The Ultimate Submission (Jacqueline's Story)
By Gato Medio

Chapter 11

[Arlette]

Arlette, my room mate, arrived a few days before lectures
were due to start. She was from Nice, where her father
was a well-known plastic surgeon, catering to the whims
of the rich and famous.

Her father was obviously quite wealthy but had decided
that it would be a good education for his daughter to
spend some time without the luxury she had grown
accustomed to and had arranged for her to stay at the
university rather than renting her an apartment. He had
also decided that she should learn the value of money and
was sending her only a modest monthly allowance. She was
not at all pleased about these decision and spent hours
complaining about the student accommodations which she
considered below her standard.

After she had calmed down a little, she told me that she
had just returned from cruising the Mediterranean with
her parents and some friends on her father's yacht. It
seems that she spent most of the time on the sun deck
working on her deep seamless suntan which she would
eagerly display to me later on. When I asked her if she
didn't feel embarrassed to be naked in the presence of
her father she just said, "No. Why?"

I explained that my father would get very upset, should I
ever show him even as much as half a nipple. Arlette
said, "You see, in his job he gets to see some of the
most beautiful women in the world without clothes on. He
won't get excited about a blotchy teenager like me."

It made me think of Ramon who - at least in my
imagination - spent his working day surrounded by semi-
naked models but got still very excited by me - although
I didn't exactly consider myself a blotchy teenager.

I asked her if she had a boyfriend in Nice and if she was
missing him. She answered that there had been a few young
men she had been sleeping with - if that was what I meant
by boyfriend - but that she had no commitment towards
them and would probably soon find new sex partners.

"I'm a liberated woman," she declared. "I'm not
interested in a long lasting, steady relationship with
just one man which inevitably leads to marriage and the
slavery known as being a housewife and mother."

On occasions like this, when Arlette made it quite clear
that she considered herself the owner of the truth and
wouldn't accept any different point of view, I found her
unbearable and considered her a stupid little brat. It
probably had something to do with the fact that she
thought of herself as superior to 'ordinary' students
like me.

I reminded myself that we were only room mates, we didn't
have to become close friends or even agree on all aspects
of life. I simply informed her that I had a steady
boyfriend and, as I was extremely happy with my
relationship, I didn't see any need to look for anyone
else. I also told her that I was spending the weekends at
his place and that she was free to bring whoever she
wanted to our room when I wasn't around.

That seemed to please her and she soon got into the habit
of spending Friday and Saturday nights with a man of her
choice. Sometimes she would tell me about her adventures
but more often than not her comments were confined to
calling her partner an egoistic male chauvinist pig. I
gathered that meant he wasn't in the running for a future
weekend encounter.

I didn't talk much about my own sex life to her. She knew
that I spent the weekends with my boyfriend, so she
probably deduced that we were sleeping together but I
didn't comment on the kind of things Ramon and I got up
to. Only once - I don't know what devil possessed me -
did I give her a hint of our love marathons.

She had complemented me on my good figure and asked what
the secret behind my lean, trim body was.

"There isn't any secret to it," I answered, "you just
have to remember to eat only as many calories as you
burn; or burn all the calories you eat, whichever way you
want to look at it. A little care when you eat and some
physical exercise should do the trick."

"I hate physical exercise!" she exclaimed.

"Well, it all depends on which exercise you choose. Did
you know that making love for one hour burns twice as
many calories as one hour of jogging?"

"One hour of making love!" she gasped.

She probably meant to say that she considered herself
lucky when her partner lasted as long as the statistical
average of eleven minutes, but I deliberately
misunderstood her exclamation and said, "Well, sometimes
we are in a hurry or have an appointment to go to and
there isn't time for more than an hour. But we usually
make up for it at the next opportunity."

I checked her face to see if my comment had had the
desired effect and left the room smiling.

                         -----

We were two liberal-minded women and didn't see any need
to hide our bodies from each other. Therefore, it was
nothing unusual for either of us to walk around the room
naked before or after having a shower, when getting
dressed or before going to bed. Arlette usually put on a
nighty to sleep whereas I had become fond of sleeping
without a stitch on, a freedom which I had not been able
to enjoy in my parent's house.

Arlette was particularly keen on displaying her top-to-
toe suntan and stayed naked whenever she had a chance.
But I saw this more as a show-off than an exhibitionist
streak or an attempt to get me interested in her. She was
very proud of achieving such a uniform colour and had
told me on several occasions that her weekend partner had
been completely knocked out when he discovered that she
was tanned all over.

Arlette had a very pretty face and her body had all the
right things in the right places, but I found her a
little overweight and a bit too short to be perfect. My
impression was that she had never made love to another
woman and wasn't particularly interested in trying it.

But maybe I was wrong. One Friday afternoon when I was
getting myself ready to go to Ramon's apartment and had
just put on a new bra and panty combination he had given
me, Arlette came closer and said, "Oh my, that's some
sexy underwear you've put on, where did you buy it?"

In fact, the set I was wearing was a particularly
beautiful creation, a mere whisper of brilliant white
silk and lace which caressed rather than restrained,
emphasized rather than hid, and made my curves appear in
the best possible light.

