Chapter One

Nature's Child

 

Suddenly eager to greet the new-born day, I leapt out of bed and with a grand flourish, flung aside the heavy drapes to throw open the room's full-length windows. The welcoming morning was pleasantly warm; the lush promise of another gorgeous Mediterranean day unfolding before me. I savored the feel of the soft morning sun bathing the full front of my nude body as I stood in the open window, stretching luxuriously, reaching for the sky. Then I glanced down, and I saw her: a solitary lightly-tanned figure in a brief white jacket and an enormous straw hat. Karine was up early and was taking her morning coffee on the veranda far below and to the right of my open window.

The azure sea was sparkling, calm and flat. It was a still day, although from time to time a hint of the sea would waft through the heavily redolent air. All in all, a picture-perfect day -- the kind of day that was bound to stir a sun-worshiper like Karine, compelling this born nudist to seek its gentle warmth, to offer up her healthy young body to the sun god, to seek the soft caress of the summer breeze.

I stood motionless, entranced by the pristine beauty below me: a pretty blonde, her still figure brightly lit in the startling clarity of the new-born day. My eyes caressed that sensual, long-limbed body that now lay slack in indolent repose, sprawling back in the deck chair. From the bottom of the hip-length jacket she wore one long suntanned leg extended downward, while the other, steepled at the knee, was folded back so that the heel of her bare foot rested on the front edge of the chair. A small white cup sat on a round table within easy reach.

Whenever we went to the villa on holiday I always brought my telescope with me, for I am an avid people watcher. The tripod stood beside me in the bedroom where I might have a superb view of the sea and the beach below. Now I reached for my instrument; swung the barrel around, depressing the angle to quickly bring the seated figure into view. I focused on those precise blond features shaded under the tilted brim of the big hat she wore. Karine seemed pensive look, as though deep in thought, her unseeing gaze far away on the startlingly blue sea. The silky wrapper she had slipped into was hip-length; loosely belted at the waist. Its open front invited a nice view of the center of that smooth girlish chest from her neck to her belly and beyond, to the top edge of her white nylon panties.

For the free-spirited blonde, holidays at St. Tropez meant getting away with the scantiest outfits possible, one or two tiny pieces that left most of her superb body on open display. Even more amazing than the girl's total indifference towards going about practically naked, was her casual way she would shed her clothes at the least provocation. There were stories of Karine dancing in some little club, nonchalantly stripping off her dress, or peeling off her top as she did her own little topless dance while the crowd stepped back to watch.

Karine was full of such surprises. One day, we took a walk in the countryside, and as we strolled barefoot through the grassy fields, Karine reached down and deftly undid the catch of the large wraparound skirt she wore. With charming insouciance the girl simply walked out of the two halves of the parted skirt, gathering the loose folds up without missing a step, and casually flinging it across one shoulder, all the while chatting away, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. And thus we continued our stroll, the long-legged blonde with her panties peeping out from under the hem of her loosely hanging blouse, bare legs flashing in the summer sun.

If questioned her about her exhibitionist leanings, Karine would give a look of wide-eyed innocence, and offer a wordless shrug. Still, this was a point fascinated me, and once when I pressed her on it, she explained, with a slightly disingenuous smile, that she merely liked to get "more comfortable." However, I sensed there was more to it than that.

The sight of Karine's lean, small-breasted figure in a sexy thong, striding towards the beach in her high-heeled sandals, was breathtaking. The diminutive triangle narrowed into a single strand that disappeared between the split curves of her high set buttocks and left pleasingly bare the sleek contours of her long haunches, and the sheer perfection of that tight-cheeked young bottom. How could any woman help but be proud, secretly elated, when that lithe, rakish body inevitably captured the open stares of admiring men, and drew the sidelong glances of envious women as she swept by? It seemed perfectly natural to me that the tall blonde would relish a little display whenever the opportunity presented itself.

