“What time is it?” she thought to ask.
“Well after midnight,” Celia replied. “I don’t know about you – you just get crazy and lose it, don’t you? But I think Cinderella’s coach just turned back into a pumpkin.”
“I get crazy?”
“Yeah, you do. It’s nice to see, especially when any other time you’re so timid.”
“This is my first time,” was all she could say.
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I wanted you to have fun, but not do something you’d regret.” She didn’t need to say more.
There was a sudden weariness in Jeni’s bones, as if the nightclub had beaten her down, and she hadn’t the energy for anything more.
“I am very tired.”
“I know, I am too.”
Taxis were hard to come by, so they ducked into the closest Metro station and grabbed the first train headed toward their hotel. Jeni didn’t realize how horny she still was until she sat down in one of many empty seats in the Metro car. It might have been packed with riders during the day, but at that hour, the Metro was relatively empty. Despite overwhelming exhaustion – and maybe because of it – her libido kinked in so strongly that she had to stem the urge to put her hand to her crotch and start playing as the dreamy memories were taking her away.
Instead, she allowed herself to drift, and moved aimlessly to the music playing in her head, singing softly to herself, letting her head fall to Celia’s shoulder.
“Good night, huh?” the redhead said.
Jeni answered with a sensuous, “Hummmmmmmmmmm,” then nodded off until Celia suddenly jerked and pulled her to her feet.
“This is our stop. The hotel is just a block. You can make it, my sleepy slut.”
She called her ‘slut’. How nice, Jeni thought to herself, that she recognized my true nature. Slut. It had been a comment she heard often in her kink life.
Jeni’s roommate was sleeping soundly when she arrived back in her room, and she didn’t stir.
On any another night, it would have been the perfect opportunity to masturbate, take the edge off the sexual desire pumping through her veins. But that would have stirred her up more than she needed – especially at that late hour. Avoiding a long hour of wondering what she would confess to Jack in her next email, she let the remaining booze in her system put her to sleep.
***
In the morning, the world had seemed to right itself. There was breakfast in the dining room at the bottom of the stairs. Hot, strong, French coffee, the croissant she now craved, along with her fix of camembert and fruity preserves. She added eggs, thinking she needed the protein, and some of the cured meats she usually avoided. She finished off with a bowl of granola. Hadn’t she eaten the night before? She couldn’t remember if she did.
By the time breakfast was over, Jeni felt a little more like herself. Her brain was not so fuzzy and her stomach was reasonably settled. But the memory of the nightclub persisted. With another busy day on the schedule she didn’t have the time to think about all that had happened the previous night, though it had a lingering effect that she found difficult to shake. When she opened her phone and found Jack’s latest email, she had to flip back a couple days to recall their conversation – about collars and leashes on sexy women, subs giving panties to prospective Doms, and Porsches cruising to her when she returned home. Then there was that amusing business about the squirrel and the whip. Thoughts of the nightclub seemed to recede as soon as she began to read.
“The squirrel was just fine. Now for your ass, absolutely it’s on the target list. I plan to spank, smack, whip, paddle your ass whenever I feel the need. I’ll fill the holes with hot cock and warm cum. You’ll hide it when told or display it for me when I desire. You’ll present it to me for my pleasure. Yes, your ass is on the list – as well as other places.
Now, get back to your trip, we’ll talk soon.
PS: Looking forward to hearing about you and Celia and the nightclub.”
The brusque tone of the email immediately caught her attention, not to mention his not-so-subtle message about her ass. She could already feel her bottom smarting from the spank, smack, whip, paddle…he intended to inflict. Her desire for him took another leap forward. Obviously, when it concerned his domination of her they were on the same erotic wavelength. What to tell him about the nightclub? That was another matter. But rather than stew about it for the entire day, she focused her thoughts on the tour and Paris, hoping to put the matter to rest with one simple email.
“Celia picked a pretty hot club, although I doubt it’s much different from any big city nightclub anywhere in the world. I don’t have a lot of experience by which to judge. But it was fun, and to be honest, I was pretty smashed, not falling down drunk, but not exactly remembering much of anything except dancing, lots of dancing. The place was crowded and there were bodies smashing up against each other. All very sexy and loud. The music was deafening. It’s still pounding inside my head. There was an orgy of five that was fun to watch, and damn hot. But after awhile, even I had seen enough.
As far as confessions, let me start with saying that Frenchmen in night clubs are pretty bold and Jeni in the middle of a dance floor… have I mentioned how much I love to dance? It was a pretty heady combination. I was fondled and kissed, and there were tits and nipples popping out of dresses all over the place, including mine. It was a lot to resist and quite an adventure. But I didn’t want to do anything I’d be sorry about later. I had fun, but I was also thinking of you.
By the way, your email about my ass certainly inspires lots of thought. I don’t know where those thoughts are headed, but you’ve certainly stirred things up once again. I’ll email again tonight.”
