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CHAPTER 11 - Industrial Zone
Having stayed awake for so long, the following morning I just managed to catch breakfast before everything got packed away. I must admit I was the last person down in the dining room and a lone waitress was busy setting out the tables for lunch time meals. I ignored her as she brushed crumbs from off my table and swept beneath my chair. Anyway, arriving late is not like you’ve missed your chance of getting a good cooked breakfast, because the French don’t eat the same as we do. ‘La petit dejeuner’ or ‘the little dinner’, is precisely what it says. You have to serve yourself and you get a bowl of cereal, bread, butter and jam, and, if you arrive late like I did, a cup of cold coffee, and that’s about your lot.
For someone as ravenous as me, who’s sole survival rests on consuming the complete works every morning - that’s bacon, sausages, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, baked beans, fried bread, toast and jam, and whatever else is on offer - then you’re not going to get very fat living off French breakfasts.
I stepped out of my hotel at sometime around ten o’clock, and armed once more with my trusty street map, I set off in a general southerly direction. The Gare Du Nord and my hotel were to the north of the city, and I reckoned that if I kept heading south, then sooner or later I would bump into the River Seine. Well I did, the exact point I can’t tell you, but it was somewhere between the Louvre and Notre Dame and close to a clock tower that chimed a pretty tune.
I stood for a while leaning over a parapet alongside the banks of the Seine. The river was a hive of activity, with boats both big and small moving up and down. By now the time was a little after eleven o’clock in the morning, yet it was already a bright Summer’s day; the cloudless sky was an uninterrupted blue; and the temperature way up into the thirties Celsius. I remember thinking what a beautiful city Paris was. Even the river looked clean compared with the Thames. I guess it’s because the Seine is not tidal. When the tide is out in London the mud-banks alongside the river can be a disgusting sight.
Eventually I moved on. The cathedral of Notre Dame rests on an island in the middle of the Seine. So, having got this close, I decided to spend a few minutes sightseeing. Feeling in holiday mood, I ambled across a bridge onto the island and followed the crowd until I came upon a vast square in front of the cathedral. Here you are accosted by all sorts of people. Some trying to sell you cheap trinkets, others just blatantly begging for money. I ignored them all and marched into the building.
Once inside, the first thing you notice is just how dark it is. I think you are enticed into purchasing a candle just to see where you are going. The second thing you notice, once your eyes have got used to the dark, is the vast size of the building. The roof above the nave towers above you, and the supporting pillars to either side of the aisle are just as impressive. I purchased a candle for two Euros, lit it, and left it to burn on a rack amongst a myriad of flickering flames. I then did the complete circuit and came out through another door. You then have to spend the next five minutes waiting for your eyes to adjust back to the bright sunlight.
From Notre Dame I caught the ‘Batobus’ to the Eiffel Tower. This is a bus service on the river with scheduled stops along the way, and not to be confused with the much publicised ‘Bateau-Mouche’, which is basically a river excursion with a meal thrown in to complete the experience.
The Eiffel Tower stands on the south side of the river and around a big arcing bend, and as you begin your journey all you see is a needle protruding above the distant skyline. It’s only as you get closer does the enormity of the structure come home to you, and, as you step off the boat, the sheer size of the construction simply blows your mind. This massive erection of criss-crossed metal girders looms way above the head, and let me tell you, it is huge. I was impressed.
Entranced, with my mouth agape, and with my head held back and looking upwards, I set off for the tower. Beneath the four base corners of the tower there is a vast open space, and on a bright sunny day in August it is teeming with tourists. I looked around and was amused to see that everyone else had their heads tilted backwards and gazing upwards. The charming thing is the way everyone keeps bumping into each other because no one is looking where they’re going.<
If there is one deterrent about the place it is the notices. Written in practically every language available, and visible in whichever direction you look, are stark warnings regarding pickpockets. Needless to say I kept my hand firmly on my wallet the whole time I was there.
