Jeni moved on browsing leisurely until she suddenly spotted Celia, a woman from the tour, on the opposite side of a rack of sheer black nightgowns. As their eyes met, the redheaded Celia smiled and brushed the hair from her face. The two shared the distinction of being the youngest members on the tour – women having just tiptoed into middle age, traveling alone. Celia was one of those immediately likeable women who seem unencumbered by fantasy and daydreams, unfazed by the new and unique. An easy manner. Uncomplicated style. All of which Jeni loved. But there was more, and that more was something distinctly sexual, which made Celia’s appearance in the boutique an interesting coincidence. She was older and more mature than Justine, exuding a depth of character, a life of love and loss – perhaps much like her own. And, remarkably, she fit the atmosphere of the boutique dressed in a filmy back sundress and turquoise jewelry.
The first time Jeni laid eyes on the woman at the Paris hotel, her attraction to Celia was instantaneous. Her attraction to women was nothing new to her. But she’d learned long ago, that breaching bisexual barriers with women was a tricky business, something she reserved for BDSM play parties where sexual lines were indistinct, rules were few, and woman crossed the line with assurance that their open sexuality would be celebrated, not judged. There was an exhilarating freedom in such sexy play. The fragrance of a woman’s body, the delicacy of kisses, the silky feel of female flesh – the whole world seemed to take on a different guise when she was in the company of women who easily crossed that line. But Jeni didn’t instigate, and she certainly wouldn’t now.
But one never knew what might happen on a trip to France. Maybe it wouldn’t be a man to lure her away from Jack, but a woman. The thought of that could have her head spinning. Wasn’t Jack enough for now?
Celia herself ended Jeni’s inner quarrel moments later, “You know, we really should sit together tonight at dinner.” She moved around the rack of gowns to Jeni’s side and spoke in a hushed voice. “Nice tour, but some of our companions are a little conventional, don’t you think?”
Jeni couldn’t disagree. “I haven’t thought about it much, but I certainly haven’t made any real connections. Dinner, yes. Let’s do that tonight.”
They would be no more than friends, even though she felt some girlish glee at the prospect of sharing the trip with the lovely redhead.
Celia had fascinated her since she first laid eyes on her. Jeni had noted the way she would stare at women, though just as often she would find her staring at men with the same longing gaze. At times, Celia gazed off vacantly into space. At other times there was a glittery look in her eye; and her smile carried inside it whimsy and desire. She was a small woman, almost impish in size, but now that she’d opened a conversation, her essence seemed to expand, a feeling that hit Jeni’s crotch and traveled deep. That was not necessarily good news in Jeni’s vulnerable state of mind. But there was a riddle behind the woman that Jeni had not yet solved.
Celia’s lingerie shop proposal for dinner thrust a woman with apprehensions and a highly volatile libido, into new and not particularly comfortable territory. She was only suggesting dinner, but Jeni had to stop herself from wondering if there was something more behind that invitation.
She could easily imagine Celia as a lover – their arms wrapped around each other in bed, their naked pussies pushing against the other, clits rock hard, the soft spasming pleasure of their hungry bodies enjoying a long afternoon of roaming hands and passionate kisses. The images were fresh and real, feeling ultimately doable. While the daydream lasted, she tossed thoughts of Jack aside – including an unexpected feeling of guilt. What was that about anyway? He certainly couldn’t command her fidelity under the circumstances, could he? She didn’t owe him that, at least not yet.
“Good then, we have a date.” Celia smiled. “You buying anything?” she asked as she pulled a silky black tee-shirt from the rack.
“Nope, too pricey for me,” Jeni replied.
They shared a laugh then exited the store a few minutes later. Erotic thoughts of the lovely Justine seemed to vanish with a new companion for the trip emerging from the other side of a rack of lingerie.
***
“I’m up early again, the city noises. I’m glad to hear the pics came through, there’s another attached…more of my toys including the ballgag and the deerskin flogger. I’m missing the picture with the chains. I’ll send that when I find it. I’ve been thinking of you on all fours, after a through physical exam and whipping, your cheeks spread wide waiting for my cock. Where to put it? How about filling both love holes? Maybe a speculum in one and a cock in the other?”