Jeni’s night out in Paris and the resulting fatigue only added to the sensuous oblivion of her day, as the tour continued from historic site to museum to bistro to cathedral. Each new place seemed to blend into the next with the atmosphere and mystic of Paris getting deeply under her skin. It was a powerful aphrodisiac. Although equality as powerful was Jack’s continuing presence – especially after that hot ‘ode to her ass’.
She began her day with thoughts of Jack taking her in the cunt and ass.
More than just the message there was something in the abrupt attitude of his last email that had her body on fire. His natural authority sprung from the words he used. She doubted he had any idea the strong effect that email had on her. Though the message was short and to the point, she was more aroused than she’d been the previous night with all the frenetic input and sexy bodies banging against hers. Even if his influence wasn’t blatantly evident throughout the day, she carried a piece of him into every moment. He was never far from her thoughts.
For lunch that day, the tour stopped at a Crêperie, where they were crowded together along family-style tables in an ancient cellar. When she glanced down the table to see Celia staring at her with eyes gleaming, Jeni smiled back. When Celia’s lips puckered and she kissed the air, Jeni felt the kiss as if the redhead had been down between her legs with her mouth at her pussy. She smiled again and self-consciously looked away. The nightclub wasn’t mentioned, and might never be again. Like so many other things about the trip, it would be left forgotten until time allowed a moment to pause and consider its meaning – if there were any meaning to be gained from the experience.
That afternoon, she sat alone in the Jardin de Tuileries, allowing her mind to disconnect from the rush of the day. She let her thoughts rest on the trees, the leaves, the gentle breeze, and seemed to be worlds away, mostly thinking of Jack, of submission and slavery and the thrill that aroused her when she thought of being under a man’s domination once again. If one thing had stuck about the previous night, it was the realization that her submissive nature was as happily intact as it had always been. She’d spent the last year on her own, making decisions and running her life without a lot of difficulty. She could function without a Dominant man. But facts were facts. There was a part of her nature that would always seek out the atten
tions of an authoritative male. The desire was too close to her heart to shake. But as far as the details of that relationship, how it would look, what kind of language would describe it, how much domination she really wanted, she was unsure. The question often had her searching for answers, but the answers she needed seemed as elusive as ever.
She’d been pretty daring in the past with exhibitionism, public play, and that infamous slave auction. But she’d been away from her kink life for over two years, and some of what she enjoyed in the past seemed to have lost its luster. She was a submissive in need of a Dom; that was clear. The rest was still a mystery.
Sitting in that lovely Paris garden worlds away from home, her mind took her down a flight of fancy she’d never traversed before – at least not in the last dozen years. Should she worry where her raunchy thoughts were taking her or just let them be?
She repeatedly returned to Jack’s last email and the way he’d gone on about her ass. His natural authority spoke so forcefully. It gave her chills every time his words came back to her. Every time she thought about him, she felt it between her legs. Her pussy was so wet with arousal she could almost smell the pungent aroma rising up from her crotch. Assumptions about her submissive nature didn’t seem all that fixed anymore. At one time, she’d been sure that being a ‘sub’, not slave, was enough of a kink identity for her. She’d made this clear to Jack. And yet, the fixed idea seemed to be retreating as her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
She hadn’t planned on confessing her private thoughts to Jack. Better to wait for that first face-to-face meeting – if she dared to discuss them even then. But for a woman who so often shunned the darker extremes of the BDSM kink, she found herself heading right into that dangerous territory. Some goad, some inner mischief-maker rose above old fears, taunting her to get real about her desires, especially that one particular turn-on she’d zealously refused to consider. She couldn’t put it aside any longer. This was Paris, and Paris was working on her body and brain in inexplicable ways. With his latest message driving her forward and her fertile imagination kicking in, she had to wonder. What if she dared to open herself again to that dark place where her desires often led? It had appeared in nearly every erotic story she’d written for her blog.
When it came to her email that night, that daring, verboten, forbidden thought was in her mind again and wouldn’t let go.
“In a tranquil museum, walking city streets, in the metro, the Musee d’Orsay a big wonderful lunch, a long very needed respite in the Tuileries (big formal garden near the Louvre), then a walk thru crowded streets into a crowded metro again. Finally back in our room for yogurt, a peach and chocolate for dinner.
Day of big thoughts…and one for you, Sir. Remember I told you I was a lifestyle sub not slave…well I’m not sure I want to keep the slave door shut. I need to keep my options open. Don’t know why the change, just feel the need to put that out.
Another on my list of atonement. Never done this one – a bit out there I admit, though I’ve written the scene into a couple of my stories. Me, outside, in the dirt, naked and staked to the ground. What a day…
Thank you, Sir, for that lovely ode to my ass.”
Oddly, she didn’t waver once as she typed the message and once it was sent, she lay back in bed and wondered how Jack would respond – if he would respond at all.
