Fish And Temperature Lab

Pascal Sellier - Take III

My dear Andre,

Thanks for the staging of our dialogue. The symbolism is perfect Venetian to our exchange of missives that could imagine being conveyed by messenger braving a thousand dangers, horseback or Commander Atlantic for the sole purpose of allowing us to expatiate kindly, as was done during the century.

Venice, its intrigues, its palaces, masks, playful pleasures, its sweet and playful swagger ... His resonant corridors severe multiple cries of pleasure, pain, joy, and surely some trouble.
Thanks again to ensure my anonymity, but Pascal Seiller neither my name nor my name. The first is the reflection of my commitment to the mathematical rigor of Descartes, the second the name of a next-door neighbor of my parents. No PIN, or anagram analogy possible. A nick in which I move on the canvas as I would suggest hidden on the edge of the Grand Canal.

The Grand Canal, one evening in March, I walk a good step for me to make an appointment secret deliciously extreme, which I would return at dawn, sighs, murmurs and shouts yet gently tickling my eustachian tubes. The eyes still filled curves of diaphanous that I, in turn, appreciated, and unveiled palpated before drawing the rod, the whip, darker geometric figures as signs cabalistic two twin moons. I then rotundity, this time by hand, covered with a veil uniform, rosacea, hardly less intense. This ceremony completed, I then served on the whims of my beautiful manual search, then sexual its intimacies. And until the morning, her tears, her cries and sighs have been my only guide in the pursuit of pleasure of mine and his.

And just when adjusted, I just drove to her husband's room, he found at first glance and lustful inquisitor, his red cheeks, bright eyes, the disorder of her makeup and her hair, his vaguely absent, all signs that the night was good as he had imagined at the echo of our antics. And when her voice hoarse and tired, she whispered, "I love you ..." He greeted in his arms. Softened his beautiful was able to scream hoarse, crying at having dry eyes, so that it is the pleasure that I tell him and she tells him that night of destruction.

Why he remains impassive, enigmatic, like a mountain in the rain before the authorized story of misbehavior and sponsorship? The wealth of a great industrialist and exercise of market power that reaches each of us in the newspaper he found that they have an insatiable desire spurs us to pursue a mirage fleeing, chasing a rainbow sky to do never catch? He experienced enlightenment on all things look per tinent which guess in emptiness? We consider there to be frolicsome colts let loose in the steppe, drunk galloping? And why does he show an inexplicable complacency before the tremors lost a much younger woman, infinitely more fireproof and whose nerves stretched, meaning maddened by an imagination that likes to run amok are demanding ever more delights new and more ensauvagées? Is this the price agreed for it to return at dawn?

"The slave is the master. "Nietzsche said. It decides, it is she who suffers, she enjoys. One who enjoys to engage ... And while I deploy the ingenuity that makes me the dancing master and do in this ball of sobs and groans ... he has risen through the discipline of meditation to a sovereign altitude ... From there, he considers our frolics with equanimity.

I spank her often in the following months, I kiss too ... In Venice, and Paris. With consent of his philosopher husband, knowing that we will exhaust the resources of these inevitably over vanities off the rim of which can be completed at the hospital if they do not catapult you into the gutter.

We explored all the intricacies of all our desires. She was my slave, my purpose, by an act of complacency which I appreciated all prices, all adorable value.

I am using these final terms. She was, really. But it was because she had decided. It never took much pleasure as when it was over. It feels somewhat paradoxical that we have often mentioned together. No longer become an object to be manipulated, which shows that using the plunge into a trance, ecstasy of irresponsibility abandoned that ultimately gave him orgasms devastating.

Her husband was now excluded from our games. Why flout the generous donation that his philosophy, and probably his wisdom, gave us? We were telling him, everyone on our side, what we did want to tell him. Alibis consistent with marks left on her body with my fantasies; footsteps as if he cherished long consulted the map of an unknown country, a remote area with pristine territories yesterday and today were conquered the words "Hic Sunt Leones.

Richest owner of a shipping as the boldest navigators were complete, he assured his wife a lifestyle out of the ordinary, but did not know sail on the high seas and explore the vertiginous abyss where she longed to be abolished. She would have left it for the world is what formed the bulk of their contract, and the idea we have never touched neither one nor the other.