In the early stages of our relationship I had made a
point of not wearing any underwear when I went to meet
Ramon. It was my way of paying homage to our first
encounter when I had removed my panties and handed them
to him before I even knew his name. But Ramon had
showered me with presents of sexy lingerie, much of which
he had designed especially for me. While I was still
living with my parents I refused to take the presents
with me for fear that they might be discovered and lead
to loads of tricky questions. But since I had moved into
my own place there was no longer any reason to deny Ramon
the pleasure of removing these delicate garments from my
body - which was the real reason for giving them to me in
the first place.

As I had put on the bra and panties my mind had already
raced ahead to the moment when he would take off my
clothes ever so slowly and ever so gently while covering
my whole body with kisses and making my heart pound in
anticipation of the pleasures to come.

"I didn't buy it, I got it as a present from my
boyfriend," I said.

Arlette had put her hands on my breasts, gently rubbing
my nipples which had already hardened as a result of my
daydreaming.

"He gives you underwear? Doesn't he like to see your
naked body?"

"Of course he does. He considers this as a gift wrap and
he enjoys unwrapping his present very much."

One of her hands moved between my legs and started
stroking my pussy through the thin material.

"Oh, he's one of those men who consider women their sex
objects, a present for their male ego. I wish I could be
your lover tonight."

"To tell you the truth, I too consider myself a gift to
him, just as I consider him a gift to me. Giving yourself
to your partner - isn't that what love is all about? And
as for you being my lover, maybe another day, today I've
already got an appointment."

With that I removed her hands from my body and proceeded
to get dressed. Then I left, wishing her a pleasant
weekend, just to show that there were no hard feelings on
my part.

                         -----

Arlette would take me up on the 'maybe another day'
promise during the following week. I had been to the gym
for a thorough workout and returned to the room, dripping
with perspiration, dying to have a shower. I stepped out
of my track suit, peeled off the skin-tight leotard and
went to the bathroom, only to find that Arlette was in
the shower.

She didn't usually take a bath in mid afternoon but I
hadn't exactly reserved that time for myself, so I had no
reason to complain. I returned to the bedroom and sat on
my chair, waiting for her to come out of the bath. My
body temperature soon returned to normal and my nipples
hardened in response to the cool air.

When Arlette came out of the bathroom, dressed in a white
towelling robe, she said "You look so beautiful when you
come back from the gym, covered with sweat, your breasts
still heaving from the effort. This is when I find you
most attractive."

The sweat had already dried and my breasts were no longer
heaving, but that didn't stop her from cupping them with
her hands and rubbing her thumbs over my nipples. I
couldn't help getting turned on by her words and touch
but I felt uneasy about my sweat covered body - I had
never thought that sweat could be a turn-on. As she
pulled me up from the chair and embraced me I told her
that I needed a shower first.

"Let's shower together, shall we?" she said and dropped
her robe to the floor.

The shower booth was tiny, it obviously hadn't been
designed for two students having a bath at the same time.
The only way we could fit inside was by standing very
close and putting our arms around each other. Arlette had
decided to give me a treat. She put copious amounts of
shower gel into her hand and then applied it to my skin,
working up a rich lather. This gave her an opportunity to
caress every part of my body.

The only problem was that our position limited her reach
to my back. With a few careful moves and our arms raised
above our heads we managed to change position so that
Arlette was standing behind me. She told me to keep my
arms lifted and applied more shower gel to my front. This
time she really went to town. She ran her hands all over
my body, exploring every part of it. Particularly my
breasts were visited innumerous times and my pussy had
probably never before been cleaned that thoroughly.

After the shower Arlette dried me meticulously with her
fluffy bath towel, again making sure that no part of me
would be forgotten. Then, after having dried herself and
having slipped her bath robe back on, she told me to lie
on my bed belly-down and rubbed moisturiser into my skin.

When she had finished my back she made me turn around and
treated my front with great attention to detail. I was
quite surprised by the treatment she gave me and it
certainly had the desired effect. I got increasingly
aroused and arched my body towards her hands. I hadn't
been pampered like this by another woman for a long time.

When she finally started to apply the moisturiser to my
pussy, I could no longer remain passive. I opened her
robe and started to fondle her full breasts. Then I
slipped the robe completely off her shoulders and pulled
her onto the bed, next to me. We embraced tightly and
pressed our naked bodies against each other. Soon we were
stimulating each others nipples, making one another moan
with delight, and it didn't take long for our hands to
find each other's pussy.

Arlette opened my pussy lips and started to stroke my
clitoris and I did the same to her. She pushed a finger
inside my vagina and I returned in kind. Everything she
did to me, I would do to her. With this tit-for-tat
stimulation we brought each other slowly but steadily to
a climax. When we finally came, almost simultaneously, we
embraced and lay still for a while.

When I replayed in my mind what had happened, I realised
that there hadn't been any kissing. Not on the mouth, not
on the breasts, nor between the legs - nothing. It
reminded my of an article I had recently read. It stated
that in a survey of 14 to 18 year old girls, a large
majority had thought of kissing another woman as a
lesbian act.

The same majority had considered lesbianism
'unacceptable' or 'best avoided'. (This survey may
already be out of date, thanks to Madonna's and Britney's
valiant efforts.) The same group had found nothing wrong
with mutual masturbation among girls. So, on reflection,
what Arlette and I had just enjoyed was innocent
schoolgirl sex: clean harmless fun.

