The voice held a note of urgency and sounded strained through the crackling on the line. “Yes, Master.” Her English was as good as her French.
“Are you dressed?” The telephone whined and hissed.
“Remove your clothes and unlock the door to your apartment. Go to the window facing the alley and kneel before it with your thighs spread wide. And take the telephone with you.”
“The line is bad, Master. Did you say the window facing the alley?”
“Yes. Now hurry.”
Yvonne stripped quickly, leaving her dress and satin brassiere and pantalettes lying where they fell to skip hastily to the door and unlatch it. Retrieving the telephone, she went to the window and knelt as she had been told. Three metres across the alley was a photographer’s shop. He used the upper floor as a studio because of its big windows. In the one facing her was a naked young woman with long, black hair flowing over her right shoulder as far as her breasts. Seeing Yvonne, she too knelt with her thighs spread, her back very straight and her full, pink-tipped teats thrust out.
“Are your knees apart?” the telephone demanded.
“Yes, Master.” The windowsill was very low. The girl could see her bare sex easily, just as she could see the girl’s.
“Spread them more. Keep the telephone to your ear and put your other hand behind your back. You are not to touch yourself.”
“Yes, Master.” Yvonne strained her bent legs as wide as she could, rested her buttocks on her heels and placed her right hand in the small of her back, feeling very exposed. Someone appeared next to the girl, obviously male, obviously aroused. The light reflecting on the glass, along with the telephone receiver he was holding, obscured his face but it must be her Master. The black-haired girl turned her head towards his rearing erection, raised herself to take it between her lips and began to move her head back and forth.