Her name was Irene and best friend Juliet.

Juliette Irene introduced me one evening at the end of the press preview of a film in which it saw its star emerging. Breakthrough in the strength of the wrist, thanks to one of those small miracles made working away from the limelight with an energy determined that the muscle and soul forge the spirit.

We dined together at The Dome with a squad of starlets and frisky fellow jokers, members of the production team, press agents and technicians who were keen to offer the tour to mark the grand dukes blow.

dragged into this shindig, Irene and Juliet were a happy pair, reigning master of the small friendly company who like a good bottle of champagne submarine crew in distress. The leader of the band, press secretary of his state, sounded the rally to end the evening at Castel. Irene grabbed me by the arm and Juliet by the other and we bake in a taxi. Once installed, our young ladies exchanged a friendly chatter barely audible burst of laughter for a long time. The two young women calmed down with great difficulty. With tears in her eyes, Irene managed to articulate "At Bristol, please ..."

Irene wiped her eyes shining with his handkerchief. They were bathed in tears, but laugh, their expression was nothing to do with the indefinable glow when I found that after long and thorough spanking, I walked into his mouth even further, to unbosom myself brushing the uvula at the back of his throat.

I contemplated e Juliette No smiling, too, carefully dabbing the bottom of her eyes. She could surely not imagine that at this moment behind my polite smile, I tried to imagine the tone of her screams as spanking, or admit, the taste of her sex.

It was past two o'clock in the morning and we were the last customers of the Bristol Bar.

After several vodka lemon, Irene, now freed liberated woman, had less and less restraint in the evocation of our relationship, its ins and outs.

Juliet laughed frankly anecdotes from her friend. Irene told him in detail how one evening, returning from the forest of Compiègne she had it bestowed a magnificent blowjob, but she had forgotten that there were no tissues in the car. She ended her story there, for a fun shortcut, concluding that it had an aftertaste hazelnut and since then, she appreciated.

Juliet, not embarrassed, burst out laughing. There was a sweet chemistry between the two young women and they associate me happy. As time passed, the more I felt that Irene was getting warm. Alcohol, as far as the late evening we had planned, now directing his comments invariably on sex. She questioned Juliet on her adventures past and present, its pre conferences. Juliet replied with a snort, yes or no, damn intrusive questions of my partner untenable.

Then came the psychological moment. Irene dropped somewhat tipsy in a playful tone:

"You know it gives me a spanking ... I sometimes whip ... and the worst ... the worst thing that I like it ... I am enjoying ... "

The look that gave me these words to Juliet was indecipherable. All I could say only that there was not in his eyes disapproval or contempt that can display profane.

Irene continued:

"Have you ever tried ...? I mean, erotic spanking ... "

Juliet, her hands quietly folded in her lap, do laugh more. She looks at me and whispers:

"If not ... well ... ... No, I never tried ..."

I was dizzy. I had it wrong. She did not say that women usually say to whom we talk about erotic spanking, the eternal "I do not see what he can There have Erot ic in there, get spanking for pleasure? must be disturbed ... "

No, in Juliette, nothing like that. Just his eyes fixed, chestnuts, liquids, dilated pupils, and I could not tear myself away.

Then she seemed to come out of a dream and looking at his watch, exclaimed

"Oh ... .. three hours "I must go, I have a crazy agenda tomorrow ..."

Coming out of Bristol, on the sidewalk, our paths would separate. Juliet was returning home and Irene and I would finish the night both at home and me in it.

"I must know. I must know. "Drag my card in his hand ...? No one! Drag him in the ear "If you ever want to try spanking, I'm Yours? Nullissime!

At the time of parting, I threw myself at risk to take me as an impertinent blackguard:

"When you have decided on the day when you feel ready, call Irene, I am very honored to be your teacher, with his permission of course ... "

She stared for a moment, then his eyes met those of Irene aback, and without a word she turned about to spin into a taxi stand where two cars were waiting for their ultimate client of the evening.

Irene and I were now alone on the sidewalk like two drunks. Piqued, she got the tone. In fact, it was a hair of the outburst that our conventions excluded:

"So like that, I do enough for you more ... dream Mr. buttocks of my best friend ... and now you want to more than I play the matchmaker? "

Ignoring the first member of his sentence, also inaccurate, I answer the second proposal as if it were obvious.