As I watched now, I saw my lissome beauty stir, shifting forward to resettle the coffee cup on the glass-topped table. She reached up to take off the floppy hat, undid the silk belt from around her waist, and slid her hands up the lapels. Leaning forward, she peeled back the jacket, twisting her shoulders free, and with a final shrug let the sagging jacket slide down her extended arms.

Gloriously topless now, she paused, straightening up in her chair, shoulders back, head erect, chin held high, in that imperious pose she assumed so readily; her tight young breasts now exposed to the delightful feel of the warm summer air. The simple elegance of her bare-breasted lines took my breath away; an ache of intense longing came over me as I gazed at the girl, quietly sitting there, perfectly poised, like the exquisitely carved figurehead of a proud ship. I watched fascinated, while she took a deep breath, her pert breasts riding up. The slightly up-tilted nipples, stirred by their sudden exposure to the moist sea air, seemed to be stiffening even as I watched.

She slid her hands up and lightly passing them over her naked breasts as she reached for the sky to stretch back languidly, arching up in a luxurious feline stretch, as if offering up her delicate bosom to the life-giving sun. For a moment she held the pose, back deeply bowed, eyes closed, as a dreamy expression settled on her face. And then, slowly, she unwound, easing back into the chair, to rest back on splayed elbows. She wiggled her hips; her long tanned legs unfolded and sprawled carelessly in a loose vee. I watched the way her breasts moved liquidly as the girl eased back, the supple mounds receding, melding into two thickened discs that rose dimly on her slender torso. Those provocative nipples standing up. My hungry eyes traveled up that lean slack body to her peaceful face, where I saw her lips curl in a blissfully contented smile. Karine gave a final wiggle to settle in more comfortably before let herself sink into a sun-drenched torpor.

I let my ravenous eyes drink in the enchanting sight, sweeping the length of the somnolent figure from the top of her sun-bleached blond head to her toes, her splendid body offered so openly, vulnerable to my scrutiny. Her long clean lines were unbroken; her lightly tanned body totally naked, save for the white strip of the thin panties banding her narrow hips.

I took my time, leisurely savoring the streamlined figure laid out before me. Karine wore her straight blond hair pulled back from her face, the excess tied up in a pert pony-tail, enhancing the quality of wholesome freshness, that young girl innocence that men found so irresistible. Her neat blond features were slack in quiet repose, but the high aristocratic cheekbones were still prominent, the chiseled lines of her nose and lips, the crisp chin, each elegantly sculpted feature etched in sharp relief in the morning light.

I let my eyes adore every inch of her, trailing down her neck, along the fine ridges of the collarbone, down the narrow sternum, flat and smooth, between the gentle slopes of those darling little tits. Flattened by her reclining posture, the small mounds had all but receded into her lithe torso, and all that remained were two slight rises crowned with dusky tips; small, precise disks with tiny hardened nubs. Those roughish nipples once awakened had now lapsed back into dormancy, lulled by the reassuring warmth of the morning sun.

Now my insatiable eyes continued their hungry journey, scanning the sweeping lines of Karine's lithe body, lean and seductively contoured, over the barely-perceptible traces of her ribcage and onto the subtle curves of her smooth belly, taut and barely concave, with a slight hallow just where the low-slung panties stretched across to span her jutting hipbones. My eyes devoured her slim hips and the sleek curves of her elongated loins, the fullness of her haunches revealed by the high-cut panties. When she had slid forward, squirming her hips to get more comfortable, the panties had ridden up, and now the gusset was pulled tight deliciously molding her gently mounded vulva. I let the telescope linger there, right at the juncture of her thighs, just at that point where I could make out the hazy shadow of blond pubic hair barely discernible through the thin layer of tightly-stretched nylon. A twinge of desire shot through my loins; my prick stirred in instant response.

