The air was thick with history from centuries past, in every corner, encroaching on the spirit in ways she never expected. Sometime she felt the oppressive weight, other times uplifted. She walked into a tiny neighborhood grocery store down the street from their hotel, looking for a carton of yogurt, and spent an hour poking through the aisles, smiling at items she recognized from home, deciphering labels written in French. On the street, the aromas of bread and croissants permeated the air, hitting her nostrils with pleasant scents that acted on her sexual body as another in a long line of aphrodisiacs.
Paris was amazing to look at, but more amazing to feel inside the bones and the heart. It seeped into her pores and resided there – she wouldn’t understand until much later, after she returned home, that the feeling would never leave her. And that was as it should be. That feeling could be resurrected with the remembrance, and take her back to when her senses first experienced Paris.
Their second full day in the city, Jeni and Celia took off to Montmartre, the hilltop village within the city. They got off the Metro at the nearest station, and plunged into a sea of humanity, feeling pulled by that human force toward the tram that would take them to the top of the hill. Exiting the tram they pressed their way through another crowd of tourists, into the marketplace where vendors lured them toward shops filled with cheap curios and racks of printed tee shirts. The smell of food was a beautiful assault on the senses, spices, mouth-watering confections, pungent, exotic aromas. Jeni wanted to taste it all and leave nothing out.
It was no surprise to her that she was overwhelmed again – a reality of the trip she couldn’t shake. With her mind in such bewildering disarray, she was tempted to panic; although just as often overwhelmed was much like a gentle buzz, inebriation without the alcohol. How could anyone do Paris without the bittersweet realization that as much as there was the desire to take it all in, that could never be done? Not in a matter of days, maybe not in a month, a year, or ever for that matter.
They stopped to eat at a restaurant on the Rue des Saules, a picturesque looking green and white stucco building several stories high with white shutters on the windows above and flower-filled window boxes on the second floor. They sat tucked into an out-of-the way corner, far from the long tables filled with laughing, chattering tourists, and ate crispy roast chicken and potatoes. The best Jeni had ever had. Simple. Delicate. Every succulent bite a small celebration. There was something fundamental about the tastes; food as it was meant to be. Jeni’s buzz expanded with a glass of red wine. She and Celia were alone together—again Celia’s choice. The sly self conscious smirks they exchanged suggested flirtation. Flirtation? That meant something bigger than friendship, didn’t it? If she weren’t in such a wine-dazed oblivion, she would have been self-conscious of her emerging desires for Celia. But, as if she needed to keep those feelings in check, Jack was never far from her thoughts. He meant sex to her, naked, collared sex, submission, surrender, pleasure of a sort she’d always longed for, what was fundamental to her life. He meant a sexual energy wide open to any sexy stimulation, including the idea of an affair with the woman across the table. Celia with the teasing eyes.
Jeni still wasn’t sure if she was being seduced or just befriended by the sensuous redhead. On the subject of seduction, she didn’t know its language or its rules – if there were any. She wasn’t sure she could read the signs of sexual interest with any degree of accuracy, especially coming from a woman. Some women were just naturally hands-on, like Celia. She liked rubbing elbows, speaking close to her ear, resting her hand against her back. The slightest physical touch, an open palm resting on her back, could mean nothing – or everything.
Some women had the knack of gaining confidences and physically expressing affection when nothing more was intended than a simple sisterly fondness. Celia’s eyes exuded compassion, wrapped people inside her tenderness like a comforting blanket, but Jeni couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more than sisterly going on between them. Like everything sexual in her life right then, including Jack, especially Jack, there was a huge unknown, a delicate dance, and a heap load of mystery as she wondered about the final outcome.
“This is fantastic,” Celia expounded as she slowly chewed a bite of food. Her eyes were glittering again as she stared into Jeni’s mesmerized face.
“I know. Best chicken ever.”
“Here,” Celia dipped a piece of crusty French bread into the sauce on Jeni’s plate and fed it to her, smiling, licking her lips. Coy. Tempting.