I was tempted to go to the top but was put off by the queues. Time was pressing and I had business to attend to. So I returned to the road, found a taxi rank and showed the driver the address on the label I’d peeled off the packing crate back at Hendry’s. He looked very pleased and I could see the Euro signs clocking up in his eyes. I guessed the address was a long way away from the Eiffel Tower.
I was right about the journey. With Paris traffic to contend with I was sat in the back of the taxi for almost one complete hour. The time was getting on for two o’clock in the afternoon when I finally stepped out and paid the man. I was right about the money too. The journey, including a tip, cost me a one-hundred Euro note.
As the taxi drove away I looked about me. I’d been dropped off in the very heart of a modern Industrial Park, or to be more precise a ‘Zone Industrielle’ as the signs about me were indicating. I was surrounded by new buildings with their own little offices and workshops. Out front were grass verges, car parks and sapling trees, and everywhere was a hive of activity. Lorries and vans in particular were constantly passing me by on the road.
I looked to the name on the label and tried to match it with a name on a building. I was looking for a company called ‘Meubles d’Erotique’ which simply translates as ‘Erotic Furniture’. It was easy to find. The taxi driver must have known what he was doing, for he’d dropped me off practically on the doorstep. It was on the opposite side of the road. I crossed over and entered the reception.
A little girl sat at a desk stopped painting her nails and greeted me in French. So far so good; ‘bonjour’ I can do. It was afterwards, when she realised that my grasp of French was limited to saying ‘bonjour’, ordering a glass of red wine, or enquiring the way to the nearest railway station, that my difficulties began, since none of these phrases seemed appropriate at this juncture. In the end I was asked to take a seat, which I did understand, and wait until someone arrived that could communicate on a higher level.
I sat down on a low easy chair next to a plant that could well have been a Triffid, and waited. It was very disturbing really. A great trumpet-like flower, with teeth, hovered above my head and I remember asking it politely not to devour me. In front there was a low table with magazines resting on the top. They weren’t much help either, since they were all written in French, but to relieve the boredom I passed the time looking at the pictures. Period Homes and Amateur Gardening magazines are much the same in whatever language they are written in, and I guess without reading the contents I got the gist of what they were all saying.
With the pile of magazines exhausted, and with nothing else left to read, I reflected on my reasoning for being where I was, and what exactly I was trying to achieve.
I had a plan of sorts. It wasn’t the manufacturer so much as the mode of transport I was interested in. I reckoned that if I could put in an order and ask for it to be shipped to England, then I’d have a legitimate reason for snooping round the various depots. Hopefully there would be Paris, Dunkirk and London on that list. There’s nothing worse than getting caught and not being able to come up with a sensible answer for being where you are, and this seemed like the best way of achieving my objective. At least that was my theory. I just crossed my fingers and hoped that it would work.
In the end someone arrived. It was a gentleman, I’d say in his mid-thirties and casually dressed. He was a little rotund and wore a short but well trimmed beard. I stood up to greet him and we shook hands. His first words made me happy. “Good afternoon, and what can I do for you?” he asked.
I breathed a sigh of relief. My troubles were over. I was on the same wavelength and I could get down to business. I’d already thought up a good excuse and once again it involved Anthea’s share in the syndicate and the fact that she wanted to branch out on her own. Obviously that last bit wasn’t true, but I’m sure Anthea would go along with the idea, especially if it involved possessing a well equipped dungeon of her own.
I showed the man the label, since that was all I had. “I believe you sold one of your a chairs to a client of mine. It was delivered to this London address just a few days ago. Well, I’m looking to furnish a dungeon, this time for my client’s private use, and I’m told this is the place to start,” I explained.
The man looked to the name Hendry’s on the label, rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then recalled the order. “Ah! Yes, we have recently delivered one of our chairs to this address,” he confirmed.
Brilliant I thought. I was now ready to sample the goods and put in a reasonably sized order. I just hoped Anthea would appreciate the things I was doing in her name. I introduced myself as Mr. Woods but preferred to be called Woody. In return I found out that the man’s name was Jean, which is John in English and pronounced roughly the same but with a French slant to it.