Slowly, I continue to scan those long slack limbs, savoring the clean straight lines of those choice young thighs, smooth columnar lengths that I knew I could easily span with the spread fingers on one hand. I let my eyes visually caress the elegant curves of those tall tapering legs, loosely spread in wanton abandon. I remembered the feel of those legs of hers; the incredible satiny smoothness of Karine's silky thighs. My hand reached down to find and grab my aching manhood. For the longest time I simply gazed at her still form, slowly pulling on my, by now, fully-erected penis.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement. Karine's right hand, which had rested at her hip, was stirring, creeping across the flat plain of her belly, curving up over the ribcage, the fingers nosing towards her left breast. I watched fascinated while those narrow fingers snaked around the curving slope to loosely cup the exquisite symmetry of that precious little breast. She brushed the pad of an extended thumb back and forth, worrying the nascent nipple, until the tiny nub began emerge once again from its dormant state.

Next, she brought the other hand into play, and now with one hand on each tit, her long pointy fingertips traced over the slight bulges. The exploring fingers seemed to have a life of their own as they slid over the soft rises and settled into ever tightening spirals around the darkening aureoles, till she captured the stiffening buds between two scissoring fingers. I watched as she squeezed the expanded nipples, delicately plucking the sensitive nubs and rolling them between thumb and forefinger, till the fully-aroused tips stood up proudly, audaciously erect; taut with tingling excitement.

Once Karine had her nipples upstanding, she shifted tactics, opening her hands to palm the little flattened mounds. The delicate fingers closed in a reassuring squeeze and then, with slow languid movements, she began to caress herself, using her palms to press into and move the soft tittie-flesh in a deep circular massage. Her self-pleasuring soon had her squirming in feline pleasure, sensuously wriggling her shoulders in obvious delight as she savored the delectable experience of fondling herself in the warmth of the soft summer morning of the French Rivera.

I passed a quick hand over my brow, surprised at how warm I had become from watching her. I was actually sweating, clearly turned on, kept at a fevered pitch of randy excitement by the slow writhing of the leggy blond. Watching her torrid performance had stiffened my swollen manhood to an aching, desperate state, and it was becoming more difficult to ignore the pressing demand for release which grew more insistent with each moment. I tightened my grip on my rock-hard prick and closed my eyes, momentarily giving myself up to a grand upwelling surge of pleasure.

When I opened my eyes again it was to find that Karine had quit her charming little breasts, although she continued to make love to herself, her greedy hands seeking further pleasure in the nether regions between her restless loins. Her right hand had slid down over her pantied pubic mound and she slipped two extended fingers between her legs to give her nylon-sheathed pussy a quick vigorous rub, tossing back her head at the sudden stab of pleasure.

Eagerly, she grabbed at the front of the panties, clutching a handful of the silky fabric. Twisting the fistful of nylon and yanking upward, she pulled on the narrow gusset, tugging the taut crease up until it was deeply embedded between her cuntlips. As she stretched the twisted scrap she arched up, raising her hips high off the seat, and straining upward, caught in the throes of her self-induced arousal. She held that pose, her head thrown back, eyes clenched shut, her brow wrinkled with lines of urgency, her body tightly bowed in a rigid arc. For an impossibly long moment I watched her strain upwards, yanking the taut silk strip even deeper between into her cunt, and bucking her hips in a lewd parody of fucking.

She continued this wanton performance for several more seconds, the muscles in her calves straining as she rose up on her toes. The passion-driven blonde was tossing her head from side to side, flinging her long silky hair wildly, and working with mounting urgency. But then abruptly, at the last minute, she pulled back from the brink of her onrushing climax. Perhaps she wished to prolong her escalating pleasure, or maybe she was simply unable to maintain the rigid demanding pose. In any case, her fist opened, releasing her crinkled panties, and she let herself fall back into the chair, collapsing in a sunken heap, while the rolling waves of pleasure gradually subsided.

The blond girl lay quiet for a moment, slowly recovering her equilibrium. I focused the lens on her face to find that her cheeks were flushed; her nostrils flaring, her breath coming in rapid heaves through moist, parted lips. I saw her fine eyelashes flutter in agitation, her eyes narrowing into slits, before closing down once again. I watched and waited, certain that the lascivious show staged for my benefit (of that I was sure) was not yet over.