I was trying to decide whether this was the right time to
treat Arlette to a 'Jacqueline's special', driving her
out of her mind by exploring every part of her pussy with
my mouth, when she said, "Have I told you that I now have
a steady boyfriend?"

"No, you haven't. How did this happen?"

"Well, I realized that I was dating a large proportion of
real arseholes and I didn't have much hope of finding any
better material. So I decided to go steady with one of
the less bad guys, kind of 'give him a chance to
improve', you know? That's how I ended up with Claude."

"Well, let's hope that it turns out OK for both of you,"
I said, wondering why she would bring up this subject
right now.

"He says, for our relationship to grow, we need to see
each other more often, not just on the weekend."

As I didn't comment on her observation, she continued.
"So I've taken the liberty of asking him around this
evening."

I started to smell a rat, but just to be sure I hadn't
misunderstood, I asked, "So when is he going to pick you
up?"

"Well, he isn't exactly going to pick me up," she said
sheepishly, "I thought we might be able to use this room
for a while."

That confirmed my suspicion. "Oh, I understand. When he
says you ought to see each other more often he doesn't
exactly mean 'see', he means 'fuck'".

She was feeling uncomfortable about my direct language.
"Well, you know how it goes."

I realized that I was in danger of being misunderstood.
So I explained, "Look, I'm not criticising you and your
boyfriend for wanting to have an active sex life. It's
just that we share this room. And what do you want me to
do in the meantime? Sit in the reception until you're
finished?"

"Actually, I thought you might want to join in."

This remark took me by surprise. I could feel my anger
rise but tried to remain calm. "I wonder if you realize
what you are suggesting. 'Joining in' wouldn't just mean
you having sex with your boyfriend and me having sex with
you. It would also mean me having sex with your boyfriend
whom I have never met. I'm not in the habit of having sex
with anybody I've never met before. Maybe you ought to
contact one of those women who do it for money; they
don't care who they do it with. I have sex for pleasure,
so I have the right to pick my partners."

"I'm sorry," she said, becoming aware of my anger, "I
didn't mean to offend you. It wasn't really my idea.
Claude suggested it."

"Claude suggested it? He doesn't even know me!"

"No, he's never met you, but I told him what a beautiful,
sexy creature you are, so he suggested I should try to
seduce you."

"Thanks for the compliment, but the answer is still 'no'.
If I had met him before and come to the conclusion that
we tick together, sexually, there might have been a
chance, but I don't go for seduction by proxy."

We were still lying naked side by side on my bed, one arm
around each other's shoulders, the free hands resting on
each other's upper thigh. Looking at us made me feel a
little more conciliatory.

After a short silence I said, "Listen, what we did today
was really wonderful. You were very sweet to me. I
enjoyed it tremendously when you took me to the shower,
when you dried me, rubbed moisturiser all over my body
and when we climaxed together. I had even thought of
taking it a little further. It's a pity it had to end
like this."

It was my way of telling her, and especially myself, that
'Jacqueline's special' was definitely off the menu for
today. Arlette was touched by what I had said about our
lovemaking and hugged me, which softened me up a little
more.

"I suppose he'll be coming in any case?" I asked.

Arlette just nodded without saying a word.

"I guess, room mates ought to be flexible enough to let
the other one use the room on her own sometimes. It's
just that I have to get up early tomorrow, I have an
important lecture first thing in the morning which I
can't miss, so I don't want to go to bed very late
tonight. I don't think it's fair of you to spring this on
me without giving me any choice.

"Anyway, this is what I suggest: I'll leave in a short
while and let you have your privacy. But I'll be back at
eleven sharp. I'll ring the doorbell, but I won't come in
straight away. I'll give you ten minutes to finish
whatever you're doing, clean up, get dressed, whatever.
Then I'll ring the doorbell again. If you're finished,
you open the door, if not, I'll give you another ten.
When I ring the third time it means I'm coming in, no
matter what. Is that acceptable?"

"Thank you, Jacqueline," she said, giving me a little
kiss on the cheek.

                         -----

I had a meal at the students' restaurant and then went to
the cinema around the corner. They were showing an old
Hitchcock film which was probably very interesting, but I
was unable to focus on the plot. My mind kept wandering
back to the events of the afternoon.

Were Arlette's advances towards me really just a ploy to
get me to agree to a threesome? And had I been foolish to
believe that she was interested in sex with me? I decided
that she had been interested in me all along without
admitting it to herself and that her boyfriend's
suggestion had given her a motivation to do what she
wanted to do anyway.

But what kind of a boyfriend was that who wanted to grow
their relationship by including another woman? Sure, I
had read about couples whose sex life had become stale
and who had managed to put some pep back into it by
including a third person in their love life. But their
relationship had only just started. Did it need a booster
already?

I also examined my own attitude towards the situation.
Had my steady relationship with Ramon turned me into an
inflexible bore? After all, my sex life before and with
Ramon was anything but conventional and would probably
raise quite a few eyebrows if I were to tell anybody the
full story. So why should I sit in judgement of other
people's attitudes and behaviour?

