Date: Sat, 7 Feb 1998 04:52:15 EST
From: Dianic007@aol.com
Subject: FRENCH MISTRESS EMMANUELLE
FRENCH MISTRESS EMMANUELLE
by
Roberta Angela Dee
MEETING EMMANUELLE:
This is a story about a dominant bisexual woman who
lives in the southern part of France. Through the internet,
she is introduced to a submissive bisexual woman who is also
transgendered. The relationship that eventually evolves
speaks to all women -- regardless of their origin.
Research for this story -- in addition to actual
experience -- was derived from the following sources:
1. Amity Harris's Femdom Short Stories
Amity's original short stories: femdom, female
domination, male submissives and other erotica.
http://www.tpe.com/~amity/shorts.htm
2. Pierre Silber's in Santa Clara. They carry 6-inch
heels, thigh-high boots, pumps, and platforms in
sizes 5 to 15.
http://www.pierresilber.com/
3. Mistress Rainy's Den
Mistress Rainy hence also known as Mistress R is a
professional "fantasy facilitator" more commonly
referred to as a bi-sexual domme. She resides in
Indiana.
http://members.tripod.com/~MistressRainy/index.htm
4. Modern Goddess Magazine
http://www.teleport.com/~jake1950/index2.shtml
jake1950@teleport.com
5. Camille Paglia: Women as Goddess
http://www.matriarch.com/archive.htm
6. Pat Califia
7. Beth Young
I moved from New York, to Georgia, hoping that life
in a rural Southern city would be less hectic than life in
Manhattan. Not long after I arrived, I realized that living
in a small city was like living under a microscope. I
constantly ran into people I had no desire to meet. To make
matters worse, everyone wanted to know everyone else's
business.
There were weeks when I would not leave the house,
except to go to work and to buy groceries. It was the only
way to avoid the incredible numbers of small-minded people.
It seems that the South, America's Bible Belt, breeds small
minded people.
The wealthier people tried to import as much culture
as they could afford. These importations had little lasting
effect on the local population. Inevitably, one could only
conclude that genuine culture had gone with the wind.
There are two large widows in my den. My computer
sits opposite these windows. Although the scenery behind me
is quite beautiful, there is nothing to distract me from my
computer screen. Nothing -- except the sound of the birds.
One late afternoon, as I was checking my e-mail, I
noticed a message from a foreign country. There was also an
attachment.
The letter was from a woman who identified herself
as Emmanuelle. The attachment was a photograph -- a
portrait of the woman identified in the letter. She was
young and very beautiful. The southern coast of France
served as a perfect background. Sunglasses veiled her
eyes, but her pouted lips expressed the desires behind the
dark glass.
She was responding to a post I had placed on a
newsgroup for bisexual people. In the newsgroup, I had
expressed an interest in meeting a dominant bisexual woman.
I also explained that I was transgendered -- born with the
body of a boy, but the mind, heart and soul of a girl. It
intrigued her that anyone born male could live and succeed
as a woman. I am sure she also found an interest in the
submissive desires I so carefully detailed in my
advertisement.
I responded to her correspondence and include a
photograph of myself. In her reply, she commented that she
found me to be a beautiful woman. She also wrote that if I
should ever travel to France, she would be most eager to
meet with me. Thus, we became friends and pen-pals.
The more I learned about Emmanuelle, the more
intrigued I became. Each of her letters provided additional
details that defined the woman as much as it defined her
environment. It was not difficult to grow just a little
envious as I compared her life in France, to my life in the
rural south of the United States.
Emmanuelle resided in a quiet, spacious villa, is
located in Puisserguier (Hrault), in Southern France's
Languedoc-Roussillon region. It was close to the
Mediterranean beaches and mountains.
Her two-story home consisted of three bedrooms and
three bathrooms. There was also a pleasant garden.