"When you talk of her, nothing is hidden ... tell him everything ..."

She looks at me, sobered:

"How it all even ... clips ... links ... "

" Tell him everything ... he admits the pleasure you draw ... describe him this pleasure is the best ... your best friend, you do not want to share the secret of absolute fervor with her ...? It is likely that it has the same inclinations as you ... I guess when you spoke of whipped ... And it's not me who should initiate it, but you ... Have you ever wanted to change the registry? Provide the ecstasy you live? "This

Juliet is shortly to your door ...

Yours

Pascal

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In the middle of science fiction ... and yet so commonplace

A clone Pentium 4. No really, it is in der Ceiling. And yet, the happy days when we pondions our fucking masters thesis by drawing pain and misery on a Smith Corona portable, if the Ghost of Christmas coming we had grabbed by Schnoll - in short, by the mane - for us to run a fast forward in the spacetime and we show a ... it would have fallen to his knees in tears, cursing the fate that compels us to wait another thirty years for disposal.

Like what the future is unimaginable and when it becomes the present moment, we dismiss out of hand the wonders which he fills us, infinitely beyond our dreams.

This machine combines word processing, data, images, databases. It fits the film editing, musical composition. On the Internet, it opens a window on the world. It is through her that I create and circulate this little blog. It allows me to restart my friends in Paris and Orleans on the videophone. Star Trek. We are living in science fiction. But the highlight is so unexpected, if not laughable, but to bring to bare on a reverential tone telephone networks via satellite. That is why science can not be the religion of the twenty-first century. The benefits of its achievements, unthinkable a decade ago, they are so transparent n'avivent not our love of mystery, do not raise the tension of desire or lack of, are commonplace and as they emerge. While they transfigure our lives.

There is almost a year now, in spring 2006, I flew to Paris to land after some six hours. At the time of Lafayette, the crossing of the Atlantic could last more than a month. A group of warm friends - known by nicknames Sarahh. Benevolent, Cheyenne, and Sabine Buttineur - with whom I made contact on MSN over the previous weeks, welcomed me to the terrace of a bistro offering me a bottle champagne as a welcome gift. I asked the boy, who has demonstrated a kind indulgence, if he could put that champagne on ice for us to offer all the dessert, which keeps me from falling into the throes of alcoholism alone . In the background we hear the echoes of a football game on TV between France and Spain, the cheers of supporters spanning the conversation by successive surges with accents of bullfighting.

Once the note is set, we drove along the boulevards of the City of Light where jubilant revelers celebrated the victory of France. Around us, the traffic flow was spinning merrily in a concert of horns. Some enthusiastic wheelies on the windowsill before, waving at arm's length the Habs to glory. The evening you rminée the foot of the Eiffel Tower which was camped above us his huge crotch. She stood in the shade of a warm June evening his haughty head, bristling with antennas and darting light beams its dual beacon. From a largely glowing tiara they swept the night sky. His monumental mass that curves gracefully converge to its pinnacle in our earnings perpetuated the memory of a Age of steel and steam where the technique affirmed his strong faith and naive once to mark the bicentenary of the Revolution. And just to say goodbye, I knew the French in Europe and America, son and daughters of a new century, we were citizens of the world, gathered at the foot of this colossal and fantastic centerpiece at this crossroads In this fleeting moment, the curtain fabric from the Age of Information at the same time focus and point of departure to the unknown.

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Pascal Sellier: Philosophical Dialogue - Taking II

Pascal Sellier wrote:

Dear Andrew,

thousand apologies for this long silence. I was, besides many trips taken by intense activity in recent times.

Add to this a configuration problem on my laptop that stop me now check my Hotmail (hence the change of email address) and you get a very late response, what I hope you will forgive me.

I saw on your site that you have posted our correspondence in the passage giving me a funny nickname.

In the last email I have read, you proposed therefore continue. That continue? Our recent quasi-philosophical digressions on spanking and its corollaries sex? Or epistolary play that I proposed, subject to the whims of another heroine from the imagination of one?

My answer, greedy "Both, sir! "As one and one I try and relate in my mind.