Having got ourselves on first name terms, I explained the reasons for my visit and outlined what I was hoping to achieve. Basically I wanted to furnish a private dungeon and was doing it for a client. I was told I’d come to the right place then led away to a workshop. This was a big, modern, single span building out back of the reception area and offices. There were probably a dozen men toiling away at a number of well spaced-out work benches, and the work area echoed to the buzz of timber being sawn.
I was led about halfway up a central aisle before bringing to a halt. I took a good look around. Some of the items under construction I recognised. There’s no mistaking a rack for example. There were also various flat-beds or tables that must have been designed roughly for the same purpose. Furthermore, there were fold-away tables that presumably doubled up with meal times and only extended when playtime came around. I also saw a chair, identical to the one I’d assembled back at Hendry’s, being shaped and put together. “We make most of our items to a catalogue and keep most things in stock,” explained Jean, then added: “The Internet has become a good source for orders. We also advertise in various periodicals and magazines.”
We’d come to a halt next to an unfinished pillory. Now here was something I found very interesting. Even though this piece of equipment was far from finished, I was convinced that I’d seen a pillory identical to this one someplace before. That place had been the ‘Pilliwinks’ in Dundee. I asked myself; was this another coincidence? Then shook my head. Once again ‘the law of averages’ were telling me otherwise. Somehow this place, the chain of BDSM clubs and the delivery company were all interlinked, but as to how and why I remained totally baffled.
For a while I stood and watched a man shaping a plank of wood to form the top-board of the pillory. I noted with interest the way everything was screwed together. Nothing was glued or made a permanent fixture. There were also many packing cases stacked in piles against the walls. These were the same crates I’d seen at Hendry’s when I unpacked the parts to assemble the chair. “Why do you flat-pack everything?” I asked out of curiosity.
Jean stroked his beard before answering. “It is the easiest way to transport the things we make,” he replied. “Most of our furniture goes into private homes, and no-one seems to complain about assembling the finished article themselves.”
I tended to agree. Having assembled one of their products, I recalled the immeasurable pleasure I’d had from putting it all together, and that, despite the fact that I still shuddered from the after effects of its use. I moved on to transport, since Jean had conveniently mentioned the fact. “What about transport?” I asked. “I will want everything shipped to England. Is that a problem?”
Jean shook his head. “That is no problem,” he assured me. “We deliver throughout Europe and also ship to the rest of the world. We use an International Company to do all our transporting.”
“Do you use the same company all of the time?” I asked next.
Jean nodded his head. “Yes we do. We use ‘Europa Container Transport’. They have a depot just down the road, and we find them totally reliable,” he assured me.
That was good enough for me. ‘Europa Container Transport’ was the company I was most interested in, and knowing that whatever I ordered would be despatched using these people was the one thing I was looking for. There was also an added bonus to come out of this conversation. I’d gleaned one further piece of information. ‘Europa Container Transport’ had a depot just down the road. I rubbed my hands together gleefully. “Then let’s put an order together shall we?” I suggested.
From the workshop I was led to a showroom. The words ‘La Salle d’Exposition’ were written on the door. This was a large room situated adjacent to the offices and reception area.
Jean led me inside and immediately my eyes opened wide both in wonder and in awe. This was one amazing showroom; this was a dungeon to put Hendry’s and every other place I’d visited to shame. Everything the company manufactured was on display here, from pillories to X-frames if restraint was your penchant, or from breast-clamps to torture racks if you were intent on shopping for the more painful side of BDSM. I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “I just don’t know where to start,” I said honestly.
Jean gave a little understanding nod. At the same time the door opened and in walked a rather petite and slender looking French girl. She was not very tall, about five feet three inches at the most, with dark hair, pretty face and a pleasant smile. Her feet were bare and she was clothed simply in a white dressing gown tied loosely about the waist. “Ha!… Michelle,” exclaimed Jean, then spoke to her in French.
