Menage a Quatre

Like David Copperfield, I want to start at the beginning, as "I was born ....". So you'll understand how I came to be the person that I, Sonia Barron, nee Sonia de Beaumanoir, am now. In the beginning, I was born on the beautiful island of St. Martin in the eastern Caribbean. My father's parents immigrated before WWII from France and my father was born there as well.

My maternal grandmother was from an old but poor French colonial family. She became pregnant during the war, but refused to say who the father was. It was suspected in the village that she had had a love affair with an American serviceman, as their was a small military base on St. Martin at that time. Then she died in childbirth. My mother was raised in an orphanage run by the parish church. Both of my parents grew up in the small village of Grand Case on the northern coast of St. Martin, and fell in love as teenagers. When I was born in 1970, only my paternal grandmother was still alive, and she lived with us in a hillside villa above the town and beach.

Both of my parents were schoolteachers, and I was raised to speak very correct French, not like the Creole many other children spoke on the island. I also learned English from my father, who spoke it very well. When I was seventeen I earned a scholarship to the Sorbonne in Paris. During my first year there, my parents were killed in an auto accident. My grandmother told me not to come back, but to finish my studies. I acted the part of a "typical" student, meaning that I was at times a radical socialist, a communist, a marcher in street demonstrations, and all of the other roles that a rebellious adolescent can play. I had petites flirts, affairs, with other students, both men and women, and even one with a professor. However, through it all I managed to pursue my studies as well, and at the end of four years I had a good diplome in English and French literature.

Upon graduation, I hurried back home to my dear little island, where the sun shines year round and the trade winds blow cooling air from the East. Paris is a wonderful city, but too cold in the winter for those of us raised in the tropics. With my diplome, I had a vague idea of becoming a teacher like my parents. However, nature had blessed me with a good body and face and the blond hair of some Norman ancestors, and thus my grandmother was able to arrange a job for me in one of the exclusive fashion boutiques which are to be found in the capitol town of Marigot.

The shop is owned by Madame René, an elegant woman of a certain age whom Grandmother had known since childhood. Madame René took me in hand such that I acquired the sheen of glamour required to associate with the rich tourists and yacht people who come to St. Martin in high season. There were two types of clients who came to the shop; the middle-aged, dyed-hair women from cruise ships and the rich "trophy wives" of the yacht set. I was generally assigned to wait on this latter group, many of whom were scarcely older than myself. The commissions I made on the expensive dresses and accessories we sold were enough for me to keep up my parents' hillside villa where I still lived with Grandmother. Madame René provided me with a small wardrobe of dresses similar to those she sold, and I often modeled our stock for these clients.

Since shoppers rarely came in before lunch, I needed to work from about eleven in the morning to seven at night. In the mornings I often rode my little motor scooter down to the nude beach on Oriental Bay to sun myself or swim in the surf. When lying naked there on a towel, I often dreamed of the prince who would come to find and love me. When no one was looking, I would stroke my nipples and pussy lips pretending that it was he who was making love to me.

However, I did not have a steady lover. There were few really eligible men on the island, and Madame René had taken me aside once to say, "Sonia, my child. I don't want you to throw yourself away on some local shit with no prospects. With your face and body, you must find a rich man who will make you his mistress, or even marry you. Then you'll be provided for. Wait for your chance."

I must say that this was indeed practical advice, and I followed it in general. But I missed the carefree affairs of college days, and on occasion took occasional fucking weekends with some man or other who took my fancy. Occasionally old friends or former lovers from Paris would arrive on vacation, and I was happy to have trysts with them.

My life changed forever when, one afternoon, a young woman, casually but expensively dressed, entered the shop. She was very beautiful, perhaps a year or two older than me and of the same height and weight, although I judged that her breasts were likely somewhat larger. She was accompanied by two men, one of whom remained outside on the sidewalk. The other was dressed in a type of uniform that is common to yacht crews, so I immediately assumed that she was from one of the big motor yachts that are continually moored in Marigot Bay. This latter gentleman settled into a chair near the back of the shop and appeared to take no further interest in us.

