Chapter 1
Villiers-sur-Seine, the place where I was born and grew up, is a medium-sized town, roughly 50 kilometres southwest of Paris. Visitors might describe the place as sleepy; the adult population considers it peaceful, but most of the younger people would call it outright boring.
The town is not close enough to Paris to be considered a suburb, but too close to develop a worthwhile cultural life of its own. In consequence, those who don't have the means to go to Paris - and that covers most adolescents - don't have much choice of what to do in their spare time. There are a few cinemas, an open air swimming pool and a couple of discos. There is also a park, the Municipal Park, near the town centre. It tends to get very crowded, particularly on Sundays, and young people with their irreverent, noisy behaviour usually feel they're not welcome. But it has a few benches which are hidden from the general public's view, and young people are keen to use this chance for a little privacy. The main drawback is that the gates are locked at sunset.
My parents belong to the group of people who would call Villiers peaceful. They would also be quick to point out that it isn't as peaceful as it used to be. High-speed train connections and the fact that most people now can afford a car have brought the town closer to the 'city of sin'.
Particularly my father was one of those who decry the decline in moral standards which the closeness to the capital had brought to our town. His criticism was specifically aimed at women, mainly from the younger generations, whose behaviour did not measure up to his strict standards. The sexual permissiveness of today's women as manifested in clothes which he considered too revealing was his prime target. His favourite word for such women was slut, and he left no doubt that he would not hesitate to apply this word to me, should he ever find me guilty of wantonness.
My father always made it clear that my education was a strain on the family's budget and that he would have to continue making sacrifices if I were to go on to university. He never missed an opportunity to point out that he himself had never been given the chance to study. But, he then always added, he was quite willing to carry that burden to provide for my future.
However, if my behaviour indicated that I wasn't taking my studies seriously, he would stop financing my idleness and I would have to find a job to earn my own keep. He used this 'not taking my studies seriously' ruthlessly to prohibit anything he didn't approve of: listening to the wrong kind of music, wearing make-up, coming home late, being dressed 'improperly' and having a boyfriend.
Although I did not agree with my parents' opinions and the strict control they exercised over me, I had no choice but to endure it - at least until I would be able to pay my own way.
I studied hard and never lost sight of my goal to pass the final exams with flying colours. I did not just want to achieve the necessary marks to gain entrance to university, I wanted to be in the top ten percent of my year in order to qualify for a scholarship and achieve at least some independence from my parents.
My story starts some time in August of the year 2002. We were in the middle of the summer holidays, the time of year when I hated Villiers most. The fact that there were no lessons to attend made it even more obvious that there is absolutely nothing to do for young people. The only relief from boredom was the open-air swimming pool.
The town was almost empty. Most people had gone on holidays to the Atlantic coast or the Cote d'azur. The girls in my class which hadn't gone away used the small gardens behind their houses to work on their suntan. Most of them wouldn't think twice about sunbathing topless; the more daring ones would look for a spot that was hidden from the public's view and take off their bikini bottoms as well to get a seamless tan without any white patches.
I, on the other hand, didn't even dare to sunbathe in my bikini in our garden, for fear of incurring the wrath of my father. Instead, I went to the public swimming pool but never took off my top because I was too worried that my father might get to hear about it. Most of my schoolmates didn't know the reason behind my apparent prudery and my dedication to my studies. They thought of me as a prude cram and weren't very interested in making friends with me.
I don't know if my father's attitude had anything to do with this, but I noticed that my physical development as a woman was happening slower than with my class mates. When the other girls were already proud of their fully developed breasts and exchanged stories about their first adventures with boys, my breasts were only two bumps on my chest and there weren't any boys interested in me.
One day, in the open-air pool, lying belly-down on my beach towel, I decided to undo the catch of my bikini top. That way I would at least get an uninterrupted suntan on my back. I must have dozed off in the warm sunshine because I didn't notice Thierry, one of my classmates, approaching. He had seen me lying there and had gone to fill a plastic bag with water for his idea of a joke.
I was up like a rocket when the cold water hit my back, and told Thierry in no uncertain terms to get lost. And, of course, I forgot all about my bikini top being undone. When I noticed that my breasts were exposed to his eyes, I quickly covered myself.
He just laughed at me. "Look around you Jacqueline! There are plenty of beautiful breasts, waiting for me to look at them. Why would I want to look at your titties?"
I decided to ignore his insult and returned to the position I had been in before he arrived without saying a word. He would probably tell his friends what had happened and his story would reinforce their opinion that I was sexually retarded.
But that wasn't my main worry that day. What really made me uptight were things which I didn't understand that were happening to me on a physical and emotional level.