's attack if you like, the philosophical side, before I do that book, the more twisty and hilly deliciously heroin I'll tell you ... and who I think will seduce you ...

You want once, I think, to converse with me via a webcam, an object which I am, alas, for us to do without further knowledge. We're going to have to switch between the eyes and we just that of the mind.

I am still embarrassed to talk about me without you lie or annoy you lack confidence.

Certainly, it would be extremely easy for you hoax, or at least disguise reality.

I can not intellectually resolve myself. No more than I want to tell you much about me. I practice

a public profession (journalist) in which all individual behavior is watched, dissected. The lower story is repeated, peddled, amplified, and distorted. So spread the risk of seeing around me, the gossip that would not fail to peddle some unwelcome, if they had ears that I frequent a particular forum dedicated to the worship of curves callipygian zebra and reddened abused. The stake would also surely revived if noised about that the pervert that I am not content with tormenting of sprightly young women in games uncommon, worships at the ruins of Sodom.

It's a risk I can not run, regardless of the esteem I feel for you and also

... I hope you understand, but I do not want you if I turn the back.

I am a Parisian by birth and I'm 45. I'm no literary training, but economic and legal. My current job is the result of an encounter, sometimes as life in reserve, with a valuable man whose only weakness that I know of is having had to take the friendship for the little pedantic Golden Boy I was twenty years ago. It is with him I first tasted the delights of the professor and games of the Marquis, who have never been out of my life since.

His disappearance two years ago allows me to tell you today, without betraying his memory. He was a prominent member of the very closed circle of the great authors who are studied during the aggregation tion of modern literature. I think it is unnecessary to say more about me. Unless of course you do not want to wonder about a particular aspect of my life. I'd be happy as long as you allow me to keep anonymity, away from preciousness. Anonymity that I liken to the wolf carnival of Venice, although the tone of our correspondence. I

Besides, remember a night at Cipriani, who gave me one of my finest pleasures Sade. I shall tell you one day.

But back on topic, or, more exactly to our sheep ... and the cry of rebellion that I sent you long ago: Yes sex before, during and after the spanking!

Invest fingers yards, language or any other object of our beautiful ports lovingly castigated would be a taboo for those who narrate, describe complacently, even filming the stinging corrections given to repentant ridges. In the various forums that I could attend, these shameless fathers, these bogeymen are shocked and condemn ... principals, mentors and lovers who, after punishment, grant forgiveness, redemption and above all joy and pleasure in exchange for the surrender of the aforementioned holes. That's what upsets me. It is nonetheless true that mutual consent is and must remain the basis of this relationship ... We must not forget that sex scene where everything is convenient constitutes fiction .... (In Silence of the Lambs, Anthony Hopkins when eating a human liver, that's fake ...)

Andre Come, let us continue to make us happy ...

friendly with my memory ...

A. Gilles Ledoigt

PS: A very fast, so I can "present" your future heroine, Juliette ... actress of her condition (Smile. ..) and wife of a billionaire pervert who introduced him to accept and penchant for the pleasures that we love.

André Martinet wrote:

Dear Pascal,

To the question "What pursue games or epistolary almost philosophical digressions? " I also answer and enthusiasm: "Both, sir! "And we agree in our conclusions. Thank

indications that you provide me with your mentor. An exceptional person whose presence in your life confirms that our new way of loving can be the act of a man of value and quality.

As for the need to move forward under the mask in this carnival of soft excesses, extremes of intimacy, sensual and consensual in nature and it is, so to say, tradition. Our happiness a bit special but O how eager and, yes, if generous are properly experienced, are the antithesis of exhibitionism-voyeurism of reality TV, like these burlesque shows with guests and grapple s'étripent at the instigation of the leader and in a concert of whistles, of boos and applause during ... interspersed with sallies pubs where they aim to regulate his stories of money or buttocks with a crash before two million listeners. Not only

anonymity under which we speak we guard there at all from gossip, dirty tricks and hypocrites. It allows our readers to appreciate, or no, but with the benefit of an option that suits them well, ideas and feelings, inclinations and pleasures here put forward with a full civic freedom, respecting everyone's rights (e) and without insulting anyone . Because if we choose to offend some conveniences, kits, torn pants off the French to make the best beat and whining, of grasps his crotch like a lady to touch the heart, to titillate the haughty and whip her rump plump for better style and punish it awaken the sleeping rider filly, our honor is called ardor and love intellectual integrity.