“Humm my, just gets better, doesn’t it?” Jeni wriggled her crotch against the wooden seat of the chair, worrying that she would leave a wet puddle of juice when she got up to leave. There was just Celia in her thoughts at that moment. The woman before her was no fantasy, but physically present inside her space. Her soft hand found Jeni’s knee once or twice, and she leaned in close as she talked. Celia’s eyes fixated on her, and Jeni unthinkingly returned the attention sharing a giggle and a fond if not self-conscious smile.
Where was this friendship leading? Jeni always had her fantasies, but this was different. This was flesh and blood and two beating hearts.
Celia’s turn to giggle – she had a wine buzz, too. “This food is so sexy,” she said as she examined a forkful of chicken and potatoes. Then with a sideline glance at Jeni she added, “Not to mention the company.” She popped the food into her mouth then invitingly ran her tongue over her lips. Abruptly she pulled back, as if she suddenly realized what she’d just said and done. “Getting carried away here with this lovely wine,” she laughed and she poured herself another glass.
Fragrant wine, delicious food, Paris, France, and two warm female bodies, were an erotic feast to savor. Jeni’s thoughts soon drifted into familiar places – to a warm bed, to lips, to breasts, to the valleys between their thighs. And then it was a strap-on that appeared in her head, and Celia descending on her with eyes darkening over some evil plan.
She took a deep breath to halt the runaway thoughts.
The wine, yes the wine. That second glass had her head swimming into perilous places. And then, like a haunting refrain, it was Jack inside her thoughts again. He was the background music against which all this eroticism played out. She couldn’t forget, couldn’t leave him out of the picture, even though he was no more than a phantom. Even in the midst of Celia’s artless seduction, he wouldn’t let go. From the slavish, naked surrender to Jack as master to fierce lesbian lust. The fantasies played leapfrog in her mind, while her pussy spasmed involuntarily and her body continued to move against the chair seat.
“What if we got away from the tour for a night, and did a little nightclubbing around Paris?”
Celia’s sudden suggestion took Jeni by surprise, but she smiled once she let the idea gain a little traction. “I don’t know,” she finally answered, a little flustered. Her heart was starting to race, and she took a deep breath. “Nightclubbing? I don’t even do that when I’m home.”
“Then why not here? Let loose for a night? We could disappear into Paris nightlife and not come back ’til dawn.”
Not come back ’til dawn. Sounded like some sappy romantic fiction. “You’re just dreaming, aren’t you?”
The woman shrugged. “Not entirely. We do have a free night, and what could be more fun than going off the grid?”
“I don’t know about off the grid. But a nightclub and dancing. Sure.”
Celia beamed.
“So, you have some place in mind?” Jeni inquired.
Celia blushed, as if some sexy memory had returned. “Oh, I wish. There was one, but…” she snickered, “but it’s gone out of business. Already checked. It’s been so long since I’ve been here that I doubt any of the places I went to are around anymore. But it’s Paris. There’s certain to be a good place to party. We just need to ask around.”
Celia was the kind to ‘ask around’.
***
Jack’s email:
“I couldn’t get back to sleep. Been ki
lling time looking at porn. Now I’m horny and hard. Have you ever submitted to a golden shower? Tell me about it if you did. I once gave one to my slave. She liked it and so did I.”
“Yes to your question about GS.” Jeni answered. “Yes, though the results were mixed. I guess depending on my mood and who I’m with, I might like to do that again.
I need to tell you about Celia, but need to sleep first. So, onto another way to atone…can’t forget that. At the moment, don’t know why, I’m really in to waking you with your cock in my mouth for a long slow suck before you fuck me like a madman. Not that outrageous. Like you, I’m just horny. Till Later.”
“I hope you got a good night’s sleep.
You picked a good time to leave the area. Last two nights have been near frost and cool during the day, hope you’re having better weather.