There was a convenient highway to access numerous
nearby Mediterranean beaches (12 miles) and the back-
country's Cvennes mountains (12 miles). The ground floor
had a master bedroom and a living room with a dining area
that opened onto a generous covered verandah. The upstairs
bedrooms featured scenic views of the town and countryside.
The location and climate were ideal for summer
vacations, and featured interesting geographic and historic
attractions: the Canal du Midi's historic waterway that
connected the Mediterranean to the Atlantic Ocean; the
Cathedrals of Bziers and Narbonne; and the historic sites
from the Roman and medieval periods, such as the famous
fortified medieval city of Carcassonne.
The nearby city of Bziers offered restaurants,
cinemas, theater, museums and night life. Montpellier, a
large city with an international airport, was only 50 miles
away.
The town of Puisserguier had all basic services:
groceries, pharmacy, physicians, and so on. In Puisserguier
there is also a "maison de la jeunesse" (youth organization)
which sponsors cultural activities such as trips to the
historic or geographical sites of the region as well as
sports activities. Other area activities include: canoeing,
horseback riding, cycling, ultra-light aircraft.
In one of my letters, I referred to Emmanuelle as a
domme. She replied, telling me that I should not confuse
being dominant with being a domme. "A domme is quite a
different kind of woman," she wrote.
MEETING MISTRESS RAINY:
"So what was the difference between being a dominant
woman and being a domme?" I asked myself. I decided to meet
with a Mistress Rainy -- a friend and a woman who had
described herself as a domme. If anyone knew the answer, it
would be the Mistress.
Mistress Rainy was a middle-aged lifestyle domme.
By "lifestyle," I mean that she lived as a domme and that
the art of being a dominatrix was a major source of her
income. I might add that she was a beautiful and strong-
looking woman -- a woman with curves and womanly attributes
one would not find on a waif-thin model.
"I am a domme and a professional dominatrix," she
informed me.
Mistress Rainy also kept a live-in female
submissive. Her name was Karen, and she attended to the
needs of Mistress Rainy at all times. Karen was also an
attractive woman, but she appeared to be fragile. Perhaps
her demeanor was as aspect of her submissiveness. I could
not be certain. There was no doubt, however, that she both
loved and feared her mistress.
"I like to call myself a "fantasy facilitator,"
Mistress Rainy explained. "I help people to realize and
explore their fantasies in a safe, discreet, and sane
environment. I also enjoy teaching other women to be a
Mistress if I think they will be what I think a Mistress
should be."
I appreciated the fact that Mistress Rainy imposed
standards on everything she did -- not only upon herself but
on those with whom she formed an affiliation. Art that
fails to measure to any standard is nothing more than trash.
By setting a standard for her role as a dominatrix, she
elevated her art.
Mistress Rainy was married to a Master. However,
she was not submissive to him, nor was he submissive to her.
They shared ownership in a business producing leather
bondage gear called Crazzy'Z Creations.
I should explain that Mistress Rainy did not always
wear leather herself. In fact, if you were to meet her on
the street you would believe her to be as normal as the lady
next door. She wore jeans, sweatshirts, T-shirts, or shorts
like anyone else.
The difference was that she projected a dominant
attitude and a dominant personality. As a domme, the role
was not about having sex. It was about teaching a
submissive the things they only dreamed. She enjoyed, for
example, watching a man kiss her feet or lick her boots.
She enjoyed the sound of a whip cracking on flesh.
"I do not try to pretend to be someone I am not, I
am just me," she said. "I am just the person I am
comfortable with being. I am not a sadist. I am, however,
sadistic when I choose to be or when there is a need to be."
This was all very new and exciting to me. I
understood now that Emmanuelle did not want to be my domme.
She wanted a relationship that could develop into something
intimate.
FEMALE DOMINATION:
Not long after my conversations with Mistress Rainy,
I began to think of the possibility of meeting Emmanuelle.
Mistress Rainy and I were about the same age, but we both
looked younger. We both had young minds. Why couldn't
either she or I start a new life?