Madame René greeted her as a long-lost friend, invited her to sit down, and demanded that I bring a chilled bottle of Champagne and two flutes. After pouring their drinks, Madame René introduced the woman as Susan Barron and asked me to sit down with them.

"I want to see something new for the next few parties," she said in very fine French, "and all of my friends tell me that you have some of the best new dresses from Paris."

Madame asked me to pull out a number of our best, and most expensive, items from the racks to show to Madame Susan, who, from her accent, was an American with an expensive education in some finishing school or other. I held these up to myself to give her an idea of each one, and then was asked to model a number of them. All of these were backless evening or cocktail dresses and I wore nothing under them except panties.

Madame Susan regarded me with such a direct, piercing gaze that I felt myself become flustered. As I paraded and twirled before the women, I could feel my nipples harden under the frank gaze of the American and I'm sure that they were visible through the silk and crepe fabrics of the dress. I had not had sex with a woman for some time and Madame Susan had such an effect on me that I could scarcely breathe. When I had removed the last of the dresses in the changing room, I could not restrain myself from slipping my hands into my panties where a few minutes of attention to my moist clit brought on a quick hard orgasm.

On regaining my composure and returning to the salon, I found that Madame Susan and her escorts had departed.

Madame René told me, "Mademoiselle Susan will probably return in the next day or so to make her choices. I'm sure that you made a very strong impression on her and your modeling was very fine. She is one of the richest clients I have, and, if things work out, she can make our entire season by herself. Whatever she wants, be sure to please her in any way possible. Did you see the guy who stayed outside? That's her bodyguard. Her brother doesn't let her go anywhere alone in public, as he's afraid of kidnappers."

Indeed, Mademoiselle Susan did return the next day, and for several days in succession thereafter. This time, it was she who tried on all of the dresses herself, with me assisting her in the dressing room. In addition, she insisted that I also don the same dresses for her closer inspection, so that we were both practically naked before each other. She had magnificent breasts with pink nipples that hardened, like mine, in the well air-conditioned shop. She wore sheer lace panties so that the dark hair covering her slit was clearly visible. Often has she adjusted the drape of a gown on me, here breasts would brush my back or her hands would roam over my bosom.

Each day, she would depart without having purchased anything, trailing the two men behind her. On the fifth day of this, she appeared with another man, very well dressed in a suit and tie, whom she introduced as her brother, Monsieur Paul Barron. This Paul was in his early thirties, extremely handsome, and very fit looking. After a glass of champagne, Susan announced that Paul was here to take us to lunch, me included.

The four of us strolled to the Port Royale marina where we dined wharf side at one of the restaurants which line the end of the lagoon. I noticed that no one else was seated at any of the tables next to us, and although I didn't see him, I had the feeling that the bodyguard was not far away. The waiter brought us a magnificent bottle of Burgundy, better by far than I had ever drunk before. I'm sure it cost what I made in a month.

Susan and Paul were gracious to me. Paul, like Susan, spoke perfect French with a charming American accent. Whenever he turned in my direction, I had the feeling that he was looking not at me but into me, with a frank but piercing gaze. Having drunk two glasses of the wine, I felt both giddy and nervous under his regard, which nonetheless was not displeasing.

When they heard that I was a graduate of the Sorbonne, we chatted about places in Paris. Both of them knew the city well, and Susan related that she had studied art history at the Sorbonne for a year, during my time there.

"I don't recall every seeing you there," I said.

"Of course not," she laughed. "Art history students are always visiting museums and palaces, while real students are doing real work. I'll bet you demonstrated in the street and smoked pot and stopped shaving your legs. We art students never had fun like that, especially we from the U.S."

I had to laugh as I confessed that I had done exactly as she said.

After coffee, we walked back to the shop. Susan said that she would take seven or eight of the dresses that we had spent the week trying on. Her man would come to the shop the next afternoon, and would I please accompany him to help their tailor finish the fitting on board their ship.

Madame René assured them, "Mademoiselle Sonia is at your disposal. Au revoir."

