As we walked towards each other, we were both smiling our approval. Nicole looked simply gorgeous. She was wearing a knee-length white silk evening dress, a cashmere stole draped around her shoulders and on her silk-stockinged feet, high -- very high -- heeled shoes which matched the soft pink of the stole. "You look sensational my darling," I said quietly. "Thank you. You too." Slipping an arm through mine, she steered me gently towards the dining room. "I love you," I said, almost to my surprise. "And I adore you, Paul. Very, very much. I would like you to make love to me right at the moment. But the dinner will be destroyed. Can you wait?" I took her in my arms and looked down into her beautiful eyes. "Yes. If we eat quickly. And just one course." Giggling, Nicole squeezed my crotch and felt my stiffening cock. "I think half of one course." She said `half' in that adorably French way that includes the `l'. Why is it the French add aitches when they're not there, but drop them when they are? I understand that no more than I do the Japanese muddling up ls and rs, both of which they can pronounce, but often in the wrong order. I once had a friend in London who loved a particular Rebonese Lestaulant. We used to raugh a rot at that. Thankfully, he never commented on my japanese vocabulary not having progressed beyond two words. Nicole's `hallf' was of a different nature, of course. I was never in love with Taki. It might have been fun eating our formal dinner rather as I imagined the aristocracy would do, at opposite ends of a very long table. It was partly a game, I realised, and partly a way of Nicole establishing our relationship beyond the bedroom. But I was too horny to eat much. To say that she was an accomplished cook, would be inadequate. She was the veritable French chef. Nevertheless, a few mouthsful into the meal, I had to move closer to her. It probably spoiled the game. But it improved our moods. We had been together, hard though it was to believe, just over twenty-four hours. Hardly long enough to be playing such an elaborate charade. Both of us would rather having been fucking the other silly, but I had no wish to disappoint Nicole after she had taken so much trouble to prepare such a wonderful meal. Looking at Nicole's beautiful cleavage, I found myself wondering what it must have been like at the school dance to see this lovely creature arrive with a geeky gayboy. I tried to imagine the homophobic Gaston's reaction. "Hello. Paul. Are you still `ere?" "I was just thinking how stunningly beautiful you are. And I was trying to imagine the effect you must have had on all those horny schoolboys at the school dance you were telling me about," I said, looking deep into her eyes. "How did you feel?" I asked. "Do you really want to hear? You won't be jealous? That was the most daring thing I had ever done. For years I had known that en femme or en fillette as I was then, I was very ... what is the word? ..." "Convincing?" "Yes, convincing. But I had never test how convincing. I was very frightened. Very frightened. These boys were my school friends. Perhaps they would not think about it, but they know the way I walked as a boy. They know my laugh. They know the way I say things. If I am not careful, they put this thing with this thing, et voila, c'est finis .. je suis mort." "Neanmoins," I said, softly. "How do you know I would say neanmoins?" "Nevertheless, I was right, yes?" "Yes, yes. You are right. Clever boy. Any'ow, even though I am frighten, I know that it is the right thing for me. So I am also most excited. Especially when I dance with Gaston the first time." "How many times did you dance with him?" "Many times. Please let me tell the story." "Sorry. Please go on." "You see, Gaston, as I told you, he is very `andsome. Like you. And I think about him all the times. I watch him in the class. I see him in the street. He talks always about how he fuck this girl and that girl. One day I hear him tell Jacques about this girl, a very beautiful girl, she is called Jacqueline. He tells Jacques how he make love to her ten times during the weekend. Then I think how could it be? Because this Jacqueline is friend to my cousin ... Chantelle. So I have met her many times. "One weekend, chez Chantelle, Jacqueline tell me that she is amoureuse to Chantelle. They are still lovers. She tell me that she like me very much, because I am more like a girl. She says she does not like most men. She love only girls. And that was the weekend of her `affair`with Gaston. I knew that Jacqueline was all the time with Chantelle. "After I heard Gaston tell about his weekend of love with Jacqueline, I met her in the street and we went for a coffee. She laugh when I say that Gaston was her lover. Then she gets angry. She says that he is too `andsome and too arrogant and that she thinks he is frightened of girls. Also he is bully and beat up her brother Pierre because he is too quiet. Not gay, just quiet. "So, although I am frightened when I dance with Gaston, I ask which is his girl friend. He says sadly she is sick. I ask if it is Jacqueline and he say too quick `yes'. I tell him he is very handsome and he dance well. "After the dance is finish I ask to him if he will take me home to my cousin's house. He has a car, a old Citroen DS. He seems frightened, perhaps to be alone with me. But he says 'OK'. "We do not say one word in the car and when we get to Chantelle's house he says `good night'. Chantelle sees me in the car from the window of her house and comes out to `protect' me. She kisses me and says to Gaston to come in. He hesitate, but I still feel very horny for him and think that, maybe, .... well, you know. "Any'ow, when we go inside, surprise, surprise -- and I did not know this -- there is Jacqueline. Of course, he does not know that Jacqueline and Chantelle are lovers, but she is wearing only a bra and panties, so perhaps even Gaston could work that out. You should have seen his face. "He did not know that we all knew about his boast how he