Stella Maris is into S.M. Pt. 04

Stella Maris had fallen ill in winter. Her internist prescribed antibiotics and declared her cured in spring. Nevertheless, her belly was often painful, especially during cold wet weather. A short spring holiday in France in a small second home her folks bought, brought us occasion for much more sex than at my dorm, where she felt everyone might hear her orgasms. There the weather was lousy, another reason we were often between our sheets. We evened our record set in winter, of mating eight times in one day. Despite the hardships, or perhaps thanks to them, our bond grew stronger. One night I woke up from her crying. Another pain attack, I assumed. Stella Maris reassured me. She cried realizing how much she loved me, how happy with my taking care of her.

The mental part of helping her to fully cure from pain attacks clear, the physical part seemed to be a long stay in hot weather. France our destination for food and culture, we chose Corsica for a long summer stay. To make ends meet, I proposed her to fool her folks, who covered the relative expensive costs for the room she rented, but hardly used, as she preferred her cure in my double bed in the dorm over her small one. So we cancelled her room before our holiday, intending to tell her parents she would get a room in my dorm next September. Those few months worth of rent would pay for our train tickets to Marseille and back, plus the boat to Corsica both ways. Our monthly allowance should be enough to live on the cheap there, we figured.

Arriving in the port of Bastia, we took the train across the island. A stay at a campsite in the central old capital Corte ate our funds a bit too fast, so we went next for camping out in the wild. Travel by hitch-hiking went very well. No wonder with a tall tasty ballet belle at my side.

One hot night we spent at the lawn of an unfinished house, not bothering to set up our tent, we smoked the last bit of hash I had secretly smuggled, which made us incredibly horny. First time Stella Maris could scream her lungs out in her long orgasm, which turned me on tremendously, while the wine we drank made it hard for me to orgasm as fast as usual inside her. So I kept pounding her hard, smacked her boy-ish bottom merciless and kept her coming till we both lost count and almost our conciousness. Next morning she could hardly walk. We waited long at the roadside till finally some 'camion' stopped. The driver introduced himself as Charlie Charlie, a 'pied-noir' (literary 'black-foot', a white guy who grew up in Africa, in his case the former Belgian colony of Congo). Charlie was a smart charmer, about my age. We told our story. He parts of his.

As many people we met there, history of war and narrow escapes. However, as a Belgian national, he was seen as neutral by all sides of the many warring fractions, which all fought each other in their fight for independence to liberate the island from French occupation. He knew a place where we could be safe, camping out wild. Behind a row of dunes, we were close to both the beach and a small supermarket beyond the 'vignobles' - grape fields. Charlie was right. We felt both free and safe. Our daily brunch was 'creme fraiche' with fruits. Dinner varied between grilling at the beach or surprises by Charlie Charlie.

Every other day Charlie paid us a visit, bringing a dinner of grilled chicken and french fries with some wine of his choice. Other evenings we went for some salad and steak from the supermarket. Old wine stocks and drift wood from the beach for a fire, few stones around it got hot enough that the steaks would be ready in few minutes. Plastic bottle of 1.5 liters young wine enough for the two of us. Stella Maris loved our cure for her, daily dose of dozen hours of sun, enough olive oil to protect our skin from sun-burn, sea to swim and cool off after another hot number on the beach, which was very often deserted. At times she felt a bit embarrassed, when Charlie showed up earlier than expected for a swim, and my sperm was still dripping down her legs. Also she would blush, knowing her bums were still red from my spanking, which had become her favourite forceful foreplay for ferocious fornication. Charlie pretended he did not notice, complaining that he let the 'moon shine', referring to his white ass amidst our bronzed bottoms.

After a few days, we found out why our hide-out was relatively safe. Charlie had brought us to a part of the beach only a mile away from a large regular nudist camp site. Where we went every couple of days, to use the showers there for free and treat ourselves to a few drinks at the terraces of several bars along that part of the beach.

In Amsterdam, Stella Maris was still the 'decent Catholic girl'. She left it up to me to seduce her into having some serious sex in the privacy of our room. On Corsica, she dared to take the initiative for the first time. She went to our tent to get something. Suddenly she called me for 'help'. She was on her belly - her favourite position, as our dear readers might remember - with only her lovely looking long legs sticking out. Spread wide. She was fingering her warm wet snatch. Begged me to take her long and hard. That sexy sight gave me an instant hard-on. Happy to oblige, I fucked her well. Slow start, speeding up in the rhythm of her fingers frigging around her love lips till she shouted out loud: "Please Peter, hit me hard, make my bums burn. Make me your sex slave. Use my pussy. Dump your sperm deep inside my womb. Bake me a baby, bad boy."

Stella Maris fond on painful penistration and me on erotic experiments, I tied her up one day. Our handful of cloth pins waited for a role in power play. First fondling her fantastic firm tits, next rolling her nipples between thumb and few fingers, I put a pin at each nipple. Her legs spread wide, tied to the ground with few metal tent pins, I tortured her love lips with a pin at each after fondling them to make them thick. The last one I kept in reserve. Licking along her love lips, teasing her clit, till it swells well, I put the last one at her thick clit, to make it stand out for more torture, till she breaks. Waves roll up and down her body, as if she is the Méditerrainnée in bronzed blonde beauty. That night she cried once more in my arms, overwhelmed by all our love, exhausted by hot hours of super sex. Laying awake, I decided to take her to the next test in obedience.

Earlier, I had noticed sometimes migrant workers of the wine-yards, hiding in the bushes for a secret peek at my fully nude blonde beauty. Charlie had told us they wouldn't dare to do anything. Still my girl was scared of them. I teased her as my sex slave, and asked her to cut a few fresh branches from bushes, clean them of leaves, to provide me with enough of them to use as floggers and indulge us in her talent for submissiveness.

Stella Maris took a few extra sips from the bottle of wine, took our sharpest knife to execute my order as she should. She shivered and blushed when she came back with four or five of them. She stood straight for first series, covering her back, bums and long legs. Sexily striped I admired our work. Such a pity I didn't have a camera back then.

On my request she bend over all our fours. I painted my art-work on her small bottom. It appeared first in pink, soon red, after a while her welts turned purple.

I checked the state of her womanhood with a finger. Her tasty teen twat got very wet indeed. I used bits of it to lubricate her strict sphincter. She got scared. Never some-one had touched her there. Not even her internist in his search of diagnosis of her inflammation. Anyway, for the first time her belly pain was gone, even when we had a rare rainy cold evening out at the beach. For once, I had mercy on her. Left her last virgin opening in peace till later, back in Amsterdam. By surprise, was my intention.

Five warm weeks on Corsica, last four at the beach. Hundreds of awesome orgasms. Sexual experiments she even didn't dare to tell her best girlfriend Marina, for sure not her younger virgin sister Marlene. Cured finally from inflammation. Discovery of her love for submissive sex, despite the initial pain. Stella Maris learned a lot that long hot holiday. For instance that pain can transfer to pleasure, when her body went numb. Slave of sex. Slave to her Professor Peter's pervert plans. Keen on keeping that diary of sexual lessons learned. What a fruitful holiday. What a luck she was on the pill. What the fuck for what others might think. It was our shared sacred secret, all saved for eternity in a small notebook. Still in my possession. To be transferred after my death to the Literature Museum in Amsterdam. Amen.