Also, it wasn't true that I only had sex with partners I
picked myself. Most of the boys I slept with in the early
stages of my sex life had been chosen by Charlotte and I
had obliged without much protest. I had no reason to get
on my high horse over her suggestion. Was I just venting
my frustration about not getting to eat her pussy? I
concluded from all this that I needed to watch out for
any signs of intolerance in my attitude towards other
people's sexual behaviour and fight this attitude before
it became a problem.

I returned to the room at eleven and rang the door bell.
As I turned away to give Arlette and her boyfriend some
more time, as agreed, a lanky young man opened the door.

"Hi, you must be Claude, I'm Jacqueline," I said, holding
out my hand to greet him.

But he just stood there, shell-shocked, ignored my hand
and looked at me with a face from which all signs of
intelligence had disappeared. I said, "Do you mind if I
come in? I live here." With that I walked past him into
the bedroom where Arlette was sitting on her bed.

Claude came eventually out of his stupor and followed me
into the bedroom. "Haven't we met somewhere before?" he
asked.

It made me laugh. I retorted, "Surely, you don't expect
me to react to such an old pick-up line. And in case your
next question is 'do you come here often?', the answer
is, 'yes, I happen to live here'".

"No, seriously, your face looks so familiar, I feel like
I've seen you many times before. Do you appear on
television? Is your picture in the papers? Or maybe on
the cover of a magazine?"

When I shook my head to all his questions he said,
obviously puzzled, "That's strange. I could have sworn
that I've seen you or your picture somewhere. And not
just once, many times."

As far as I was concerned this was clearly a case of
mistaken identity, or maybe a vague similarity with
someone else that I wasn't aware of. But he kept racking
his brains and, suddenly, he snapped his fingers in the
air and exclaimed, "I've got it! Caroline!"

Arlette, who had been watching the whole scene with
amusement said, "Her name is Jacqueline, stupid, not
Caroline."

"I know that. Caroline is a colleague at work, in fact
her desk is next to mine, and she's got a poster with
your picture hanging on her wall. The reason it took me
so long to make the link between you and that poster is
that on that picture you are ...," he hesitated for a
moment, blushing slightly, "well, you are not fully
dressed."

"Oh yeah? What is the woman on the picture wearing?"

"Sexy lingerie. A black bra and black panties. And you
look extremely appetising, if I may say so."

Something dawned on me. But, if it was the picture I was
thinking of, how would it end up on some civil servant's
office wall?

"Is there anything written on the poster?" I asked.

"I think so, but I'm not sure I remember exactly what it
is. Something like '_jolie jeune fille_' maybe."

"_Vous êtes très jolie_," I offered.

"Could be. And then there is the name of some guy, but I
can't remember what it is."

"Ramon," I said, confirming to myself that the picture
was the one I had been thinking of.

This gave Arlette, who had been fairly quiet so far, a
chance to join the conversation. "So you admit, that it's
you! Jacqueline, you surprise me! Have you been
moonlighting as a semi-nude model! Or is this another
gift wrap?" she asked mockingly.

"Yes, it's me," I said, sitting down on my bed. "The
explanation is really quite simple. I just don't know how
this poster ended up in the possession of this colleague
of yours."

"You mean someone took your picture and then used it
without your permission," asked Claude, hoping for some
detective story.

"No. It's all one hundred percent legit. The picture was
taken for a test launch of a new line of luxurious
ladies' underwear. The posters were distributed to a
small number of selected shops which specialise in this
kind of product. The idea was to display the poster
inside the shop in a place where it would be easily
noted.

"When a customer asked about the garments on the poster,
they would be informed that they were not yet available
on the market, but the shop assistant would then ask the
customer a number of questions. Would they be interested
in this style of sexy lingerie? Which kind of garment
would they consider buying? How much would they be
willing to spend? What size did they require? Etc. This
information was then used to estimate the potential
demand and to finalise the product range. You see, it's
quite straight forward. No murder mystery, no body."

"Oh yes, there is a body," said Claude, "Yours. And it's
very beautiful."

I gave him a big smile. His compliment was rather clumsy,
but it was a compliment nonetheless.

"This still leaves us with a question. How did your body,
or rather, how did you end up on an advertisement for
fancy knickers? Are you pursuing an alternative career?"
Arlette wanted to know.

"The sponsor who finances the project didn't want to
invest a lot of money before he had an idea of how much
demand there is for this type of product. There wasn't
any money to pay a professional model. I agreed to be the
model and Ramon took the pictures himself."

"So you know this Ramon whose name is on the poster?"
Claude wanted to know.

"Yes. He's my boyfriend." I said. It felt like I had just
given away a state secret.

"Ah! Mr. Gift-wrap!" Arlette beamed. "Now it all starts
to make sense."

"But how did this picture end up on Caroline's wall?"
asked Arlette after a short while.

"Maybe she went into one of the selected shops, saw the
poster and liked it so much that she asked for it and the
shop owner gave it to her. Maybe she knows someone who
works in one of the selected shops and they gave her the
poster instead of putting it up in the shop. There are
probably many other possibilities. The only way to know
for sure how it happened would be to ask her."

As I spoke I thought about what might have happened if
one of these posters had found its way to Villiers, but I
wasn't overly worried.

"Why don't you ask her?" suggested Claude.

"I don't think it's that important. Besides, I don't know
the woman."