Jeni’s body quickened, reading that last remark. Double penetration? There’d been a time many years ago when there were two cocks… The memory made her shiver, although she wasn’t thinking dildos or speculum, but two men at once. Two holes, two men with erections pressed in the tight spaces of her crotch. A huge wave of desire rose up through her body, giving it quite a jolt as her imagination took flight. This would be edgy. She wondered how Jack would feel about including another man, or was he the kind of Dom to want her entirely for himself?
“I’m excited for you and the places you’ll be visiting. Perhaps you’ll ‘stumble’ on one of those infamous Paris sex clubs, a BDSM one would be perfect.
I’ll have more pictures to start your day.
Still wearing the nipple ties? I sure hope so. I don’t even like thinking of the alternative.
Sitting back smiling thinking of you.”
Still wearing the nipple ties? She read Jack’s words again. An unsettling feeling surfaced, as if she’d done something terribly wrong, and she was stung with guilt. Perhaps more upsetting was her sudden visceral and very sexual response.
No, she wasn’t wearing the nipple ties, not with her assigned roommate being a 55 year old librarian from Alabama who wore a large silver cross on her chest. Private space was minimal on this tour, at least in their small Rouen hotel room. Nipple ties wouldn’t fit in the tiny world she shared with her very religious but otherwise jolly roommate.
I don’t even like thinking of the alternative.
And exactly what did he mean by that – what alternative? Another twinge of guilt, another sharp spasm of desire. If he’d been there, she’d have been falling all over herself with a thousand apologies.
On the other hand, what right did he have to demand her obedience on any matter? They were not Master/slave, certainly, not even Dom/sub – not exactly. They were flying forward into a kink relationship on conjecture, assumptions and hypotheses. She’d allowed his easy command of her to take hold without raising a single objection. Because she wanted it. In the most primitive part of her, she wanted a Dominant man in her life. She yearned for the very kind of authority Jack conveyed so artlessly. And just look at her, wasn’t her physical response to her ‘disobedience’ telling enough? ‘I don’t even like thinking of the alternative’, immediately made her panties wet, with her sexual heat building rapidly. And not the average sort of everyday sexual heat, a passing moment of lust, but a fierce kind of penetrating heat, that dug deep and made her want him more. How deeply submissive she’d become to his authority. This man, playing Dominant to the surrendering female in her had an uncanny knack of raising her sexual hunger with just the simplest comment. As far as she could tell, he didn’t even have to think this up, he came upon his dominance naturally.
Damn! She was hot!
“Good morning, Sir. I was hoping to see another message from you. The pace here is brisk, but I’m slowly starting to unwind and get into the rhythm of the tour. You certainly know how to get my fantasies running into happy places. But about those nipple ties…Ouch! I have to confess. I put them aside for the trip realizing that they don’t always stay on well and I’d be traveling with some unknown woman. (In fact, the tour company assigned me a roommate who turned out to be a very lovely lady, a librarian. But nipple ties seemed a bit difficult under the circumstances.)
Forgive m
e, Sir. I failed to mention this sooner, and should have. I will humbly accept the consequences. Blushing and feeling very bad that I disappointed you. I can think of a hundred ways to make it up to you. Like that all fours, legs spread thing for starters. Blushing again.
This grand adventure is a little overwhelming, but I’m loving it…other than my disregard for your stated wishes.
I’ll be thinking of you.”
She was so easy! She fell into unthinking surrender without the thought of pushing back at the man’s implied authority. It wasn’t rational, but what that authority did to her libido made it impossible for her not to fall under his spell. She was back in the old days of her kink when a failure to obey a simple command and paying the painful consequences on her naked ass was about the sexiest thing that she could imagine. It wasn’t long before another message from knighthawk925 appeared in her email.