Mistress Rainy was, of course, happy with the way
she lived. I, however, was not happy. It was I who needed
a change. Soon, the possibility of a new life moved from
the subconscious realm of my mind, to the conscious realm.
I began reading all I could find on female supremacy
and female domination. I started with Amity's Femdom
Stories -- a website. Her stories, however, were mostly
concerned with female supremacy as a fetish and as a sexual
act. I searched for something with a deeper meaning; and
so, I turned to a female supremacy website called
Matriarch.com. There I found writing from some of the most
notable female supremacists in the world. Still, there was
something too physical about their theories. They were
neither spiritual enough, nor cerebral enough.
I also read material provided through Camille
Paglia, Pat Califia, and Beth Young. Again, most of their
material dealt with a woman's superiority but their
arguments were more sexual than intellectual. Furthermore,
I could find nothing pertaining to the superiority of
African women, nor women of African descent. So, in a
sense, the same racist attitudes--however subtle or
unintentional -- pervaded thoughts on female supremacy as
they had so much of Western civilization and culture.
In America, white women read a few books and then
proclaimed themselves to be feminists -- theoretical
feminists. Women of color were born feminists -- feminists
as a result of the circumstances imposed upon them. It was
a richer feminism than anyone else could dare theorize.
As a transgendered woman, I had been afforded an
opportunity to view culture both as a male and as a female.
I too felt that women were superior but for reasons removed
from my colleagues.
From my perspective, female superiority was rooted
in our ability to perceive the sensual relationship between
two human beings, as well as between human and non-human
attributes of life. For example, the relationship between
human and technology. It was a spiritual power that could
find its way into sexual acts, but was not necessarily
rooted in sex, nor our ability to be sexual.
Even a submissive woman retained these spiritual
powers. As a result, she was superior to a male in spite of
her submissiveness. Why? Because she could understand the
sensuality involved in maintaining a perfect relationship
with a domme. Men could simply obey. A woman, on the other
hand, could make submission the force that drove her to
incredibly erotic heights. She could serve her domme for
24-hours, 7-days a week, and still maintain the attributes
important to her private life.
African women and women of African descent were
perhaps more attuned to the spirituality of female
domination. They were, after all, most likely to be
oppressed -- not only because of their gender but also their
race. Still, they survived and many even succeeded
financially and socially within a very hostile environment.
In one of her letters, Emmanuelle suggested that I
was brave to be a woman, particularly in a culture that
oppressed both women and people of color. Although I agreed
with her at one level, I could not agree totally. My
decision to live as a woman was not totally a matter of
choice. It was who I was -- in spite of my masculine birth.
As my confidence in myself as a woman increased, so
did my belief in my ability to become a superior woman.
Inevitably, I found myself drawing closer and closer to
Emmanuelle.
PREPARATION:
I spent an entire year preparing myself to meet with
her. I began dieting, exercising, saving and planning. I
even selecting a new wardrobe for my new life.
Life is an act of love. Preparing for a new life is
like preparing to make love to a beautiful woman. There
must be a certain amount of preparation. One must create
the mood, the atmosphere -- the right romantic setting.
Then, there must be a good measure of foreplay -- not
foreplay merely for the sake of foreplay, but painstakingly
slow foreplay consisting of kissing, fondling, caressing,
biting, nibbling, tasting and licking. One must engage all
the senses! Then, if and only if, foreplay has resulted in
the beautiful blossoming of erotic joy, and if the woman is
physically in need of it, only then should penetration
follow. A new life must be more than a one-night stand.
So, it should take at least as much preparation as it takes
to seduce a woman. There must be preparation, foreplay and
finally penetration.
Part of my preparation consisted of ordering exotic
boots, shoes and intimate apparel from Pierre Silber. This
was a great deal of fun, as it is often difficult for tall
or large women to find sexy clothes. From him, I purchased
my first and only pair of shoes with 6-inch (15 centimeters)
heels. Heels at this height transforms any woman into an
imposing presence.