Afterwards, when they had departed, she spoke to me seriously. "I'm not at all sure what's going on with these Barrons. If Monsieur Paul were to make you his mistress, you would be set up for life. But I think the sister likes you just as much. In any case, play along with their game, and I think it will fall to your advantage."

Early the following afternoon, the man in the yacht uniform arrived before the shop in a beautiful BMW sedan. I had the dresses packed in cases, which he placed in the trunk of the car. I sat in the back as he drove carefully the few hundred yards to the dock on Marigot Bay, where an enclosed yacht tender was waiting. We then motored out into the Bay. In a few moments, it was clear that we were heading towards an enormous "superyacht," which I estimated to be almost 100 meters long. The name "Rosupal" was painted on the bow. Coming alongside we mounted a gangplank to the deck, and I was escorted into a beautifully furnished salon. There Susan was waiting with a gentleman who was evidently her tailor.

She greeted me with a kiss, and then we proceeded to hours of fitting. Once again, we were intermittently naked as Susan donned each dress, and the tailor made small adjustments which he marked with pins. Then I would put on the same dress so that she could see how it draped, and she and the tailor would discuss minor changes. He was a man of considerable control, or perhaps gay, as having two young, almost naked women around him for such a long period did in no way register either on his face or his actions.

Finally we were done about six in the evening. Then Susan announced, "We would like you to stay on the yacht for a small dinner party with my brother and someone else we would you to meet."

I protested weakly, "I'm not dressed for such a party. I'm sure I'm a mess."

Susan laughed. "We're the same size. I'll fit you out in some of my clothes. In the meantime, we've worked hard, so let's relax and get ready."

She led me into her bedroom, which occupied a huge space on the second deck. Her bathroom included not only a whirlpool, but a steam room and a sauna. She stripped naked and stepped into the swirling water of the whirlpool, from which she regarded me frankly. Well, I'd been nude on the beach, and practically naked all afternoon. I boldly followed suit, allowing her full view of my body as I settled into the warm water. I half expected her to make some amorous advance, but she merely moved to sit next to me as we mutely enjoyed the water's massage.

On exiting, she threw me a towel and we wrapped ourselves for a quarter hour's sweat in the sauna. Finally we took a soothing cold shower, but here again she had no regard for either my or her own nakedness, sighing with pleasure as the water rolled over her head and between her breasts.

Finding soft terry robes set out for us, she called in a woman who proved to be a hairdresser. The next hour we chatted about everything and nothing as we were shampooed, oiled, and coifed to perfection.

The time was approaching eight in the evening as we stood in front of Susan's closet, which contained an astonishing number of gowns and dresses. We wore only panties and smiles as she hummed and stroked her chin. Finally, she pulled out a black silk dress with a beaded bodice which she handed to me. Trying it on, I found the fit to be quite good. It had spaghetti straps and a plunging back, while the front descended moderately, allowing the tops of my breasts to show over the beading.

The bust was a bit large and I said, "I hope I remember not to bend over too far, or I may fall out of this."

Susan laughed. "Don't worry. We're only four tonight, and no one will be disappointed if you do."

She herself selected an ivory silk knee-length dress with a lace top. "See! black and white, good and evil, yin and yang."

I found this remark a bit cryptic. In the meantime, Susan opened a large ornate box which proved to be a jewel case. "Hmmm. Let's see what will go with that dress."

After reflection, she selected me an elegant platinum and diamond Chopard watch which she fastened to my left wrist, a slender ruby and gold bracelet for my right wrist, and a large sapphire on a gold necklace which she draped around my neck. Finally, she took a pair of diamond drop earrings which she placed in my ears.

Stepping back, she opined, "Yes, that's just the thing. How do you feel?"

"Like Cendrillon at the ball." I had never had much jewelry beyond my baptismal cross and a simple watch. Seeing myself in the mirror, I could hardly recognize little Sonia, the teachers' daughter.