"Let me tell you what I know about her and then I'll
rephrase the question," said Claude.

"She's about twenty years old and really good looking -
and I mean _really good looking_: tall, black hair,
charcoal black eyes and a mouth that just seems to be
begging to be kissed. I think you get the picture.

"When she joined the department all the men - and that
includes me - literally fell over each other asking her
out for a date, but she gave us all the brush-off. It
almost seems that she's embarrassed about her good looks.
She seems to consciously select clothes which de-
emphasise her curves, hide her beauty.

"Anyway, one morning she arrived at the office with a
bunch of photographs, all showing beautiful women in sexy
underwear, and put them up on her wall. Your poster got
pride of place, bang in the middle of them all. Now, when
someone asks her out for a date, she just points at the
pictures and says, 'I'm surrounded by so many beautiful
creatures. Why would I want to go out with a man?'"

"You mean she's a lesbian?" Arlette interrupted.

"Well, she never used that word and nobody has ever seen
her in the company of another woman. I suspect that it's
only a ruse to distract her male admirers, keep them off
her scent, so to speak.

"The other day, when I suggested we go for an ice cream
during the lunch break, she turned me down as usual. So I
pointed to the poster, Jacqueline's picture, and said 'I
get the impression you'd sooner go out on a date with her
than with me.' 'You can say that again,' she replied,
'but then this wonderful woman is probably a world famous
fashion model and wouldn't want anything to do with me.'

"So to come back to my question: would you be willing to
meet Caroline if I manage to talk her into it?"

"I don't quite understand what you expect to get out of
this, but I won't stand in your way."

I turned to Arlette. "But what do you think of all this,
Arlette? Doesn't it bother you that your boyfriend is
plotting to date another woman?"

"I'm a liberated woman," came the answer, "and besides,
if she's really that good looking I might want to get
into the action as well."

So we all agreed that Claude would tell Caroline that he
knew the woman on the poster and that he could arrange
for Caroline to meet me but that he and his girlfriend
would want to come along as well."

After that was settled Arlette asked, "Where are you
going to take her? There isn't much fun in inviting her
to the movies and going to a restaurant for a meal offers
also very limited choice for seduction. It would have to
be some sophisticated place, maybe with dancing."

"I've got an idea: _Le Chambre Séparée_," I announced.

Arlette shook her head. "Three months waiting list." And
Claude added, "And much too expensive for the likes of
us".

I wasn't dissuaded that easily. "We can eat somewhere
else before we go there and we don't have to order
Champagne," I said. "If we stick to orange juice it won't
break the bank. And as far as the waiting list is
concerned, I may be able to work something to get us in."

                         -----

There probably isn't a person in Paris, or even in the
whole of France, who hasn't heard of _Le Chambre
Séparée_. However, for readers from further afield, it
might be useful to say a few words about this unique
place.

It takes its name from the private rooms which were
available to noble and illustrious visitors to some
theatres and ballrooms in times long gone. They were
directly accessible from the boxes in which these guests
were watching the spectacle and allowed them to retire,
with their respective companions, to an intimate area
where they were protected from the prying eyes of other
members of the audience.

What exactly happened inside the chambres séparées of old
is anybody's guess but it probably wasn't much different
from what happens anywhere in the world between two
people who are attracted to each other.

The new _Chambre Séparée_ was the brainchild of six young
enthusiastic Parisians. They had discovered an old-style
ballroom which had shut its doors many years ago and
fallen into disrepair. They tracked down the owner and
persuaded him to sell them the building for a modest sum.
That purchase ate up all their savings.

The six came from a variety of professions which covered
a wide range of disciplines including architecture,
business administration, catering, marketing,
entertainment and electronics. Jointly they prepared a
detailed plan for the proposed enterprise: they wanted to
create a new variety theatre which would offer top class
entertainment to an open minded adult audience.

The plan included the restoration of the original
features of the ballroom including the already existing
chambres séparées. They would also add new chambres
séparées to each and every box in the five rows of
balconies which ran around three sides of the ballroom.
There would be a sophisticated restaurant. The stage
lighting and sound system would be completely replaced
with state-of-the-art equipment. The whole place would
become a hi-tech entertainment complex within a
renaissance shell.

Armed with their plan, which also included detailed
estimates of the cost involved and a forecast of the
expected income, they set out to find a financial backer.
It wasn't easy, but their contagious enthusiasm
eventually won over one of the best known venture
capitalists of the country. The restoration of the
building took longer than they had expected but their
backer accepted the delay and budget overrun with good
grace.

All in all, almost three years passed between the start
of the project and the grand opening. Two months before
the scheduled opening, they hired musicians for the house
band and the members of the dance troupe which they
called '_Les jeunes filles de chambre_', the chamber
girls, a play on the name of the venue and the French
word for chamber maid.

The venture ran into controversy right from the start.
Conservative circles with strong backing from the
catholic church demanded the immediate closure of this
'Sodom and Gomorrah', trying to turn their point of view
into a public outcry against the decline of moral
standards.

What had happened was that, by accident or by design, the
guests who came to the opening night - and the pattern
continued on subsequent nights - did not see this as a
place where you went to watch a show; it was a place
where the audience was part of the show. If the venue
offered facilities for making love, why should the
libidinous activities be confined to the isolation of the
chambres séparées? After all, everybody here was a
consenting adult.