My favorite purchase was the thigh high patent
leather boots with a simple 2-inch heels. They were rare,
exotic and exquisite.
I was able to walk on them for about 3 hours.
Afterwards, I needed to give my legs and feet a rest.
However, while I wore them I was able to sashay and move
about far more gracefully than I had anticipated. It goes
to show that one should never underestimate the capabilities
of a determined woman.
Within a year's time, I managed to complete all my
business in the United States. I had even transported many
of my belongings to Puisserguier. Now I was ready to meet
the woman who would hopefully become my dominant partner. I
say "hopefully" because at this time, no definite
commitments had been made. We were both well aware that
cyber-friendships do not always blossom.
FOREPLAY:
Finally, I arrived in Paris, France. I transferred
to a smaller aircraft and was transported to a small landing
field near Puisserguier. There, I was met by Emmanuelle.
She was even lovelier than she appeared in her
pictures, and was everything any woman could hope for in a
female partner. I was not surprised that she established
her dominance right from the start -- explaining what I
would be scheduled to do for the rest of the day.
The drive to the villa took less than a half-hour.
I noted that the French do not seem as driven as Americans.
They moved at about at what seemed a more natural and
comfortable pace -- not as dreary as the people in the
Southern part of the United States, nor as animated as those
in the North.
It was a fairy tale house, so totally charming and
romantic. I was almost surprised that there were no little
elves running about. The interior was elegantly decorated
but very comfortable.
Emannuelle showed me to my bedroom. It was next to
her room -- the larger room. Apparently, we were to sleep
separately.
"Take a few minutes to freshen yourself," she
ordered, "then meet me downstairs in the living room. Slip
into something revealing and sexy. It's how you will dress most
of the time. So, I want to see how you will appear."
I smiled shyly but did not verbalize my emotions.
She seemed distant, and I feared that she was disappointed
with the way I looked. Still, I followed her command and
met her downstairs. I wore a simple black bra, panty and
garter, stockings, heels and a sheer robe.
Emmanuelle smoked a cigarette and looked me over
carefully. "Turn around," she commanded. " I want to see
your derriere."
I did as I was instructed then asked if she approved
of my bottom.
"It's very nice," she replied. "I will have a good
deal of fun spanking it and fondling it as my mood directs."
The mere suggestion of foreplay aroused me.
"Tell me something," she began, "I see no evidence
of your male part. Did you have the surgery?"
"No, Emmanuelle," I replied coyishly. "I have not
had the surgery, nor do I intend to have it. My male part
is simply tucked away.
"And this is not uncomfortable for you?" she
inquired.
"No, I am quite accustomed to it," I replied. "It
would only be a problem if I were to become erect. And
since I never become erect, it is never a problem."
"Stand near to me," she insisted. "Remove your
panty. I wish to see it.
"Why must you see it, Emmanuelle?" I asked boldly.
You already know Im transgendered. Did you think I would
lie about something as unfortunate?"
"Roberta, when I ask you to do something, I dont
want to be challenged," she replied, firmly. "Your role in
this relationship is not to challenge. Your role is to be
challenged -- by me!"
I did not move. I was uncomfortable with her
command.
"Come here and remove your panty," she said
insistently. "Im not making a request."
This time I did as I was told. I walked up to her
and lowered my panty over my heels and allowed them to fall
to the floor. My male part, however, was still between my
cheeks.
"Take it out," she ordered. "I wish to see it."
I parted my thighs and allowed my penis to descend.
It was there before her and was quite flaccid.
"Good girl," she commented approvingly. "Finally,
it is beginning to sink in as to which of us is the dominant
one here.
She caressed my male part with her finger tips and
watched for a response. Then, she looked up to me and noted
that my expression was unchanged. I had not been affected
by her touch. This seemed to please her.