The hormonal changes had finally started to happen and they arrived with a vengeance. I could notice almost daily that the size of my breasts had expanded a little more and a few more pubic hairs had grown. I wasn't completely ignorant; I picked up information here and there, from books, magazines and the conversations with other girls. It was no mystery to me when my body started to change and develop into that of a young woman; the shaping of my budding breasts, the growth of pubic hair on my mound, all these things happened the way I had learned to expect.
What I was completely unprepared for were the feelings which accompanied these changes. I couldn't concentrate on anything because I was constantly aroused and couldn't stop thinking about sex. It disturbed me greatly and I was convinced that there was something wrong with me. Had I been religious I would have come to the conclusion that the devil had taken possession of my body. But, as I didn't believe in the devil or any other supernatural power, I tried desperately to find a more rational explanation. I was convinced that I was the only person in the world experiencing these sensations and that I needed professional help.
I didn't have any hope that my mother would be able to help me. She hadn't even prepared me for my first menstruation, because the subject was just too embarrassing for her to talk about. I had to find out about 'the curse' from other girls.
There wasn't any teacher or doctor I trusted enough to ask about such a deeply personal matter. The few girls with whom I had some sort of friendship at school had gone away for the summer holidays. I felt I was completely on my own. Then I thought of Charlotte.
Charlotte
I had become friends with Charlotte during the relatively short time when she was my classmate. Charlotte was a full year older than the rest of us. She should really be one class ahead but she had been in hospital for a long time after a car crash - the one in which her mother was killed. When she returned to school she joined my class to make up for the lessons she had missed.
I guess what attracted me to Charlotte was that she was also a bit of an outsider and didn't quite fit in with the 'normal' pupils. She was a self-proclaimed lesbian and men-hater. She called herself Charles and wanted everybody else to also call her by that name. It seems that I was the only one who did her that favour. We accepted each other for what we were and this mutual acceptance turned us into friends.
But then Charlotte moved to another part of town and transferred to a different school. I missed her company, but the feeling wasn't strong enough to make me continue our friendship. Also, with her being a lesbian, I was worried that I might give the wrong signals if I continued to see her once she was no longer my classmate.
Charlotte was older than me and in many respects more experienced, more down to earth. Her body had already fully developed and she seemed to know a lot about the female body and sex. I trusted her enough to tell her about my problem. I was sure she wouldn't laugh at me, even if I asked stupid questions.
I decided to ask her for advice. I took my courage in both hands and phoned Charlotte, telling her that I needed to talk to someone I could trust about my developing sex drive. She seemed really pleased that I had contacted her and asked me to come 'round to her place the next day. Just hearing her cheerful voice on the phone made me already feel better.
The fact that a girl of her age was living on her own in her own apartment gave rise to a lot of gossip. Her father had not waited very long to remarry after his wife, Charlotte's mother, had been killed in that accident. What set the tongues wagging was the fact that his second wife was much younger than him. In fact she was only a couple of years older than Charlotte.
Many said that her father had raped and sexually abused Charlotte. Some neighbours believed this had started already while her mother was still alive; others were convinced that it was the death of his wife that made him use his daughter as a substitute. There were even some who were convinced that the remarriage had resulted in a 'ménage à trois'. All were convinced that it was the abuse she had suffered from her father which had turned her into a lesbian and an outspoken critic of everything male. The story was that she had threatened to go to the police unless her father allowed her to move out of his house. He had no choice but to agree and was paying the rent along with a generous allowance.
Charlotte's version of the story was that she didn't get along with her step mother. "She's only a few years older than me. How could I let her act as if she were my mother and order me around?"
Also, she said, the two were constantly 'at it', often starting their games right in front of her, before disappearing into their bedroom. He couldn't keep his hands off his new wife and she provoked him by walking around the house with a minimum of clothes on. "I explained to my father that this environment was not suitable for bringing up a respectable young lady, and he eventually saw my point."
Later, when we were intimate friends, I asked Charlotte if any of these rumours about her and her father were true.
"These stories," she answered, "are spread by people who cannot accept that a woman is a lesbian, simply because she's a lesbian. They need to find some terrible event, preferably a male misdeed, in order to explain why a woman doesn't want to be screwed by men."
When I arrived at Charlotte's apartment, she asked me what exactly the problem was and, with some difficulty, I explained.
"The problem is this: I know that my body is changing into that of a young woman, but there are some things happening to me which I don't understand. I'm almost constantly aroused, my nipples harden for no apparent reason and I can't stop touching myself. When I do touch myself, especially my breasts and my sex, it feels so good that I want more and more. I think there is something wrong with me."
