Before my departure to the Far East, I had multiple activities, both sporting and cultural, in the good royal city of X… where I was from. In addition, I was part of the first aid workers of the local Red Cross and participated in all their activities, honorably frequenting these "good ladies" of the local bourgeois society. Of course, back in X… I resumed my place in this community. About six months after my return, I met Bernard one evening, a good friend from my early days in a photo club in my region, lost touch since my departure to the army. He, who knew my activities at the local Red Cross, shared with me some information concerning its president Cécile de Launay. It was in fact an astonishing opportunity that presented itself to me. This woman had troubled me a lot when I was sixteen to eighteen years old. At that time, she must have been around thirty-five years old and I was in deep admiration for this bourgeois woman who made me hard beyond all imagination. Cécile de Launay is president of the Red Cross of the royal city of X… She holds an important position at the town hall and owns a private mansion in a posh outlying district. During official Red Cross receptions, I have often, with young people my age, prepared appetizers and canapés of all kinds and participated in these receptions. It was an opportunity to meet young girls and to be able to have a well-filled address book later. But it was impossible to hold the attention of these worldly women who, at thirty or forty years old, did not look at the kids we were at that time. I intend to make up for it now, while I have a means of pressure that should put the attractive Cécile at my mercy.In fact, my old friend who works as a press photographer for the local newspaper took pictures of Madame de Launay with her friend Isabelle d'Avron, a forty-five-year-old jewelry store owner. There are three glossy black and white photographs showing the two women in rather scabrous positions. In the first, we can clearly see Cécile, half-naked, her thighs wide open, being toyed with by Isabelle. In the second photo, the two women are kissing each other greedily, their faces perfectly recognizable. In the third photo, Cécile sucks one of Isabelle's nipples between her lips; here again, the two faces leave no doubt as to their identity. My friend Bernard, who took these photographs at the Hôtel de Ville, in a disused office, explained to me that he was looking for a quiet corner to rest during an official evening and that he had surprised the two women who had not noticed him. Armed with a Leica, he had been able to discreetly take these photos, but he had chickened out of offering them to his editorial staff, which were too politically close to the town hall team. Of course, I had no such scruples and I intended to use them to my advantage. So I made an appointment with the president of the Red Cross under the pretext that, having served in the health service for four years in Indochina, I would be able to organize training courses that might interest members of the local Red Cross. I asked her for a private interview, not wanting to make this matter public if it did not catch her attention. So, it was no surprise that I received an invitation to go to her mansion at three o'clock the day after my request. Now I had to describe the woman I hoped to conquer and, above all, to be able to satisfy my fantasies that had been on my mind for so long a few years ago. Cécile de Launay was a very beautiful plant. She must be a little under or just forty now. She is tall, at least five feet seventy-two, and has a porcelain complexion, almost diaphanous, and light brown, almost blond hair. Her hair is mid-length, almost short. Her legs are superb and her heavy breasts attract the gaze of men. Cécile dresses with astonishing chic. Usually, she wears pastel-colored suits: soft green, salmon, cream or even white, with matching pumps. I know that she was the mistress of the first deputy mayor and the photos in my possession make her out to be bisexual, since she gets laid with her best friend, the secretary general of the Red Cross.When I show up at her home, a nice maid in a white apron opens the door and shows me into one of the living rooms I know well. It is next to the office of Madame la Présidente. After letting me hang around for a good half hour, she finally invites me into her office. She seems surprised to see me after four years of absence. It is true that she knew an eighteen-year-old boy who was a bit shy and awkward, while she finds herself in front of a strapping fellow who looks like a warrior, well tanned and muscular from a tough military career. I see that she is sizing me up, no doubt appreciating the build of the man I have become, but making me understand with a condescending look the difference in background that separates us. Of noble stock on her father's side, Cécile is also a wealthy bourgeois woman who has a significant amount of wealth. Having never married, she keeps men at a certain distance, although her discreet affair with the first deputy is known to a small number of people. On the other hand, no one has ever known about her sapphic affair with her friend Isabelle and I am certainly the only one with my friend Bernard to be able to use this formidable weapon against the two women. When Cécile opens the door to her office, she is resplendent and very "classy". She impresses with her bearing and the pride in her head carriage. She is dressed in one of her usual suits; this one is a soft yellow, almost lemony. She wears matching suede pumps of the same tone and tobacco-colored silk stockings, which highlight her pretty legs. A jabot bodice of the same color as her stockings appears under the jacket of the suit. For my part, I have put on a linen suit with brown suede shoes and am wearing a silk shirt brought back from Indochina in the color of a blackhead. Under the collar of the open shirt, I have tied a cream scarf, the color of my jacket. She gives me a brief nod and has me sit in a leather armchair, herself taking a seat in another armchair facing me. I appreciate that she does not take a seat behind her desk, making the interview less official. After asking me about my family, letting me answer briefly, she asks me to get to the heart of the matter, that is to say the reason for my request for an interview, because, she tells me, she is very busy and has little time to give me. I savor in advance what I am going to tell her.- Thank you, Dear Madam, for granting me this interview. As you expressly requested, I will be brief. A few months ago, during a service at a first aid station of your organization, I met the young Béatrice M… We liked each other and became lovers. Introducing her to her sexuality in different forms, I would like you to initiate her to the sapphic relationships that I am told you practice assiduously. Madame de Launay is taken aback, she looks at me in dismay, not expecting these inappropriate remarks. She almost stammers. - But, but… You, you… are so impudent! I beg you to leave and never again come to my house to… to utter such inappropriate and inappropriate remarks. As she said this, she got up and pointed me in the direction of the door with a peremptory gesture. I remain seated quietly in the depths of my armchair, removing three duplicates of the compromising photographs from the inside pocket of my jacket, I place them on the coffee table in front of me. The president casts an intrigued glance at the photos, then approaching the table, she details the content of the photographs without daring to take them in hand. Suddenly she recognizes herself and falls apart. Looking for support on the arm of the armchair she had just left, she lets herself fall into the seat and begins to tremble. S ...

... Log in to read the end of this erotic story | 100% free registration