“I’m having a hard time sleeping. Not sure if it’s the city noise or the dream I was having. I was lying face down over a stack of pillows and you were giving me analingus. I was hard, and you had your fingers wrapped around my cock and balls. Your tongue was in my ass. Felt amazing! So do you like that, any good at sucking ass? And while we’re at it, were you ever made to wear a butt plug under your clothes in public?”
As she read this, Jeni was hit with a strange combination of revulsion and intense desire. He was pushing way beyond her comfort zone. These things were still negotiable, were they not? She read on…
“You liked my deerskin flogger? It was made to whip my slave’s pussy and thighs. A great warmer-upper before progressing to bigger and better things. I’m looking forward to using it on you. I had a previous slave lying on my table, and connected her ankle cuffs to the outer rings of the suspension bar in the picture attached. Her legs were spread into the air. The position was great for whipping as well as that physical exam. I’ve since made the bar into the hanging lamp I mentioned before, but I could bring it back for use if necessary. The other picture is of the whipping post, also note the beams over head. Perfect for securing a submissive upright on her feet and whipping both front and back – and anything else you can imagine.
I am disappointed about the nipple ties. Not because you saw a need to remove them and go vanilla, rather that you didn’t ask permission, or at least report to me that you removed them and why. You said you can think of a hundred ways to make amends. Give me one and make it good. Another thing, your use of the term Sir. You used it when you told me about the ties. I think you should use it more often, not just when you think you’re in trouble.”
Jeni gulped back another wave of guilt. He assumed so much! And yet, she was lapping up every bit of his simply stated rebuke as if it were sexual candy. To hell with this not being negotiated! The tone of his email had raised her body heat to a new height of arousal. She wanted to come, put her fingers to her crotch, rub her clit ’til it was raw, and cum hard!
Damn it! she thought as she gazed at her roommate sleeping in the other bed, not all that soundly.
The best she could do was to lightly finger her pussy until she released enough pent-up energy to allow her body to sleep.
“I was looking in my toy bag and realized I can’t find the collar and cuffs. As you know, I like to see my sub collared and cuffed. I panicked. I’d hate to buy new ones then find the old ones. On the other hand, new sub, new collar. I still have a metal one I made for special occasions. I wonder how you will look in that one. Although I still prefer the look of leather, the metal does make a strong statement.
I’m thinking of you.”
“Hi, Sir. I like calling you Sir, and it feels so natural with you. I was glad to get your email even though I’ve been up since the crack of I don’t know when. I’m not sleeping well – could still be jetlag. I hope you got the pictures of Rouen. Old World, sexy and romantic, so of course I thought of you.
I think I need to explain the anal thing you mentioned when I’m home. Too complicated for emails – at least for this tiny keyboard on my phone.
And yes, you are so right about the ties. As soon as I realized what I’d done, I knew I should have mentioned that they wouldn’t work well on the trip. I actually said that in an email I didn’t get a chance to send. Now I’m sorry you didn’t get it.
Ways to atone for the missing nipple ties? I was thinking of waking you up in the morning, very gently massaging your body all over, then giving you a blow job until you’re hard. You decide how to fuck me – unless you just want to use my mouth. I know that’s not all that kinky, but don’t worry, Sir, there’s more on the way certain to be kinky – and no doubt a bit painful. (wince)
You do realize for all my kink experience you are challenging me with some of these ideas of yours? They certainly keep me turned on – of course, France may be adding to my constant state of arousal. I’d love to write more but I’m falling asleep. Smiling. Oh, by the way, I love the look of your flogger.”
“I don’t recall waking up to a body massage and blowjob – that’s a good start, (getting me hard) but just a start. I need more. Nothing much going on here, the usual politics, crime and explosive stuff all over the world. Glad that France is relatively free of that – at least at the moment. Hope it stays that way.”
“We spent an amazing day at Monet’s gardens in Giverny. Maybe the most beautiful place I’ve ever been, certainly the most spectacular garden.
