I was introduced to the world of female domination this summer by a French-Canadian lady named Claudine. I drove her around the Western U.S. during her three-week vacation, in return for which she fired me and promoted me, as she said with her delightful accent, to be her little pussy slave.

It has always seemed to me that Frenchwomen are far more in tune with their femininity than their American counterparts. And Claudine is a prime example, a completely uninhibited sexual animal.

On our trip we would usually check into a motel or hotel before dark. Once stripped naked and with my ankles hobbled by chains (Claudine liked to be able to track me by the sound), I would proceed to minister to her evening toilette — undressing her, licking her while she sat on the commode, drawing her bath, scrubbing her with sponges and then drying her, taking a quick bath myself in her bathwater, then powdering her, perhaps touching up the opalescent polish on her toenails, massaging her and brushing her silky chestnut hair.

Naturally, I would have a raging hard-on the entire time, but this was the way Claudine preferred me. In fact, all during the long hours on the road, as I drove, she would contrive to keep me excited by unzipping me and playing with my cock or leashing it with a cord or ribbon and tugging it firmly and vigorously from time to time.

One ejaculation was permitted me by Claudine perhaps every two or three days, with me in total bondage, begging for release, and teased and manipulated by her until reduced to a state of groveling lust. Claudine obviously found this utter humiliation of the usual male prerogative amusing, and said at such times that she could have made me do anything, and that I should be very grateful that she demanded so little.

When Claudine felt like drifting off to sleep, she would first shackle me to the foot of the bed and cuff my wrists behind my back. Not once on the entire trip was I ever permitted to join my darling Claudine on the bed, though she insisted on rooms with king-size mattresses whenever possible. I could curl up on the floor and sleep; but how many sleepless hours I spent leaning against the footboard, staring raptly at my mistress as she lay illuminated by the soft glow of bedside lamps!

She invariably slept nude — either prone, to display her magnificent ass, or supine, showing off her luscious breasts. In either position, her lovely legs would be spread to unveil her sacred, plump, adorable little pussy. And, of course, my cock would be rock-hard and aching for release every second I ogled her.

Even shackled and cuffed, I would have found an unauthorized masturbation a simple enough matter. I had only to lie flat and rub my throbbing cock against the floor rug. But only once did I transgress. And the punishment Claudine administered upon discovering the stains on the carpet and the dried semen on my crotch was, frankly, appalling.

She screamed at me, called me every filthy French name imaginable and then slapped me hard, again and again. I imagined that that was the worst of it, but she was only working herself into shape. Next she stuffed two pairs of soiled panties in my mouth and tied the gag firmly in place with pantyhose. Before I realized what was happening, she was whipping me with my own belt as I lay handcuffed, shackled and writhing on the carpet.

She whipped me all over — on the back, shoulders, legs, buttocks — and then rolled me over with her bare foot to expose more unmarked flesh. As I tried vainly to evade the blows, I looked up, in abject fear and yet in awestruck admiration, at this magnificent she-creature towering over me, eyes wild, oversize breasts jiggling, golden body shining with perspiration, showing no mercy.

The next thing I remember, Claudine had subsided on the bed and was fingering herself to a screaming orgasm. Then she was untying me and beckoning to me to crawl over to her feet, which I was soon licking. After a time she guided my face gently up between her thighs into her warm, wet pussy and held my head firmly in her hands until, quietly, she came again, softly this time.

I was sore and bruised, and yet, as Claudine stroked my head and spoke endearments to me in cooing French, I felt bathed and enfolded in her love and erotically bonded to this cruel and gorgeously willful creature who had so possessed me. We had shared a forbidden experience together — one I have told no one about until this letter. I looked up and said what was in my heart: “I belong to you.” And my Claudine smiled and nodded her head.

The “vacation” is over now, and Claudine is back at work. But she has agreed to let me move in with her for a few weeks on a trial basis. She says that even though we will not be traveling, she will take me to places beyond anything I ever dreamed of, on a trip I will never forget.