I got the gist of what he was saying. My French isn’t that bad really, it’s just the speed they say everything. By the time I’ve managed to translate what was said in the first instance, they’ve moved on another two sentences. Anyway, what was basically being said was to the effect; ‘I’m glad you’ve arrived; my client here is in need of a few demonstrations.’
Jean then turned to me. “Michelle is here to assist you in making your decisions,” he told me, “We have a vast product range and we find most of our customers prefer to see our products demonstrated before making any final choices. So go ahead, choose whatever items you want, and hopefully Michelle will help you come to the right decision.”
I must say I was gob-smacked. This was one hell of a service. I turned to Michelle and offered her my hand. We shook. Her hand was small and delicate and we held lightly and briefly. “I… sorry… but my English… it eez not good,” she told me.
Which I thought strange since I understood every word, and compared with my knowledge of her own language, it was excellent. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get by,” I told her.
Jean interrupted. “I’m sorry Woody, but I have some important business to attend to,” he apologised, “so can I leave you two together for a while? Please feel free to select whatever takes your eye.”
I was then handed a sheet of paper. It was all written in French, but I could see that it was an order form. “Please write down whatever takes your fancy,” Jean explained, “and I will return later to take your order. In the meantime Michelle will demonstrate all the finer points to you. Do not be afraid to ask. She is most willing to assist you in your decision making.”
I nodded my head and agreed. At the time I couldn’t think of anything more desirable than be left alone with a pretty little French girl, who was apparently only too willing to be of assistance, and in an area crammed full of BDSM equipment. I guess that’s everyone’s dream; yet it only seems to happen to me when my mind is on more important matters. I reminded myself that this was business, not pleasure, and not to get too much carried away. I counted to ten before replying. “I’m sure we’ll manage,” I assured Jean, and at the same time tried to look casual and relaxed.
Jean smiled then rattled off some final instructions in French to Michelle. He then said his farewells and left us standing together in the middle of the showroom. For the record, I did understand a little of what was said. It was something to the effect that Michelle was being promised ten percent commission on whatever I ordered.
As the door closed I turned to Michelle. She was smiling and with no signs of nerves. If anything it was me that was nervous. I could only assume this was her full time occupation and getting paid commission was the way she earned her living.
Michelle undid the belt of her dressing gown. “I take zis off? Oui?” she asked.
I nodded my head. “Please, go ahead,” I told her, “do whatever you think is best.”
Michelle removed the dressing gown and placed it to one side across a table. I must admit I didn’t know what to expect beneath the robe. She could have been naked for all I knew. But I was relieved to discover that she was at least wearing something. It was a skimpy two-piece bathing costume in a shiny black material. The top piece had no shoulder straps and was held in place by two thin laces tied in a bow at the back. The bottom half was no better. It simply consisted of two small triangles of material, sewn together at the gusset and kept in place by four thin black laces knotted together to either side of the hips.
As Michelle turned around to deposit the dressing gown, I was tempted to untie the bow in the middle of her back, or even one of those at the side, but naturally I refrained from doing so. Instead I tried to avert my eyes, or at least not to ogle at her gorgeous figure.
I looked around the showroom. I already had a few preconceived ideas as to what I was looking for. If I was going to pay for all this equipment then ultimately I wanted everything to be installed in my own cottage back in Lower Clunley. I have a cellar there, originally used for apple storage and cider making, but ideally suited for this change of use. There was one trouble however, my cellar is rather small in both floor space and height, and therefore restrictive in the type of equipment I could readily accommodate. I couldn’t, for example, go about suspending people from the ceiling, since at arms stretch even a small girl the size of Michelle could readily touch the beams.
My vision came to rest on an X-frame sited against the back wall of the showroom. I tried to imagine my own cellar and the far wall opposite the stone steps down to it. I was of the opinion that the X-frame would fit nicely against the wall and wouldn’t take up too much room. At least it would leave some floor space available for other items on sale here.
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully then turned to Michelle. “I’d like to have a good look at that X-frame to begin with,” I told her.