Don’t think I mentioned that I seem to have gained a companion on this adventure. Celia. A kindred spirit. Fun, open minded and not at all like the rather conventional group we’re traveling with. She’s from a small town on the California coast. We introduced ourselves in a lingerie shop across from our hotel. I secretly wonder if she’s kinky. Probably not, but it wouldn’t surprise me either. Wouldn’t that be an interesting turn of events!
Thoughts were downloading from my muse today, which seems to be especially inspired by this trip and your emails (neither a surprise). Another of the 100 ways to atone, I saw myself crawling across the hardwood floor on hands and knees to retrieve a leash and toys, returning them to you in my teeth (maybe I need to get knee pads for this unless you want your sub with bruised knees). A lovely wicked thought, and one I hope you approve of.
I’ll leave you with that, Sir. I have an early start in the morning.”
“Giverny. Now that’s one I regret not seeing when I was traipsing through France like a gypsy. I should have taken the time. Giverny is a field day for a botanist, although I wasn’t into botany at the time. Maybe someday I’ll get there. Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself, that is the goal. How about the food, the wine? It would be nothing like we have here. At least that is my memory of it.
Hum, toys delivered in the teeth paints a great mental picture. Thanks for the idea. OK, only 98 more ways to make amends. Let’s hear another. BTW, I like my sub naked, collared and on her knees, so I have a nice comfy kneeling pad just for the occasion. No need for bruised knees. Your ass, now that may be a different story.
Enjoy every minute there.”
Chapter Three
Paris
“More thoughts from your humble penitent…as if I could top last night’s. I see you relaxing at the cottage, perhaps watching TV, flipping through the channels while I’m lying beside you, spread-eagle on the floor (face down face up is up to you). You’d have a whip in hand gently cracking it against my naked flesh at odd intervals, a bit like Chinese water torture. Until you’re ready to take me again. How’s that one? And don’t worry, there will be more…
I could write you a book about what’s happening for me here. But that will have to wait. Must sleep, Sir. Tomorrow we’re on to Paris. (warning, I may not have Wi-Fi, can’t be sure of that in these French hotels)
Hope your day has gone well, Sir, and you’re enjoying your dreams. Thinking of you.”
He replied:
“I think I would want you face down. I’ll save the front for a little closer and more intense scrutiny and play. There you go
, making me hard again.”
And Jeni replied:
“Do I apologize for making you hard? That is the goal, isn’t it, Sir, making you hard? I’ll email again when I can. In the meantime I’ll be thinking up more ways to repent. Why did I promise you a hundred?!!!”
***
Paris – the city rushed on her like a brisk wind. After the relative calm of Rouen and its gentle surroundings, the fast pace of Paris swept her into an entirely different atmosphere. Crowds in every museum, tourist spot and on the street. The Metro was frightening, like diving into a sea of warm bodies jostling against each other for places to stand, and with any luck, sit. Noisy. Relentless. Exhilarating. Street musicians in the subterranean corridors of the Metro stations played everything from bagpipes to polkas, all loud enough to drown out her thoughts.
The architecture of Paris was weighty and substantial in size, Roman in design. There were monuments around every corner marking the turbulent history of Paris. Much of the city was built in the late 1800s, except for the churches and Cathedrals, which looked to Jeni as if they’d sprung from deep roots in the soil beneath. In whose minds had the seeds for these monoliths been born? What tenacity of spirit had made them grow to such magnificent heights? One man’s vision? Or a hundred? A vision that consumed so much human toil from year to year, decade to decade, century to century until the present. Now, many of them were layered with scaffolding as ongoing restorations continued.
Along the neighborhood streets were window boxes and balconies, produce vendors and flower stalls. More vendors along the Seine selling old books and a variety of art, all pretty as a picture, but flung against the humanity of the city, the mix of cultures, the well-heeled and the down and out, who casually slept on the sidewalks, in abandoned phone booths, tucked into doorways. Poster art advertised concerts and exhibitions, including an American film festival with the image of Steve McQueen as the drawing card – as if he were still alive and well, not the dead matinee idol from her mother’s generation.
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