I’ve never been awakened with my cock in a woman’s mouth. Can’t wait. You’re making me hard again thinking about this. Just thinking about your warm tender lips wrapped around my cock, sucking and licking my stiff hard-on. Since this is retribution, I’d keep it in your mouth and order you to keep sucking till I decide how I am going to take you. I know what I’d like to do – I’d hook the leash to the ring on your collar and order you to stand. Then I’d lead you outside and into the woods and find a log with very rough bark. I’d make you straddle it, then take a rope, wrap it around the log and tie your ankles down. I’d tie your wrists together, rope them off to the other side of the log. I’d push you hard against it, so the rough bark rubs against your clit and nipples. I’d use my belt, laying on several hard strokes just to warm your ass for me. Once you’re feeling the heat, I’d jump on your behind and thrust my hot cock between your cheeks. I’d pound you hard, driving your clit and nipples into the scratchy log till I’m ready to explode. Pulling my meat from your ass, I’d order you to open your mouth, then insert my throbbing prick and make you close your lips around it and suck me dry. “Lick me clean, wench!” I’d unload in your mouth! Oh yeah, I’d love to cum in your mouth. And when you backed off, I’d take a handful of hair and tell you you’d missed a spot. “Lick more, and don’t miss a drop of cum. And don’t forget my balls!” Once I’m spent and satisfied, I’d take off my belt and leave a couple fat red marks on your pretty white behind. “Now, woman, think about what you did! I’ll be back when I’m ready to untie you.
Whew! Don’t know where that came from?
I can’t wait to hear about Paris. I know I didn’t see nearly half of it when I was there. Have a good time.”
Jeni replied:
“Oh my, I guess you did like my morning wake-up! Whew is right! I’d send another of my 100 items, but I’m at a loss. Don’t know how to top that scene. (And that was yours, not mine, Sir) I have to be up at six in the morning. Tomorrow is another full day. My mind’s a blur at the moment, but I’ll be thinking of you.
Hope your day has gone well, and you’re enjoying your dreams. Smile.
PS: Celia and I are thinking about finding some hot Paris nightclub. What do you think?”
“When it comes to the nightclub, I think you should do whatever strikes your fancy. You’re in Paris. Enjoy! Just be sure I hear all about it, and I mean everything. And be safe!
It’s cool and overcast, all in all not a nice day here. Thinking of France…This week a bunch WWII vets have gathered in Normandy to commemorate the invasion. I keep hearing about the unfriendly French people. They should be reminded that they still speak French and not German because of us. Enough of the venting.
Wasn’t “O” French or was she English? I think Europeans in general are more liberal than we are – about sex anyway. Americans are backward in much of their thinking. Why do we need to hide who we really are? Speaking of nightclubs, I once saw a TV video of people entering a fetish ball in Vegas. The Dom steps out of the car holding a leash, on the other end is his sub wearing a gold collar and dressed to kill. The only kink was the collar and the leash, but that was enough. I always loved that picture. Let’s face it, we’re both kink freaks, and maybe that’s what makes this so compelling. Not sure how it works, let’s just enjoy it.
Thanks for the pictures. I’m impressed with your camera phone. Look forward to your emails. I keep wondering if those small keys are a pain to use. I’m a botanist not very hi-tech. I can handle not hearing from you, so don’t feel I’m demanding you write. When you get home will be a different story. Jack”
Jeni spent the morning within the cool tranquility of Monet’s water lilies, which was like the balm of heaven to her soul. She sat in the midst of his murals in the Musée de l’Orangerie, letting her brain rest and her mind quit the whirlwind of thought while furtively practicing a bit of mindful meditation. In the hushed quiet, her eyes relaxed, as did her body, although despite her efforts to let her sexual fervor take a backseat, there was an undercurrent of sexual arousal she could not tune out. The moment her mind wandered into sexual territory with erotic thoughts or Jack and Celia, her sexual body quickened again.
Several times that day she watched Celia ask friendly Parisians about their favorite nightclubs in the city. Jeni usually walked on beyond her during these exchanges, feeling uncomfortable with Celia’s boldness, even though it made her hot to think that they’d actually go ‘off the grid’ for an evening away from the tour. This was such fertile ground for her imagination.