Together we walked across the showroom to the X-frame and I looked it up and down. The principal construction, as you can appreciate, was made up of two large planks of wood dovetailed together at the centre. Like all the furniture manufactured by this Company, the wood had been planed smooth and painted in a sleek, glossy black, almost plastic-like coating. Along the outsides of the frame, from the central dovetail upwards, were spaced a number of chrome eyebolts. Somewhere near the centre, attached to something like the fourth eyebolt down, were two short chains. On the ends of these chains were two broad, fleece-lined leather cuffs. Similarly, at the base of cross and to the outside, there were two more eyebolts with the same short chain and leather cuff attachments.
I looked behind the X-frame since it was not actually resting against the wall. A sort of A-frame, very similar to an artist’s easel, was hinged to the back making the apparatus stand alone. It was then held rigid by another wooden frame resting on the floor. I put my hand on the frame and gave it a little push. Needless to say everything held firm. This was one solid construction.
“Vous vish me to demonstrate? Oui?” queried Michelle.
I looked to the bikini-clad girl and weighed her up for both size and stature. Michelle was smaller than both Anthea and Sandy, and also a lot thinner and lighter. If I was going to purchase an X-frame for my cellar then it would have to accommodate the two women in my life, otherwise there would be no point in having one. “Stand like this in front of the frame,” I said and holding up my arms and spreading my legs to indicate what I meant.
Michelle took up the stance in front of the X-frame. “Stand like zis? Oui?” she asked as she spread her legs and raised up her arms.
I nodded my head. I could see that the eyebolts had been positioned perfectly to suit Michelle as the model. It was my guess she’d been strapped to this contraption on numerous occasions, and that probably everything in this showroom had been adjusted to accommodate her smaller frame. “The two girls I have in mind are both a little taller than you,” I explained. “Is it possible to adjust the position of the straps?”
I guessed it was, but you have to ask! Michelle was quick to respond. She turned and took hold of one of the leather cuffs. “Zis chain, ici. It can be unclipped. It can go to zee top,” she explained and pointing to the topmost eyebolt.
I stepped forward to take a closer look. On the end of the chain there was a sort of clip arrangement that allowed the chain to be removed and re-fixed to any one of the eyebolts down the side. I nodded my head. “That is good,” I told her. “I’m sure when fixed to the top it will accommodate the girls I have in mind.”
Michelle resumed the stance she took up earlier, with legs spread and arms held upwards and outwards so that she mirrored the frame behind her. “Vous now wish to see how zis works? Oui?” she asked.
Well, as you can appreciate I already knew how the damn thing worked. It wasn’t exactly rocket-science to figure out how to put the frame to the use it was intended. But Michelle seemed determined to earn her keep and was already unbuckling a strap in order to spread it around a wrist. “We’d best give it a try then,” I said with a smile. Well, what would you have done under the circumstances? Remember, this was strictly business, and the girl was, after all, getting ten percent of everything I ordered!
I took the strap she had been toying with from her hands and buckled it about the wrist. The thick fleece-lining formed a snug fit and I felt reassured by the fact that I was not inflicting any pain or discomfort upon her. I then moved across to the other side of the frame and buckled the second cuff about her other wrist. I could now see why the cuffs needed to be positioned so low. Michelle wasn’t a very big girl at all, and anything higher would have probably made her feel uncomfortable. At least, as it was, she stood with elbows slightly bent and could have probably held that position for hours without any hardship.
Michelle opened out her legs to form the obligatory letter X shape. As she did so, I took one step back to admire my handiwork, then rubbed my chin thoughtfully. As I stood taking in the sight, she informed me: “Zee feet… zay are fastened zee same as zee hands… vous fix zem for me? Oui?”
I must admit I gave a little smile at the statement. It’s not the sort of thing you need telling twice, but the trouble was, I wasn’t even sure I was wanting to go any further. However, having been prompted, and asked so nicely, I decided it best to finish off the job I’d started. After all, there was that little matter of ten percent commission to take into account.