Susan led me out onto the deck and up a stairway into the yacht's dining room, where Monsieur Paul and another gentleman were waiting, both dressed in tuxedos. The unknown man was introduced simply as Ron. Both men kissed us on the cheeks and complimented us on our appearance. Paul took my arm and led me to the table, held my chair, and then seated himself to my left. Ron did the same for Susan, such that she and I faced each other, as did the men. The meal was extraordinary, and the wine was even more so. In comparison, the Burgundy we had had at yesterday's lunch was as nothing. I had never imagined that food could be like this, and each of the others were especially charming to me. I felt indeed like Cendrillon. But when was the coach to turn into a pumpkin?

The meal came to an end, with my having consumed more wine than was perhaps wise. We walked onto the deck, where music was playing from some hidden speakers, and Paul asked me to dance with him. He was a graceful dancer, and I was happy to press myself into him as we glided slowly around the deck. At some point, I think that Susan and Ron must have disappeared, but I was lost in the moment.

Eventually we arrived on a sofa with Paul and myself exchanging deep kisses while his hands roamed over the bodice of my dress. My nipples were hard as little cocks and I pushed his hands against them. With one hand, I managed to undo the belt and zipper of his trousers, where I set free his cock. It appeared to be of a useful size, and I leaned over to take it into my mouth and deep in my throat. His pubic hair smelled sweet like hay as I moved my mouth and tongue up and down the shaft and over the head.

For his part, Paul had slipped the dress straps off of my shoulders allowing the bodice to fall, giving his hand free access to my breasts and nipples, which were hard and tender. His other hand raised the dress hem and slid the damp crotch of my panties to one side so that he could freely finger my slit and sensitive clitoris. This he did so skillfully that the combined touch of his fingers high and low brought me to a shuddering orgasm, drenching his hand with my juice.

After a few moments to catch my breath, I pushed him gently onto his back on the sofa, kicked off the drenched panties, and straddled him. Taking the shaft of his cock in one hand, I guided the head up and down my moist slit and over my clit, before sinking down on him so that he entered full length into my cunt. I held to his shoulders as I moved up and down on him, and he alternately held my hips or played with my breasts as I rode. Sensing that I was about to jouir again, I increased my pace, to which he followed suit. As I emitted a little scream, Paul suddenly held my hips while he started to thrust forcefully. As I felt him tighten, then make a final thrust, I came again while he spurted his semen into me. I collapsed onto his chest, while his cock softened and fell out of my cunt, followed by a small rivulet of his cum and my juice.

Paul picked me up and carried me into an adjoining room, where he laid me on a bed. I was asleep in seconds.

Sometime later, probably early morning, I awoke to feel Paul's hand moving over my stomach and down between my legs. As his fingers opened my lips and circled my clit, I became very wet once again. I opened my legs wide as he crawled between them and applied his lips to my clit and darted his tongue into the depths of my cunt. This was so wonderful that all I could do was stroke is hair and murmur, "Paul, Oh Paul."

He moved up to place his lips on mine while he guided his stiff cock into my depths. As I tasted myself on his mouth, he moved gently in and out with a steady sensual rhythm. I wrapped my legs tightly around his back, pulling him deeper into me, and then reached around to caress his balls and anus. This stimulated him to speed up his motion until once gain I felt him shoot into me. Since I had not quite cum myself, he raised himself off me and allowed his fingers to spread his cum over my clit, which soon resulted in my third orgasm of the night.

This time, I fell into a deeply satisfied sleep, which was terminated only when sunshine penetrated the cabin where I lay and I heard a voice speaking.

"It looks as if you and my brother made you own little party last night."

It was Susan, who was standing at the foot of the bed dressed in a thick terry robe and carrying another. I realized that I was lying on the bed with my legs spread wide, semen and cunt fluids dried on the inside of my thighs, and Susan's elegant dress lying as a rumpled mass of silk around my waist.

I quickly shut my legs to her view and sat up, but I still had to exclaim tearfully, "Oh mon Dieu, I've ruined your gown."

Susan laughed. "I've got a few more where that came from. Let's see what the damage is."

She pushed me back down on my back and spread my legs to inspect my lips and cunt hair, still matted from the evening's lovemaking.

"I think we can clean this up OK," she whispered, lowering her mouth to my pussy and parting the lips gently with her tongue.