What would she have to tell Jack when the night was over? Of course, he wanted to know everything – not much of a surprise there – a voyeur like every other red-blooded American male. In his mind he was exercising his rights as her Dom – if she were actually his sub. That matter was still up for dispute according to the rational part of her, even if in body and soul she felt thoroughly, totally, completely his sub. The idea of it had taken hold. He’d driven her there with his salacious emails filled with raunchy fantasies. None worse than her own nasty musings. But what if she didn’t want to tell him every little thing that she and Celia did? Would he know if she held back? Was it even possible to cheat on an on-line Dom? Their emails suggested a relationship far beyond the reality of their few weeks’ worth of emails, and a handful of phone calls. Was he assuming too much about their relationship? Was she? Being ordered to tell him everything about the anticipated night in Paris gave her a brief moment of pause. She wanted to resist. At the same time, it was another in a long line of provocative turn-ons Jack had ordered up. Because he could. Because she’d painted a Technicolor picture of her as a sexual submissive, and he knew she wouldn’t balk. She’d feel guilty. Forced to repent. She’d already demonstrated to him with the nipple ties that he had that kind of power over her. Fact was, she wanted him to Dom her, even when his orders sometimes made her want to shy away.
After polling a half dozen or so waiters and shopkeepers – all young stylish, Parisians – Celia had several clubs in mind for their night out, though she remained elusive about which one she wanted to try.
“If we have time we should visit a couple,” she said with a wink. “You have anything appropriate to wear?”
Appropriate? The question threw Jeni into a panic. She hadn’t thought about Paris nightclubs when she was packing for the trip. No. She didn’t have a thing.
“I doubt I do.”
“Okay then, we need to shop.”
Jeni was dead tired and wanted to rest, but she followed a motivated Celia down the street from the hotel, thankfully just a few blocks, to a small boutique where the prices weren’t too outrageous. Jeni’s mind swam as she looked from rack to rack for Paris appropriate nightclub attire. Then she spotted Celia holding up a tiny black dress. She nearly panicked. Looked like something straight from a kinky wet dream. Jack would certainly approve. But this was Celia. There was that lesbian vibe again.
“This is going to look sensational!” the redhead thrust it into her hands. “Try it on and let me see.”
A few minutes later, after wrangling in broken French with a clerk speaking broken English, and lots pinching, shif
ting and pulling on the snug black corset dress, Jeni emerged from the dressing room.
“Ah oui!” her attentive clerk exclaimed.
“Oh, that is perfect.” Celia stared at her with a bright smile.
Jeni looked in the mirror seeing the svelte shape of her body looking far more sexy than she remembered it – ever. The dress was like magic. Its shiny black satin was boned in the bodice, which lifted her breasts into a full cleavage. Below the skirt fit close to her body, though not too snugly to look sleazy.
“60 euro?” she winced at the cost, even though it was less than she expected.
“It’s worth it, sweetie,” Celia assured her. “You don’t even want to try on anything else. Trust me. Think of all the memories that will come home with it.”
She trusted Celia. She was much too discerning about fashion to dress her in something that wasn’t right. Gulping down her apprehensions, she did what she did so well and submitted to the woman’s advice. Celia was not her on-line Dom, though it seemed as if her friend’s inner Domme had emerged in this matter.
“You know, you’re right. The dress is perfect.” Jeni stared in wonder at her own lovely breasts. “It’s not too fetish, is it?”
“Fetish? Fetish is in, Jen, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
She almost laughed out loud. Of course, she’d noticed! How could she not have noticed that her private fetish had become mainstream over the last few years?
Celia’s eyes sparked wickedly. “Tomorrow we’re gonna dust off the dancing shoes and see what kind of mischief we can make.” Jeni loved the way she smiled now. “Speaking of dancing shoes. I think we’d better find a pair to match that dress.”
Jeni’s throbbing pussy took another flying leap forward in arousal. The night out, a Paris nightclub, dusting off the dancing shoes was real. No fantasy. Damn, she was hot! If she only had a chance to cum. She could feel the sexual juices between her thighs. Wet, too wet! She needed the dress off now before her pussy juice left telling stains. As she moved back toward the dressing room, she thought of Jack’s last email.
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