fuck Jacqueline ten times. But he knows in his head that he is uncovered. "Jacqueline is a very intelligent girl. `Ah, bonsoir Nicole cherie, et quelle surprise, c'est Gaston ... mon amour,' Jacqueline says with sarcasm. "I say, `Jacqueline, I was hoping you would be at the Lycee tonight. Gaston says you were sick. Are you feeling better?' "'Much better than Gaston seems to be. Sit down handsome. I will get you a cognac.' "Gaston says that he must go home, but Chantelle puts an arm around him and says that surely he would like to spend some more time with me -- Nicole -- and guides him to the banquette. "Jacqueline comes back with cognac for us all and Gaston is so embarrassed. Now, Paul, my darling, I think I should stop. In just one day I `ave fallen in love with you. I don't think I should tell you what happened next." What a clever woman my Nicole is. I'm quite turned on by her story, trying to imagine if and how these three girls would humiliate Gaston. Like most bullies, Gaston was obviously very insecure. Who wouldn't want to know more? But right then, what I wanted more of was the beautiful woman sitting beside me. The rest of the story could wait and be transformed into a serial. "My darling," I said, reaching out and pulling her close enough so we could kiss, "I imagine this all took place at least a couple of years ago and, since you clearly cannot resist me now you have found me, I insist you tell me the end of the story. Then I shall punish you for being unfaithful before we met by having you on this table." Nicole laughed. "I look forward to the punishment. But two years? You are too kind. I wish." I popped a grape I had picked up from the cheese board into my mouth and pulled Nicole's lips to mine. We played the grape with our tongues, each trying to push it into the other's mouth. I slipped a hand into the decollete of Nicole's dress and caressed the pure silk satin of the slip she had held up to cover her nakedness earlier. It felt wonderful. Especially when the nipple it covered made its presence felt. Nicole swallowed the grape and almost choked, causing her to break the kiss and sit up suddenly, trapping my hand and toppling me from my chair. As I fell, Nicole burst into a paroxysm of uncontrolled coughing and laughter. The grape hit me on the nose as it canonned from her mouth. "Are you okay, darling?" We both spoke together as I started to push myself up from the thick carpet. Nicole signalled that I should stay where I was. "Don't get up. DInner is over." Standing over me, Nicole slowly lowered herself until I felt the silken hem of her dress brush my nose. As she descended, the hem stayed where it was until her white silk panties, obviously matching the slip, touched my lips. "Punish me now," I heard her whisper as my lips closed over the silky hardness. With my teeth I pulled the panties down, using my nose to help free her cock. It sprang erect. Being a gentleman -- and now horny as hell -- I took it in my mouth. In spite of the delicious dinner, Nicole's hard shaft was the best thing I'd tasted in hours. I tongued it. And toothed it. And lipped it. I loved the rim of its head stroking of my palate. For a second or two I once again wondered at my sucking on a penis. But the pleasure spreading through my body and the growing stiffness of my own leaking prick almost instantly put such musings aside. Instead, I lowered Nicole to the floor, momentarily withdrawing my mouth from her rampant organ as I unzipped the dress and slipped it over her head. I started to remove the slip, but Nicole stopped me. "Take me as I am." I shucked off my pants and satin briefs and ordered Nicole to lean over the end of the table and spread her legs as far apart as possible. I tore her little silk panties roughly from her with one hand, spreading precum over my gleaming cockhead with the other. Parting her beautifully-firm buns, I roughly pushed inside my beautiful girliboy mistress. She gasped in ecstasy as the enormous helmet of my cockhead brushed past her prostate. It caused her sphincter to tighten around my shaft, pushing the skin hard down to its base. I feared the skin around the cockhead's rim might tear, so taut was Nicole making it. It was the most wonderful sensation. When we started, Nicole was face-down, but by the time we were both coming close to climax, I was carrying Nicole in a dance of sexual savagery, her legs clinging to my urgently-pounding hips. As we danced, she screamed her approval and slid ever more urgently up and down my very thick, very hard and very greasy pole. My swollen cockhead seemed to activate every nerve ending in her body. Her senses were on fire. Her head lashed from side to side in the purest erotic abandon. Her fingernails tore at my shoulders. She could barely breathe as she brought herself closer and closer to the greatest orgasm of her life. For myself, I was beyond control. Every few steps I would drop Nicole's beautiful butt on to the back of a chair or on to the table top so that I could stab her more fiercely with my steel-hard staff. I watched her eyes roll uncontrolled as yet another storm of sexual delirium took her to yet another new peak of ecstasy. At last, we came almost simultaneously yet again. Nicole pumped what seemed like gallons of spunk all over the front of my dress shirt, my bow tie and under the eaves of my chin. "Oh Paul, this is what I have dreamed of all my life. I adore you." I couldn't remember anybody ever having said anything like that before. "And me you." Eventually, after a great deal of smiling and little-kissing and sighing and stroking, Nicole stood up, her beautiful and clearly very expensive silk slip generously stained. She poured drinks for us both. "I will just go and rinse these substances from my slip," she said. "Won't that ruin it?" "Not if I am gentle. This is the very best satin you can buy." When she returned she was wearing nothing but a sheer black nightdress through which I saw that she was already becoming interested in making love again.