She seemed a little amused by my worries. "You've come to the right place. Dr. Charles will cure you in no time. I'll have to examine you. Take off your clothes, I'll be with you in a minute," she said, disappearing into her bedroom.
"All my clothes?" I shouted after her.
"No, silly. Have you never been to a doctor? Keep your knickers on. You only take off your knickers when the doctor tells you to."
I took off my clothes, folded them neatly and put them in a pile on a chair. Charlotte returned, wearing a white coat, just like a real doctor. I had the impression that she had taken off the clothes she had been wearing before.
She looked at me and smiled. "Has anybody told you before what a pretty girl you are?"
I blushed but didn't know what to say. She took my shoulders and made me turn around, taking a good look at me.
"Those woolly knickers spoil the picture," she said finally. "Did you select them yourself?"
"No," I answered, "my mother buys all my clothes for me. I don't earn any money yet, so I can't be very demanding."
"Well, next time ask her to buy something a little more sexy, something that makes you feel you're a desirable young woman. For now, it's probably best if you take them off as well."
The garment in question wasn't actually made of wool; this was just one of Charlotte's exaggerations that I would get used to over time. But it was true that the panties my mother bought for me were completely shapeless and did nothing to enhance my appearance.
I followed her instructions but felt uneasy about the whole thing. Of course, there was nothing wrong with taking off one's clothes for a medical examination, but Charlotte wasn't really a doctor. Yes, it was usual to get undressed in front of other girls in the changing room before and after physical education, but then the purpose of the exercise was to change as quickly as possible into another set of clothes and I was never completely naked for any length of time, although some girls seemed to enjoy parading their naked beauty in front of the others.
Charlotte proceeded to 'examine' me, passing her hands all over my body, and I mean all over my body. The gentle touch of her fingers on my skin created a very pleasant sensation and I could feel my nipples harden. It didn't escape her attention that I was getting excited, so she cupped one of my breasts in her hand and passed her fingers over my nipple.
"How does this feel?" she asked.
"Wonderful," I said, "but it also gives me an urge between my legs that I cannot satisfy."
She quickly put her hand between my legs. "Are you always this wet?"
I blushed. I felt deeply embarrassed by her question. "I had a shower just before coming here. But I get wet again very quickly. Particularly now, when I undressed in front of you and when you touched me. Is there something wrong with my body?"
She smiled. "Your body is in perfect working order. It's just that you're horny as hell. You need some expert treatment. But for that it's better if you lie down."
Outside there was a storm brewing. Dark rain clouds had gathered and Charlotte had to switch on the lights even though it was only mid-afternoon. She showed me to the bedroom and made me lie on her bed, then she took off her doctor's coat. Underneath it she only wore a black thong, a tiny triangle of textile held in place by a few strings. The nipples on her full, firm breasts seemed to be just as hard as mine. Looking at her almost naked body made me feel even more excited.
Charlotte joined me on the bed which was just wide enough for two people lying close together. She hugged me and pressed my naked body close to hers. She kissed me while her hands moved down my back, making my skin tingle with excitement.
Something inside me told me that it was a very bad thing to let her touch me like this, that I was in danger of turning into one of those women which my father called 'slut', but it felt good, oh so good, and I allowed Charlotte to do with me what she wanted.
Changing position, her mouth moved down my body towards my breasts and one of her hands found its way between my legs. As her mouth reached my breast, I let out a deep moan. My arousal had become unbearable. There was a desire digging deep in my loins, an ache for which I knew no remedy.
"Relax," Charlotte said, "don't try to control your desire. Let the pleasure take control."
I decided to just lie in her arms and to enjoy whatever she was doing to me - and she seemed to know exactly what to do. With her mouth still on my breast and her tongue running gentle circles around my nipple, her hand stroked my sex, gently prying my lips open and moving her fingers up and down. Then, when her fingers caressed the little hard knob between my pussy lips, I could no longer control myself.
There was thunder and lightning and a ten thousand volt charge hit me right where Charlotte's fingers were. It was as if something inside me had exploded, sending wave after wave of pleasure through my whole body. I heard myself produce sounds I had never made before. I had never felt anything like it in my whole life.
It's quite possible that I fainted at this point, if only for a few seconds. The next thing I remember is that I opened my eyes, looked at Charlotte and asked, "What happened?"
She smiled. "It seems that you just experienced your first ever orgasm. And what a powerful one it was!"
With the rain pouring down outside, Charlotte taught me many new things about my body, guiding my fingers so that I would learn how to stimulate myself. Then she talked about masturbation as a way of releasing the excitement.
She took off her thong and let me watch as she masturbated, her nimble fingers caressing her body, opening the crevice of her pussy and stroking her eager clitoris. Her sensual face, tensing with excitement and then showing complete relaxation as she reached the climax, was as beautiful and exciting as her naked body.