Many of the women arrived in attire which would have done
a nightclub stripper proud - and the attire diminished as
the night wore on. And if they were going to submit to
their partners wishes a little later on, what was wrong
with letting them get a head start? There was fondling of
breasts - both clothed and bare - and stroking of
buttocks and thighs on the dance floor or wherever else
one might look. The media people soon coined a term for
this by calling the place a 'public foreplayground'.

The six consulted a lawyer to find out whether they or
their guests were breaking any laws and were advised that
it would be best not to permit copulation in the public
areas. The lawyer did not see any problem with any of the
other activities.

In the meantime, one of the newspapers checked the
register of ownership and 'discovered' that the financial
backer of the enterprise was Michel Meunier, a wealthy
businessman who was known for his shrewd investments in
start-up enterprises. The front page headlines the next
morning accused Michel of living off the wages of sin.
However, if they thought he would withdraw his financial
support because of this personal attack, they had
misjudged him.

Michel Meunier went on the counter-attack. He called a
press conference and read a prepared statement.

I was still living in Villiers when these events took
place. At that time I knew nothing about _Le Chambre
Séparée_, but I immediately recognized the man who
appeared on television to defend it as Roxanne's husband,
or the man who had spanked my bare bottom so mercilessly
and so deliciously. It had never occurred to me that the
Michel Meunier I knew was _the_ Michel Meunier, one of
the top businessmen in the country. Although, on
hindsight, I should have guessed that the luxurious
mansion could only belong to an extremely wealthy person.

I watched the press conference and some of the ensuing
interviews on television with great interest and was
impressed by his forthright manner of presenting his
views.

Michel started his statement by telling the assembled
reporters how six young entrepreneurs who were planning
to convert a decaying ballroom into a luxurious variety
theatre - possibly the most sophisticated venue for adult
entertainment in Paris - had approached him and asked him
to finance the project and how he had agreed to their
proposal, not only because he considered the enterprise
financially viable but also because he thought that it
would bring back some of the glamour which Paris was in
danger of losing.

That venue - they probably all knew that he was talking
about _Le Chambre Séparée_ - had opened only a few days
ago and was already an outstanding success. However, he,
Michel Meunier, had been accused by one newspaper - and
he mentioned the name of the paper and the chief editor -
of living off the wages of sin. This was, of course, a
ridiculous accusation, because only a hypocrite could
confuse love with sin. Even though the accusation had no
foundation in reality he had called this press conference
to set a few points straight.

Paris was known, not only to French citizens, but
throughout the world, as the city of love. Every year
hundreds of newly-wed couples came to Paris to spend
their honeymoon here; thousands came for romantic
weekends or stays of longer periods. He reminded the
audience that the Beatles, when they created the song
'All you need is Love' - one of their biggest hits -
found it appropriate to include a short citation of the
Marseillaise, the French national anthem. This meant that
for them France, and more specifically her capital,
Paris, was the place which best represented the idea of
love. Not London. Not Amsterdam. Not New York. Not
Moscow, Bangkok or Rio de Janeiro. No. Paris, France.

Every night thousands of couples in Paris - and Michel
admitted that in this respect Paris may not be very
different from the rest of the world - fell into each
others arms and, before going to sleep they made love.
Earlier that evening, these lovers may have taken a ride
on the Seine in a _Bateau Mouche_, watched a show, had a
meal in one of Paris's many famous restaurants - possibly
a romantic dinner by candlelight - or been dancing to
soft music.

All these activities had one thing in common: they did
not allow the lovers to show each other how strongly
attracted they were to their partners. A kiss which was
maybe a little too long or too intense, a touch, a caress
that was maybe a little too daring, could earn them the
disapproval of the other patrons; they might be called to
order by the _maître_, or they might even be expelled
from the place in question. The rules of our society were
such that lovers were not allowed to demonstrate their
passion to each other until they reached the privacy of
their own home or their hotel room. Up to that moment
they had to behave like celibates.

_Le Chambre Séparée_ had dared to break this rule. In its
ballroom a caress was not an offence. Patrons were
allowed to demonstrate how much they appreciated each
other's company without fear of disapproval or expulsion.

The huge success of _Le Chambre Séparée_, the fact that
every seat in the house was sold out for weeks to come
proved that _Le Chambre Séparée_ was offering something
that both citizens of Paris and visitors had been waiting
for.

Passion was not something one could turn off and on at
the convenient moment like a hot water tap. Making love,
that most wonderful of human activities, was not a one
course meal, nor fast food. It was a succession of
dishes, each one more delicious than the previous one,
each one to be savoured in full and without hurry.

Only a hypocrite could call this 'sin'. Only a hypocrite
could call for the closure of _Le Chambre Séparée_.
Michael ended his presentation with the slogan 'Down with
sin. Long live Love'.

After the statement Michel did not accept any questions
but announced that he would be available for interviews
to all the major television channels, radio stations and
newspapers. This was a very clever move on his part,
because this way his statements were not reported just
once at the time of the press conference, but repeated
whenever he gave an interview. In fact, for about two
weeks Michel's views on the subject were a constant
feature on television, radio and the front pages of
newspapers and magazines. After that, the calls for the
closure of _Le Chambre Séparée_ all but died out.