I bent down, opened out a buckle and secured it tightly around one ankle. I then moved across to the other side and did the same to the other leg. I must admit I loved the fleece-linings in the cuffs. They offered comfort along with restraint, and I considered this an important factor. In the past, even Anthea has been known to gripe when straps or ropes have started to chaff her wrists. Though I hasten to add, it’s something that’s never distracted her. But in my opinion there’s nothing worse than a moaning woman telling you you’re doing it all wrong, especially when you’re trying your best to restrain her.
I rose to my feet, and, as I stood back, I remember looking forward and admiring my handiwork. I tried to imagine Anthea standing there, attached to the X-frame with arms and legs outstretched. I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, then gave a little nod of approval. This was just perfect. The X-frame, with the total submission and vulnerability it afforded, would no doubt send her into spasms of ecstasy.
I decided to enter the X-frame as number one item on my order form, and whilst I was in a form filling mood, I wrote down a chair to go with it. I could see no reason for checking out this additional item since I already had some first hand experience in this matter. I then added a third item for good measure. This time it was the pillory I had in mind. Once again my decision stemmed from the fact that I’d gained some previous experience from this device. On that occasion it had been Shafali the victim, and the ‘Pilliwinks’ in Dundee the location.
After that I sucked my pen and cast an eye about the showroom. To be quite honest there not a lot more I wanted. These three items alone would fill up the floor space in my cellar, and as for something like a rack, that was far too big to even consider.
I was about to release Michelle when the door opened and in walked Jean. He joined me, then looked to Michelle strapped to the X-frame and gave a little nod of approval. “I see that you two are getting on well together,” he suggested.
I tended to agree. “Like a house on fire,” I told him.
Jean chuckled. “How’s the order going?” he enquired.
I showed him the sheet with the three items written upon it. “I’ll settle for these to begin with,” I told him. “Now I know where to find you I can always come back for more.”
Jean took the order form from me. “Ha! Good choices,” he told me after reading what I’d written.
My main concern now was ensuring a rapid despatch. “Have you got all these items in stock?” I asked.
Jean run his fingers through his beard before answering. Finally he nodded his head. “Yes, I think we have them all in stock,” he told me.
I breathed a small sigh of relief. Now all I had to do was instil some sense of urgency into the matter. “How quickly can you have them despatched?” I asked. “I’m off back to London in two days time and I’d like to think the goods are not far behind, or better still, waiting for me when I get there.”
Jean stared at the three items on the list, then looked to his watch. The time was something like four o’clock in the afternoon. “I think we can get them out of the door by five o’clock tonight. After that delivery to London normally takes forty-eight hours,” he said.
I nodded my head. “Then please set the ball in motion,” I told him. “The sooner it’s all delivered the better.”
Jean looked to the list once more, then looked about the showroom. I got the impression he was about to try and sell me something else. So, to distract him, I pointed to the X-frame. “I’d best go and release Michelle then, whilst you get my order processed,” I suggested.
But I was too late. Jean already had something else in mind. He walked away to a display stand to collect something that looked like two boards screwed together. “What’s that?” I asked on his return.
Jean held up the device for me to see. “These are breast clamps,” he informed me. “They squeeze the tits flat and go very well with the X-frame you’ve already ordered. We have a special offer on these this week. We sell many as a complimentary item. So this week we offer a fifty percent discount if accompanied by an item from our main product range.”
I looked to the device in Jean’s hands. Its construction was quite simple. It consisted of two boards, slightly curved in shape to rest against the ribcage, and held apart by three large screws. On the top were three large wing nuts. These wing nuts, when turned would bring the boards closer together; and the position of the three screws was such, that the outside ones would fit to either side of the breasts and the middle one would slot down between the cleavage.
I must admit at this point I pondered for far too long, and it turned out to be one big mistake. I was thinking about Anthea. Breast-clamps were the sort of things she would normally go along with, but for some unexplained reason I remained a little hesitant. After all, buying breast-clamps is not the sort of thing one does every day! Is it?
Anyway, I guess it was apparent to Jean that I was in need of little assistance. “Will it help if I demonstrate?” he asked in an effort to help me make up my mind.