As we alight with the bright canvas of the Net, a thousand bonfires from which radiate a more frank a variant of pleasure, another way to love when we give the speech. Thus we multiply contacts between ardent supporters of love who have the courage of their sensuality and concern for the happiness of others. Thus e breaks out in a carnival of rejoicing disorders naughty but good ... the golden shower of fireworks that fill our heart and they are the language, the flares of Smart inventions designed to renew with that which is not only passing the initial thrill of the first congress which nostalgia grips us. Thus we will be free, liberated and libertarians, but never libertines.

is also the spirit in which I can imagine our literary collaboration. Beyond the tangible realities, anatomical, whose registry a few short runs out quickly despite the verbal resources that our profession is at our disposal, it should not paint the world of feelings and values related to this erotic? As a practitioner knows warned, far from falling selfishness primary, a complacency in the triviality of a contempt of a healthy physical and mental health of common sense, our design preferences can express any well balanced and unselfish relationships. This song combines the modulated tones of the body, heart and mind, and avoids interpreted pianissimo paroxysms too obvious hyperbole ras-le-bol. We join us in our aims?

For the purist wanting the eroticism of spanking can be combined with other expressions of love by the effect of a sort of monomania, it does not seem to have frequently observed among my circle of acquaintances who share our beliefs. Maybe he should write all the liabilities of an erotic XXX extremely simple in design and whose primary scenarios overwhelm us and another one there ... or guess the unfortunate effect of love passing too fleeting and superficial that body language expresses some feeling. And tenderness? Brothel. That would make a good movie title and brings me back to the concerns suggested above.

Hope to read you all the benefit of our Customers also anonymous, but are still present, if I think my storyteller that increments in ex ... ... ... gold cable ... mang.

André Martinet

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10,000 page views since December 2006

10,000 page views since December 2006. Aficionados from all sources. France is well represented, which is natural, given the language. Thank you!

And if I make a suggestion, dear friends, j'aimerias be for the benefit of your comments. The comments and criticisms, it is always a little miller, his son and the donkey. Exposes you to solicit them. There of spanking in the air? I assume the risk. And the right to eclecticism with regard to obey or not. See you soon.

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Chantal ... in its glory! - Plug



See it, delivered and offered on the altar of love peculiar. Admire the deep median, arsehole well wide open, the horizon of the rump while fulfilling it splits the girl pays tribute to the man she has chosen to deliver blazing bare. Caress of the domed Regad endorsement of hips, turned up the loins and kidneys hinged on the slender size to better dig, tender and pink groove of the spine, shoulders that are deployed, chubby arms, fingers now wise, agile and supple night ... brown mane, grove where wild stock would run her fingers lovingly before forcibly grabbing the entire hand.

bet that the adventures of the mischievous enliven our curiosity in the coming days. Especially since the subject's head well done and thank you very full, has pprécie including Krishnamurti and aspires to master the art of writing ... the grammatical rule to san s doubt be applied retrospectively when copying blushed with shame. If it agrees to register board, to affix his signature to the contract of trust, its name will be Enya.

Cont. For information made after one day and one night's outbursts accomplices, an exchange of views as relevant as possible during the breakfast of champions and champions and a cuddly hug us coiling into each other at the time of departure ... whole being resonates like a gong until late evening.

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Basic Instinct II sacred turnip year

Fifteen years after Basic Instinct, first name, then earned Sharen Stone in the title of Worst Actress of the year.

Basic Instinct II was the star of the 27th Golden rasberries Awards, the Oscars parody that crowns each Annne most unpresentable nanars Hollywood. Three other Razzies (raspberries) were assigned: Worst Film of the Year, Worst Screenplay and Worst on. The film was nominated in seven categories.

As with anything there's no good feelings that made bad movies. And this royal spanking will no doubt prove beneficial. At least that's the grace we wish the damsel whose maturity is not without charm, without imposing a moral obligation to shine in Dialogue of the Carmelites to redo. Draw a veil.