I had to wait only a moment till I saw her right hand, which had come to rest on the shallow depression just below her navel, move lower. Very gradually, the fingertips nosed under the taut elastic waistband of the tiny panties. Soon the whole hand slipped under the diaphanous shield, the creeping fingers burrowing between her moistening thighs, till her curving palm cupped up to hold her needy sex.

I watched, entranced, as the languid blond began palming her pubic mound, moving with slow, deliberate strokes, rubbing herself off and writhing sensuously, like a big cat in heat. A surge of powerful lust electrified me, thrilling me at the erotic sight of the squirming blond, pleasuring herself with her fist jammed down her underpants; I couldn't help rubbing myself off, my hand pistoning in time to her churning rhythms.

Now Karine was humping ferociously, her lovely features once again contorted, jaws clenched, teeth bared, as she raced towards an explosive climax. Suddenly, her eyes flew wide open. Through parted lips she drew a quick intake of breath, gasping at the intensity of the onrushing wave of pure ecstasy that swept her up. She rubbed herself with renewed fury, her hips gyrating wildly, bucking violently. Suddenly, her forearm tensed as she tightened her grip on her spasming sex, holding on while a deep shuddering orgasm racked her trembling body.

Unable to control my own boiling excitement, I grabbed my surging cock and yanked vigorously. The discharge came rocketing up in powerful pulsating jets, thick wads of creamy cum that arched up through the air as wild electric thrills shook me to the core. The earth-shattering explosion sent a wave of unalloyed pleasure coursing through me; my legs went rubbery. I staggered back, reaching for the telescope to steady myself, as my eyes fluttered and closed. But I allowed myself only a few seconds to savor the rapture. With a deep breath I forced my eyes open again, wanting to miss nothing, insatiable for the sight of my blond temptress. Unable to quit the telescope, I stood there swaying, gazing through half-lidded eyes, fixated by the image of the loosely slack figure blissfully sinking into the afterglow of her own ebbing orgasm.

And as I gazed in rapt fascination, captivated by that alluring form, the blonde turned her face up to where I stood naked in the window. For a moment I was taken aback, startled by the directness of her gaze as her deep dark eyes caught mine in the act of mute adoration. On that upturned face was the most beguiling smile I had even seen, sexy, and incredibly lewd. If there could have been any doubt that the blond vixen knew she was being watched it was dispelled at that moment, for it was then that she winked, an impish, conspiratorial wink, which, without a doubt, was aimed ...straight at me!

Chapter Two

Our Kind of Love

 

Carefully balancing the brimming cup of Expresso, Sabine maneuvered her way through the clutter of small round tables to find a place next to the windows. From her vantage point, she could observe the blank facade of the non-descript building that held row upon row of flats on the other side of Boulevard Diderot. At the street level there were the little shops, whose proprietors were now just opening their doors. The sun had laid down a precise band of pale morning light, illuminating the top three tiers of windows, glinting off their shiny rectangles. The remaining rows were still in shadow, their windows untouched, opaque, and anonymous.

Sabine studied the square matrix of windows, knowing that somewhere up there was a woman who called herself 'Astrid.' Was it her real name? Was the woman, even now, standing behind one of those windows, inching back a drape just a crack to look down on the awninged canopy over the front door. Was she watching for Sabine's arrival?

Sabine was keyed up; had been all week. This morning she skipped breakfast; not hungry, far too nervous to eat. A wave of fluttery anxiety had settled in her stomach. It would take all her courage to go through with this, and she still wasn't sure she could do it. She shifted in her seat, crossed and uncrossed her slim, stockinged legs, tugged the narrow skirt down to the top of her knees. She cupped the Expresso in her hand, reassured by its warmth.

Of course, she was early. She knew that. Sabine drew the cup closer; eased back a gabardine sleeve to check her watch; looked up once again at the even rows of windows. Twenty minutes early. She adjusted the sleeve back into place, covering the oversized face of her watch. It wouldn't do B for her to show up early. She knew instinctively that Astrid would expect her to be on time; right on time. Not early; not late. Astrid had made clear to her that she had her standards, her rules. She would expect compliance with those rules. A quiver went through Sabine. She noticed her hands were shaking a little as she lifted the cup, and took a tentative sip.

