About Sappho's Initiation: An Erotic Novella

By Jonathan Biernot

“She faced the bed; raised her skirt at the front above her knees; lifted one knee onto the mattress before placing the other alongside. Then, she hauled up the back of her skirt, rucked it up around her waist to expose her backside, before spreading her knees and leaning forward on her palms, holding her head high, concaving her spine and pushing-out her breasts like the prow of a boat. Finally, she gave the coup-de-grace: Sappho, knowing full-well what to expect, uttered the words; “I’m ready, Sir!”

A story of how a chance encounter changes the life of a beautiful, and very vanilla young housewife, as she begins to seek out things that, at one time, would have appalled her. The unsuspecting Sappho is initiated as a submissive and encouraged from one experience to another until she’s finally addicted to cock. Never once does Sappho say, 'No'! Never once does she hesitate and, soon, a new destiny emerges when she becomes a magnet for powerful men.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pink Flamingo Media LLC
• Release date: Nov 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781945648045

Book preview

About Sappho’s Initiation, An Erotic Novella

by Jonathan Biernot

ISBN: 978-1-945648-04-5

A Pink Flamingo Media Ebook

Copyright ©2016 by Jonathan Biernot

Smashwords Edition

The characters in this novel are pure fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. The situations described herein are also fictitious and should not be attempted by any persons. Any efforts to duplicate the events or conditions can result in serious injury or even death.

Preview

Jonathan Biernot is a new author who writes Erotica for men and women in many corners of the world.

Whatever your gender, it’s easy to imagine a personal inclusion because each Novella has realistic settings that are empathic to both men and women; they blend irony with graphic imagery but the work is tasteful with no tendency towards pornography.

"About Sappho’s Initiation" recounts how a chance encounter changed the life of a beautiful, young, vanilla-housewife and mother and led her into the realms of submissiveness and an addiction to cock.

The sequel, About Sappho’s International Role, tells how Sappho uses her new found craving to become the facilitator for an Arms Trader in the pursuit of his African and Global transactions.

However, on returning to her Master, she recalls an interlude before her adventures in the Indian Ocean. In About Sappho’s Interim Affair she explains how her addiction to cock was transformed to an addiction to Black Cock and Readers of The Sappho Trilogy might be well-advised to embark on this novella, first.

An Ode to Sappho

"Well remembered are your almond-green eyes

Your high cheek-bones

And your cherry-like lips

Set into a pale visage

Beneath your heavy, auburn tresses:

These sit atop

Your small, firm and well-rounded breasts,

Formed high above your flat belly, narrow waist and slender hips

Which skirt your depilated mound:

All afront

Your perfect ass with its easy and unfettered access:

And each is surmounted on

Long, slim and shapely legs adjoining tiny feet"

To you, Sappho, goes this Further Salute

Prologue to The Sappho Trilogy

About Sappho’s Initiation is a well-crafted love story that brings a new dimension to erotic literature. The Novella is an anthology of the real events that lead a beautiful young housewife and mother into the realms of submissiveness and an addiction to cock.

It ended in a sub-penthouse where four, young, Afro-Caribbean men were on Sappho; but the next time I saw her was in a photograph taken, and sent to me, by her husband who had shot it using a long-lens camera.

It showed Sappho looking radiant and strolling down a street flanked by two middle-eastern-looking gentlemen. Sappho was sun tanned and her long, auburn hair was wafting in the breeze and flowing, lazily, over her shoulders. She was magnificently bejewelled, carefully made-up and wearing a white, diaphanous, dress but, this time, she wore flat court shoes.

What interested me were the handcuffs that manacled her to the two men. Beyond, her breasts were swollen and so was her belly.

About Sappho’s International Role describes how Sappho came to be in this condition. She recounted it shortly after her return to me and, in the course of her narrative, explained how a makeshift relationship had transformed her addiction from one form of cock to an addiction to Black cock.

She recalls this in About Sappho’s Interim Affair, which, like its precedents, will arouse men and women from all ages and social groups in many corners of the world.

For the record, Sappho is a young, North American housewife and mother of Greek descent who emerged from a state of naivety into an unparalleled level of sexual maturity under the tutelage of a Guiding Master.

As well as her natural beauty, Sappho is intellectually astute, emotionally mature and spiritually aware; a more dignified, wise and compliant partner no man could wish for: she brings a perfect blend of responsiveness, assertiveness and submissiveness to her lovemaking.

All-in-all, Sappho is an icon but there’s nothing flamboyant about her: it’s all down to her radiance, natural poise, beauty and elegance. If anything, Sappho is understated and she does not take long to make up her mind.