All this touching and watching had made me hot again and she suggested that I put into practice what I had just learned.
"Masturbate for me, come for me," she told me.
Under her expert eyes I brought myself to another climax, feeling that this was the happiest day in my life. Afterwards I covered Charlotte with kisses to show how grateful I was to her.
When the 'consultation' came to an end and I got ready to go, I asked Charlotte, "Do you think I'm cured now?"
She laughed. "What you have, my dear, is incurable. It's called insatiable horniness. But you can alleviate its effects by repeating today's treatment as often as necessary. And you still have a lot to learn. So, come by whenever you feel like."
From this day on I became a frequent visitor to Charlotte's place. There were many more secrets about feminine sexuality which she taught me, and some that we discovered together. She introduced me to the joys of cunnilingus by giving my pussy the full treatment with her mouth and then making me eat hers in return.
But her lessons weren't limited to the feminine side of sex. She showed me a number of magazines and books with explicit pictures and descriptions. There were muscular men with enormous erect penises and naked women who were apparently only too pleased to submit to their every wish. There were pictures of women licking those huge penises like ice cream cones or taking them into their mouths as far as possible, pictures of men sticking their penises deep into their partners' vaginas, even some penetrating their anuses.
There were women having sex with two men at the same time and women whose faces and bodies were splattered with the men's semen. I was sure these publications had come straight from hell, but I couldn't help feeling extremely aroused looking at these pictures and reading the texts which contained words which I - until then - would have never dreamt of pronouncing.
After seeing these pictures I frequently caught myself looking at boys' crotches and wondering what their penises might look like and whether they were was as big and hard as the ones I had seen in Charlotte's magazines. But I didn't only take an interest in the male anatomy. I also looked at women in a different way and when I saw a couple hugging or kissing in public I fantasised about what they might be doing in the privacy of their bedroom.
Charlotte kept teasing me about my 'woolly knickers', saying they made me look like a farmer's girl from two centuries ago. I had asked my mother to buy me something more fashionable, reporting that my class mates in the changing room had been giggling and talking about me behind my back, but I met with complete incomprehension. For her, underpants were something you wear but never look at, let alone allow anybody else to see you in.
My solution to this dilemma was to take off all my clothes as soon as I arrived at Charlotte's place. She was very pleased to see that I surrendered myself so willingly to her and I was happy to escape her jokes. It took me some time to realise that there was more to it than that. With my clothes I left behind Sainte Jacqueline, the boring, well-behaved prude, which did not have much fun in her life and turned into Jacqueline the wanton slut, or Slut-lin' as I sometimes called this part of my personality, out to enjoy herself even if it meant having to roast in hell for the rest of eternity.
One afternoon, when I arrived at Charlotte's apartment - she had given me a key so that I could let myself in - I heard her shout, "I'm in the kitchen."
I undressed as usual and went to meet her. When I got to the kitchen, I saw a plumber who was bending over the washing machine. He lifted his head and looked at me with a broad grin. Charlotte just said, "Ah, that's Jacqueline, my sex slave."
Unable to utter a word, I covered myself as best I could and ran to the bedroom, locking the door behind me. I only agreed to open the door after Charlotte assured me that the man had left. She was deaf to my complaints that she should have warned me about the presence of someone else in the apartment, particularly as this someone else was a man.
She just said, "Don't be such a prude. Let the poor guy have some fun too. Looking at you probably was the best thing that happened to him for a long time. And tonight, when he has a few drinks with his friends, he's going to tell them about it - you made his day without even lifting a finger!" And that closed the subject as far as she was concerned.
Later that day, after she had feasted her hands and mouth on my naked body and had allowed me to do the same with hers, she started thinking aloud.
"You know, when I told that plumber that you were my sex slave, it was meant as a joke. But I've been thinking about it, and, in fact, you really are my sex slave. You get undressed as soon as you arrive to show that you're permanently available for me, you never dare to deny me any wish and you do everything I tell you to do."
From this day on, Charlotte decided that I was to be her sex slave for real. She established a series of rules which I had to follow: I was to call her Master Charles, I was to remove all my clothes as soon as I arrived at her place, I was not allowed to cross my legs in her presence so that she could always feast her eyes on my juicy plum, as she put it, and, in general, I was to follow all her orders without delay. She also ordered me not to wear a bra unless it was absolutely unavoidable.
The new rules, which I accepted reluctantly - I was never quite sure how far she would take them - did not represent any significant change in our relationship. I continued to spend many afternoons at her place, indulging in the pleasure of unrestrained lust.