Nevertheless, _Le Chambre Séparée_ continued in the
headlines. Publications specializing in gossip about the
rich and famous published stories about who had been
there and what they had been wearing, or who had been
seen disappearing into a chambre séparée with whom.

It is sometimes said that there is no such thing as bad
publicity. The attacks and Michel's defence had been an
invaluable help in turning the recently opened venue into
a household name within a very short time. But the gossip
reports were bad for business. A number of prominent
figures cancelled their reservations, saying that they
had chosen _Le Chambre Séparée_ for the privacy and
discretion it afforded them. They were not prepared to
see their names dragged through the gossip column of
third-rate newspapers.

The managers were quick to act. Previously, anybody who
presented a press card had been able to gain access to
the house. Now, clear rules on the presence of news
reporters were established. The worst offenders were
banned altogether, others were only allowed on the
premises when the house was closed to the public. They
were free to inspect the facilities and talk to
management and staff. A handful of Arts and Entertainment
correspondents were given access to the theatre during
the performance, but were reminded to report on what the
house had to offer, not on what the individual members of
the audience got up to.

Even before these measures were put into place, _Le
Chambre Séparée_ had been the subject of raving reviews
in the press. Journalists were impressed by the
professionalism of the operation, the slick, efficient
and unobtrusive service, the quality of the food, the
originality of the show and particularly by the chamber
girls - '_Les jeunes filles de chambre_'.

They seemed to have been recruited from the four corners
of the world, one more beautiful than the next one, each
one displaying the charms specific to her origin. Apart
from their beauty and sensuality they also showed great
talent and stamina - for it took the stamina of an
athlete to keep up the fast and furious pace of their
presentations. There was also a special mention of the
girls' costumes, designed by one Ramon from Argentina who
apparently already had a reputation over there but was a
surprise discovery here.

_Le Chambre Séparée_ became the place to go to, the place
to be seen. Soon, reservations had to be made several
months in advance. Having a reservation became a trump
card when inviting someone for a date, there were even
some newspaper adds where proud owners of tickets invited
candidates, usually of the opposite sex, for the
privilege of accompanying them.

One interesting fact was the variety of people who were
attracted to _Le Chambre Séparée_, compared with other
adult entertainment venues. Firstly, there was the
unusually large proportion of women in the audience, but
this could be explained by the simple fact that it isn't
much fun to disappear into the chambre séparée with your
business associates.

Apart from this factor, there were many people who
wouldn't normally be seen 'in a place like this'. Of
course, there were the curious who only came to watch -
both the show and the audience. Happily married couples
looking for some extra excitement were rubbing shoulders
with bosses taking their secretaries for a treat (and
expecting a special treat from them in return).

Mature ladies were proudly showing off their toy boys
while Lolita look-alikes were putting their sugar-daddies
through their paces. There was a small number of
threesomes; hunky males accompanied by two smashing
females or ravishing beauties sandwiched between two
handsome fellows. Swingers had adopted the place as an
excellent location for making first contact with
potential new partners. One section of the ground floor
had been set aside for adepts of bondage and
sadomasochism, where fierce looking masters and
dominatrices displayed their bound slaves to anyone who
cared to watch.

Unaccompanied singles were accommodated at a small number
of telephone tables where they were able to contact other
members of the audience by phone, the number of each
table being prominently displayed.

But let's get back to the story.

                         -----

"What do you mean 'work something'"? Arlette asked.
"Don't tell me you have connections to _Le Chambre
Séparée_."

"There are two options," I said. "The first one is to ask
Ramon for help. He's done an excellent job designing many
of the costumes the dancers are wearing. Alain, the
Artistic Director, thinks he owes Ramon some favours.
Ramon and I have been there a few times and we always got
our reservations through him on short notice. But I don't
feel like bothering Ramon with this."

"You've been to _Le Chambre Séparée_? And not just once!
A few times!" Arlette asked, showing her surprise. I had
obviously risen in her estimation.

"Yes I have, and I can say that it always lived up to its
reputation."

"The second option," I said, picking up my thread, "is to
ask Michel Meunier to let us use his VIP box."

I knew that, as part of the sponsorship deal, Michel had
one box permanently reserved for him which he only rarely
used. Most of the time he made it available to friends
and business associates. I thought I might be able to
persuade him to let us use it.

This time both of them stared at me, open-mouthed, voiced
their astonishment and wanted to know more about my
connection with the famous businessman. I just told them
that this was a long and complex story, too long for
tonight as it was already way past my bedtime. It was
also too late to call Michel now, so it would have to
wait until the next day. Besides, we weren't yet sure
that Caroline would accept the invitation and when she
would be available.

In the end we agreed that I would call Michel the next
evening after Claude had reported on the success or
failure of his mission.

                         -----

When Claude arrived the next evening, there was no need
for him to say anything. The broad smile on his face told
us that he had achieved what he wanted. He was clearly
pleased with himself and started to tell the story of his
success immediately. This is what happened (probably
slightly embellished by Claude to suit his ego):

"When I arrived at work in the morning I saw that
Caroline was already at her desk. I got myself a cup of
coffee from the dispenser and strolled casually into her
cubicle for a chat. 'If I told you whom I saw last night,
you probably won't believe me.'