Chapter One

A Black Tie Dinner By The Bridge

This was not really a black tie dinner because I was wearing tropical evening wear: a white jacket, black dress trousers and, actually, no tie at all but, instead, an open-necked, dark blue cotton shirt!

Sappho was wearing black and white.

Her mini-skirt was made from black lamb’s leather and it had a cute, but short, slit up one side; her blouse was a billowing white Ralph Lauren Oxford cotton shirt that belonged to me; it was open at the neck with three or four buttons undone that just showed the curve of her breasts. The sleeves were rolled up to her mid-forearms, but, because her limbs were so slender, it had been possible to button the cuffs and keep the sleeves secure.

The rest of her outfit included black high heels and hold-ups but no underwear and, this evening, she was wearing long dangling earrings; her hair was flowing over her shoulders and her fragrance was subtle but stunningly erotic.

I’d chosen a French restaurant in a hotel by the river with a view from the dining room over a new millennium bridge and we’d been able to reserve a south-facing window seat. However, because of a kink in the river, it actually faced south-west, so our table was lit by the sunset.

I knew Jean-Pierre, the Maître D’, who showed us to our table and, using his prior knowledge, he cocked his head and I nodded. Shortly afterwards, two large gin and tonics arrived, together with a litre bottle of sparkling mineral water, some bread, olives and an olive-oil-vinegar mix along with two menus. He thanked us and left but kept half an eye on me.

Typically, the starters here were pretty poor but the entrées and desserts were just the opposite and, with the restaurant being French, the wines were very good and well kept. We wanted to order but also, to check-out one or two things with Jean-Pierre, so, I looked at him for a moment longer than usual and he came over. I asked about his specials and he started running off a whole list of things that weren’t on the menu.

Sappho, who is multi-lingual, realised this guy was the real deal and was, actually, an Afro-Frenchman, and, suddenly, she spoke to him in his native tongue. Clearly this took him by surprise, because he paused slightly, but it was equally apparent it delighted him, and further, something that endeared us to this young restaurateur.

He began to engage with Sappho, who was equally well-engaged, and, as was his habit, crouched down on one knee to our eye-level to continue his conversation, mostly with her, in French. It was early in the evening because, rather than drink or dine, or, drink and dine, later, I prefer to get both out of the way and leave space for other eventualities.

So, although we weren’t the only customers in the restaurant, it was by no means full or, even, busy. Nevertheless, although there were people sitting nearby, Jean-Pierre left these to his staff and carried on chatting with my amour, in French, without really involving me.

I was comfortable with this because the body language was neutral and I’d noticed that Sappho had her legs crossed in that peculiar way of hers. Although there was interest in her eyes there was no threat of competition so it was alright to let things go.

Jean-Pierre, as ever socially aware of my position, kept me in his peripheral vision but their conversation was safe and it continued fluently.

As their exchange slowed, but before it came to an end, I spoke softly to Jean-Pierre, but in such a way that Sappho could hear me, and suggested that if he put his hand on her thigh and slid it under her skirt there’d be a surprise waiting for him.

Sappho blanched but controlled her reaction and he, too, was slightly taken aback because he was keenly aware he was in a difficult position. I knew this but my gentle smile encouraged him and, turning towards my woman, gave her a tiny wink.

The chairs had armrests and they were well upholstered along with the seats and backs and, as I reassured her, she gripped her chair and, simultaneously, uncrossed her legs and placed both feet on the floor. Now it was Jean-Pierre’s turn: would he or wouldn’t he?

JP, as he’s known, gathered his thoughts and, sensing my reassurance that he was on solid ground, turned and looked Sappho right in the eye: Sappho returned his gaze.

His right arm slid under the tablecloth and towards her lap; he seemed composed and she seemed more in control of her mild alarm. I didn’t see his right hand go onto her right thigh, of course, but could tell a connection had been made by watching Sappho.

Afterwards, she told me he let it rest there until she gave him some space by opening a slight gap between her legs and then his fingers wrapped over her thigh and slipped further, upwards, onwards and along her limb.

JP moved his hand slowly under her skirt then onto her thigh; Sappho opened a little bit more and he just kept right-on going under her skirt, over her hold-ups and onto the flesh. Then his fingers found more flesh, no panties and no pubes until, all at once; she gasped, ever so slightly, and sucked in a small amount of air. JP’s eyes never left his customer but his head moved almost imperceptibly and, at first, she was looking from him to me and back again but then, steadily and with more ease, she focused only on him.

Still, she seemed unruffled until, spontaneously, her mouth opened and she had to work hard to stifle a cry. JP, as I was to learn, had inserted two fingers into her pussy and was