However, she was not thoroughly convinced that I
could not be aroused in this manner. She took my penis into
her mouth and began sucking, hoping for even the slightest
response. There was none.
"I see that it is quite dead," she finally
commented. "However, I bet if I run my finger back to your
little pussy -- I bet Ill get a response from that."
Leaving me no time to verbalize a reply, her finger
slipped to my anus and she fondled it gently. She noted my
immediate response and my smile.
"You see, already I have learned where the lady
likes to be touched," she said. "You are not so different
than the woman I have known before you. You simply have a
little something extra."
She sat back on the sofa and watched me as I put on
my panty, carefully tucking my secret between my thighs.
"Im really amazed at how feminine you are,
Roberta," she said. "I know Ive seen your photos, talked
to you on the telephone, read your letters and poetry.
Still, I would never have believed that anyone born a male
could become so totally feminine."
"I talk that as a compliment, Emmanuelle," I
replied.
"Yes, most definitely. Please do!" she insisted.
"For a man to become a woman is like a mule becoming a
champion race horse."
"I agree, Emmanuelle. Thank you."
"Youre quite welcome," she replied. "Now, come.
Let me show you to my bedroom where I can explore more of
your feminine skills."
Mademoiselle Emmanuelle's bedroom was dark, yet
beautiful. She slept on a king-size canopy bed with huge
pillows. The sheets were of silk as was the comforter.
She leaped up onto the bed and lifted her dress to
reveal that she had not worn a panty. Her beautiful pussy
was exposed to my view and was slightly parted and moist.
"Eat me, my dear," she ordered. "You will be
spending a lot of time between my thighs if you can pleasure
me well enough."
She then moved to the edge of the bed, allowing her
legs to dangle over the side. I knelt between her thighs
and began to lick her delicate fruit.
"Not bad," she commented. "But you will need to do
much better. There is no rush to doing this. You must take
your taste. Let your tongue learn to vary its pressure.
Remember, you must take me to the height that you yourself
would like to reach."
I had never received verbal instructions.
Suddenly, I felt incompetent doing what I had done for so
many years. Still, I found that I enjoyed this new
technique to the art of cunnilingus.
"Yes, that's better. That's much better. Tease my
clitoris. Don't drown it."
I moved my tongue in a circular motion over her
entire pussy, occasionally inserting my tongue like a tiny
penis. She seemed to respond favorably.
"Good girl, Roberta!" she said. "I do believe
you're learning quite well."
It pleased me to please Emmanuelle. It pleased me
to be told I had been a good girl.
Yet, to my dismay , she reached for a paperback
novel from her night stand, and began reading it as though I
was having little if any effect on her. To me, this was
quite the insult. Her gesture, I felt, was a direct
challenge to my womanhood.
I use my bottom lip to firmly caress her jewel --
moving up towards he clitoris but not quite touch it. I
repeated this procedure several times using considerable
pressure. Then when I sensed I had achieved the desired
response, I allowed my tongue to strike her clitoris several
times. Then while fingering her deeply, I sucked and
nibbled on the delicate pearl. Finally, I heard the novel
hit the floor behind me.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Roberta!" she cried out. "Oh,
you are such a wonderful little bitch. That's it, darling.
Don't stop! Don't stop! I'm cumming! I'm cumming!"
What woman in her right state of mind would stop at
this point? I licked and sucked furiously until I felt the
tiny spasms between her thighs and could feel the flow of
her precious juices upon my lips. I was as elated and
nearly as satisfied as Emmanuelle!
She then suggested I remove my panty, so we could
enter into a 69 position. This time, I could barely remove the
garment quickly enough.
"Well, you have no clitoris," she commented. "But I'm
sure I can figure out how to make you cum."
Well, my dear reader, she did figure me out quite
effectively. And it led to the final act of love -- penetration. However,
that's another story, and I trust I'll find you here again.
The author may be contacted at Dianic007@aol.com.
(c) 1998 - Roberta Angela Dee @>~~>~>~~~