'Try me', she said without even looking up from the
papers on her desk.

'Your favourite fashion model. The one you would like to
ask for a date', I said, pointing at the poster behind
her. She looked around, following my pointing finger.

'Oh yeah, was she on television?'

'No. I saw her in the flesh. In my girlfriend's room. The
two are room mates at the university.'

'You're having me on. This woman doesn't need to share a
room with anybody.'

I said, 'Well, if you don't want to believe me, it's your
loss. I just thought you might be interested.' With that
I started to walk slowly in the direction of my cubicle.

Caroline came after me. 'Hang on a moment. How can you be
so sure it's her and not someone who looks vaguely
similar?'

'I asked her. I told her about this poster and she
confirmed it was her. She even told me exactly what's
written on it. I also told her that you were infatuated
with her and would like to meet her.'

'Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm infatuated with
her. Yes, I would like to meet her, but I feel a little
apprehensive about it. I mean, what would we talk about?'

'Ladies' underwear' I offered, half jokingly, 'but if you
think you're not yet ready for a tête-à-tête, I could
come along as your chaperone.'

"Modesty apart, I think this was a brilliant move. I, who
had been trying ceaselessly to get her to agree to a date
with me, was offering to be her guardian on her first
meeting with another woman.

'Would you do that for me?' she asked, 'I would
appreciate it.'

'Of course', I said, 'that's what friends are for. But I
will have to ask my girlfriend to come along as well,
otherwise she might get the wrong idea.'"

Claude did not manage to complete his story because
Arlette broke into a hysteric giggle and hugged him like
crazy. However, he was still able to tell us that the
meeting had been fixed for next Wednesday and that she
had been very impressed by his suggestion to go to _Le
Chambre Séparée_ and even more so by his affirmation that
he had a reservation.

                         -----

"Hi Roxy, this is Jacqueline."

I didn't have Michel's direct number so I had called the
one which Roxanne had given me at our last encounter. She
was pleased to hear my voice and asked how I was doing
and also inquired about Ramon. She complained that I
hadn't been in touch for some time. I apologized for
having neglected her and explained that I had been very
busy with my studies, but promised that I would see her
some time soon.

After some polite conversation - I was keen to avoid
subjects of a more intimate nature in the presence of
Arlette and Claude - I asked her if it was possible to
speak to Michel.

When Michel got on the phone he also complained that I
hadn't been in touch, but soon asked what the reason for
my call was. I explained that I had been talking to some
friends about _Le Chambre Séparée_ and they had become
quite interested in visiting the place but that the long
waiting period was a turn-off. So, to come to the point,
would he be kind enough to let us use his VIP box,
specifically, we had been thinking of going next
Wednesday.

My heart was beating like mad as I waited for his
response - after all, I didn't know him that well and he
might easily get upset about my cheek.

"I think that should be possible" came his reply, "but I
don't keep track of the reservations for this box. You'll
have to check with Alain if it's free that evening. I'll
talk to him in a moment and let him know that it's OK to
let you have the box. Then you call him, say in half an
hour to confirm that it's available. Don't leave it too
late, because once the doors open he'll be busy chasing
his girls around."

The girls he referred to were of course _Les jeunes
filles de chambre_, Alain's contribution to the success
of _Le Chambre Séparée_.

Overjoyed, I thanked Michel very much and was about to
ring off when he said, "There's just one more thing,
young lady. I think you know very well that nothing in
life is for free."

This took me a bit by surprise, but I said quickly, "Of
course, we pay you for the use of the box."

"Don't be silly," he said, "you know that I wouldn't take
any money from you. The kind of payment I'm thinking of
isn't quoted in euros, but in swats, doubles to be
precise. So, what's your offer?"

Damn! I had completely forgotten his predilection for
spanking female bottoms. And being the shrewd negotiator
he was, he now had me by the short and curlies, able to
demand just about anything he wanted.

"Thirty," I said, knowing full well that I wouldn't get
off that lightly.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, otherwise I would have
to get angry."

"Alright then. Fifty."

"That's an improvement, but I think you can do even
better."

Arlette and Claude had been listening intently to my half
of the conversation, trying to guess the other half. At
this stage they were utterly confused and showed this by
making gestures and drawing question marks into the air.
I didn't want them to know what this bargaining was about
and was keen to end it as soon as possible.

I decided to be bold and said, "One hundred."

Michel was impressed. "That's what I call a brave girl.
You've got a deal. But I expect you to pay your debt
soon, otherwise I'll have to add interest."

After I hung up I remained quiet for a while, thinking
about what I had just agreed to. My heart sank. One
hundred swats and another hundred strokes with his belt
on the bare bottom! That was more than I had ever
received. And I knew there was no way of wriggling out of
this punishment.

Arlette and Claude noticed the change in my mood and
asked me what the matter was.

"It's just that Michel is such a kind and generous man,
he treats me like a father." I realised the irony in this
statement as soon as I completed the sentence. "So when I
talk to him it makes me think of how strained my relation
with my real father is."

They swallowed this outright lie and wanted to know if I
had had any success. I said, "Just one more phone call
and we can celebrate."

                    To be continued