Now, as she sat at the marble-topped table staring up at the even rows of windows, she thought about her life, and the hopelessness of it all. Sabine didn't think Renee's going would affect her like this. They both had agreed it was for the best. Their relationship had died some time ago; the spark of life gone out of it. Still, she felt curiously adrift without Renee. She had forgotten how hard it was to come home to an empty flat.

Not that her new freedom was too bad at first. It was only gradually the loneliness had set in. And now she was so lonely, so terribly, terribly alone.

The days weren't too bad. She'd spend those buried in work, but the nights....ah, the nights were something else. She restlessly roamed the internet in her darkened flat, her intense blond features bathed in the pale light of the computer screen. Like a hyperactive moth flitting among a thousand points of light, searching, driven by her desperation and, to her surprise, an unbelievable sense of randiness that seemed to seize her each time she slid into the seductive promise of cyberspace.

It had been Astrid's stories that drew her in, wonderful tales of love between women, if 'love' was the right word for it. Astrid's stores were of power, of sexual domination and sweet and total submission, of captive lovers -- obsessed and helpless, caught in a web neither could understand but only enjoy.

That same wave of randiness swept over her now at the thought of Astrid's website sitting out there, like a spider's web; its webmistress, a self-contained, patient woman, perfectly prepared to wait till some curious surfer would alight.

She let her mind drift to its manufactured image of Astrid: an older woman no doubt -- one with a stern face and tightly-drawn lips set in grim determination. Under the table, the blond girl's restless legs shifted uneasily, closed; her thighs clenched, and she straightened up with a wiggle as the knot of lust tightened in her belly.

In her mind the remote woman became real. It was a picture constructed entirely from those wonderful, highly arousing stories: Astrid's stories of lesbian lust, the most exquisite infatuation that left Sabine shaken, breathless and sweating. Those stories contrasted with the curt, tight-lipped e-mail messages that were all she had to go on as he imagined the imperial webmistress. The remote woman gave her nothing more. What if Astrid turned out to be some dumpy, saggy, middle-aged, frump? Or worse, what if she were one of those muscle-bound, tattooed dykes, a body-pierced sadistic menace with lip-rings and spiked hair. Sabine shuddered. What had she gotten herself into? A wave of desperation swept over her. This was dangerous! Sabine shook off the scary thoughts.

No, the stories were too elegantly drawn to have been written by a thug! Still, what did she really know about Astrid? Next to nothing, while Astrid knew all about her; demanded details; insisted she reveal herself, bit by bit. And later, she was drawn into the chatroom, and finally into their own private corner of the chatroom where they met regularly. Astrid had asked for, pestered, insisted on -- a photo. Sabine dutifully complied, scanned a picture she had of herself, one of that had been taken years ago (one of the few where Renee wasn't in the picture too), and she sent that one along. A humble offering, tentatively submitted, with butterflies in her stomach.

The picture was taken years ago, by Justine, her roommate at the University. In those days, her silvery blond hair was quite a bit longer, and she wore it tied back in a perky pony tail. She had on a pair of tight-fitting jeans; her favorite blazer over a thin tank-top. Casual, yet rather chic, she thought. The photo was taken from the balcony as she stood in the yard behind her rooms, and she was squinting up at the camera from under her bangs with a tentative smile. Sabine wasn't happy with the picture, but she decided it was the best she had.

Now she turned and caught a glimpse of her reflected face in the mirrored pillars of the coffee shop. The face was older than the face in that picture, the eyes sadder, the lines more pronounced. She seemed pale and drawn; wished she had used a little more makeup today. What she saw was a gray-suited blond woman, not exactly young but still reasonably good looking, she thought, with soft brown eyes, a delicate nose and chin, wide full mouth. No longer the serious college student. Today, she wore her hair up, fine, sleek hair pulled back from her face and gathered in a very short pony that looped softly above the nape of her neck. Astrid had insisted she wear it pulled it back like that -- just like it was in that picture; the picture taken so many years ago.