The word demonstrate brought me back to my senses. After that my immediate thoughts were on stopping him, but I was too late. Jean moved swiftly towards Michelle, who, let me remind you, remained strapped firmly to the X-frame. He then set about removing her bikini top.
“You don’t have to demonstrate,” I called in the hope of stopping him.
But my efforts turned out to be a futile gesture. I could see that Jean was adamant and that I was going to get a complete demonstration regardless of anything I said. “It is no problem,” Jean assured me, “and Michelle is very willing to assist. Aren’t you Michelle?”
Michelle, despite her predicament, smiled and nodded her head. “Oui! It eez no problem,” she confirmed and sounding quite chirpy. “Vous see how good zees breast clamps are? Oui?”
At this point I gave up trying to stop them, and resigned myself to simply letting things take their natural course. I could see no point arguing, it was only wasting time, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner Jean could get down to more pressing matters, like assembling my order and getting it out of the doors before five o’clock that night.
To begin with I simply looked on as Jean loosened the wing nuts and positioned the opened out boards about Michelle’s breasts. But as soon as this was done, he then turned to me for involvement, and this I did not expect. I realise now, but I didn’t at the time, that I was being subjected to the classic textbook hands-on sales approach. That of; ‘getting the customer involved so he’s sure to buy it’; method prescribed in all good training manuals.
Anyway, like a mug I fell for it and got involved. As Jean tightened one of the screws I was encouraged to turn another. Slowly we worked our way across all three screws, giving each wing nut one complete revolution at a time.
As the boards closed, the little French girl’s tits flattened like pancakes under the pressure, and her nipples became distinctly pointed and more pronounced. There was also a noticeable change to the colour of the skin. At first, flesh that protruded forwards from the boards, simply darkened from a natural pink to a rather bright, almost crimson shade of red. Afterwards however, as the circulation of the blood became more and more restricted, Michelle’s distorted and flattened breasts begin to slowly turn a deep purple in colour.
It was at this point I stopped turning the wing nuts and stepped away. I considered enough damage to be done. However, Jean carried on without me. The only thing I could assume was, that he was getting his own kicks out of this. I looked to Michelle to see how she was reacting. I expected to see pain written all over her face, but strangely she was smiling. Perhaps it was Michelle that was getting the kicks and Jean was only helping her out! Who knows? In the end I just had to call: “I think that’s enough demonstration Jean. I’ve seen what the clamps can do. I’ll buy one. Add it to my order.”
I think both Jean and Michelle were a little disappointed that I’d called a halt to the proceedings before the two surfaces of the boards actually met. But stop they did and Jean stepped away from the X-frame to stand by my side. He then began to lead me away to the centre of the showroom. “Woody, I will get your order assembled right away and have it out of these doors within an hour, that’s a promise,” he assured me.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d finally got what I wanted. I then turned to face Michelle who remained strapped to the X-frame and with the breast-clamps still gripping hard on her tits. “What about Michelle?” I asked. “Had we best not release her first?”
Jean waved the idea away with a waft of the hand. “She is fine. I will return later to release her. It is no problem. She is very comfortable and we have more important matters to deal with right this minute. It is best I process this order now, before it is too late for the delivery people to collect,” he explained.
Torn between getting my order processed and setting Michelle free, I’m afraid I had to go along with what Jean was suggesting. I was desperate to see my order leave the building as quickly as possible. My plan was to follow it to the depot and have a little snoop around before returning to my hotel. So, as we walked out of the door, I gave a little wave and called across the showroom floor: “Bye Michelle, and thanks for the demonstration. You were most helpful.”
I think I could actually see fingers moving as she waved goodbye back to me. “Au revoir Monsieur Woods,” I heard Michelle call as I stepped out from the showroom and the door swung shut behind me.
And that, I’m sorry to say, was the last I ever saw of sweet little Michelle. But I’m sure that final haunting image of her strapped to the X-frame, with her tits squashed flat and glowing a deep purple, will remain forever imprinted on my brain.
End of Chapter Eleven