Not only did Jack respond, he wrote the longest email in their month long correspondence. He had a lot to say. Obviously he’d been inspired by her small admission about sub and slave, and now so was she. It wasn’t just the details of an M/s relationship that he spoke of in such great detail; it was the passion behind his words that infected her like a drug. He went to the heart of his kinky lust, making the possibility of an authentic M/s relationship real enough for her to feel in every atom of her body.
“Got both of your messages. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hold anything you did at the nightclub against you. You’re in Paris! If you said you went to bed with someone, that would be another matter. Enjoy yourself. As far as nipples popping from your dress, wish I’d been there to see it.
Paris has that enticing sound, draws a person into its seductive history. Your dinner sounds like it was only an appetizer, I think the main course was missing.
The slave/sub thing. I have considered the differences between them. First, as a slave, you would address me as Master. Can you bring yourself to do that? Try it now and see how it feels.”
She’d mentioned the slave word and damn, if he hadn’t gone straight to the heart of the matter. She stopped reading long enough to follow his instruction, saying Master to herself, as if she were with him now. It didn’t feel right. It had never felt right in all the times she’d tried to use the word in the past. She didn’t even allow her fictional characters to address their Doms as Master. Master seemed silly, but was that just a mental block? What if she did allow herself the option to move from Dom and sub to Master and slave? He went on to explain:
“A slave has no limits, only those of her Master, although I think that our likes and limits run along the same lines. You said you found the Master/slave protocols not that compelling. Let me state here that I do not require you to be my slave. Every relationship is unique and dependent on the people involved. But I do like being called Master. Do you think about being owned? I like the thought of officially owning my slave. Not necessary for happiness, but I like the sound of it, and the way it makes me feel.”
She may have had a mental block about calling him Master, but being owned was a desire that was as familiar to her as the color of her blue eyes. Yes, she wanted to be owned. Owned, lock, stock and barrel owned. It was a primitive need that made little sense in the real world. But long ago, she accepted the fact that her primitive urges required no explanation; there’s no rational way to justify their haunting existence, but that’s no reason to ignore them.
“As my slave you would wear my collar at all times designated by me. Not to worry, not out in public. My only slave wore the collar when she was in private with me or among my friends. All other times, she wore a very light gold chain snugly around the neck, the clasp removed. I don’t like advertising certain things and this is one of them. Society still can’t handle our kink.”
She liked that he was discreet with his kink. In fact, she found the secrecy a turn-on of its own. She always enjoyed the idea of being the ‘sub’ beneath her clothes, while remaining the demure and classy female on the surface. She read on:
“A slave does what she is told to do. A sub may bitch and complain and, after a little discipline, the sub will do what her Dom wishes anyway. So what is the difference? You said you are obedient, so where do you fall in this? Let’s leave the door open and explore it more. We’ll start here – begin addressing me as Master, explore your feelings and desires, and let’s see where it goes.
Just to let you know I am not a fan of piercing or tats, and branding is definitely not going to happen during my ownership. I am a fan of a ring in the pussy with my ownership I.D. (very small gold tag) attached to the ring.
To your latest on the list… Staked out in the dirt, naked. Now this is getting interesting. If I close my eyes I can see it. So tell me what else you’re going to do to return yourself to my good graces. While I’m waiting for the next thing on your list, I think I will dream of sitting on your chest with my cock in your mouth feeling warm and comfy.
Have an interesting day. Jack…or would you rather I signed off as your Master?”
Every time she thought of calling him master, every time she said the word silently or aloud, it stuck in her throat. She wasn’t ready – not yet. The rest was pure titillation. If she really discussed the matter of Master and slave with her inner submissive, she would have realized how much that excited her too – even the idea of calling him Master had an effect on her physical body that she couldn’t dismiss. She’d opened the door and he’d walked right in, ready to take charge. She’d only planned to crack that door an inch or two an
d tiptoe in, and suddenly he’d moved in and flung the door wide open. Her response:
“What an email to come back to after 12 hours in Paris. The Louvre, the metro, lunch in the Latin quarter, a boat trip down the Seine. Rainy all day, a little cold and damp. Crepes and hot chocolate at a tiny bistro with Celia. Then a concert at Sainte Chapelle that was exquisite. Pic attached, though my pics can’t do it justice. Look it up on the net. 13th century built for relics of the crusades. Long day and exhausting.
You have given me lots to think about, Sir, and I love to hear your thoughts. I still lean toward sub. But the thought of calling you Master is well…appealing. I can’t believe I’m actually saying that. NO Tats for me, that is a hard limit. But I’m rushing on. I’d like to address this all now but obviously can’t…patience is a virtue I’m working on. There is much to discuss when we finally meet, which makes me so nervous. But one step at a time and the next step is up early for a high speed train south to Provence. Time then to think about my list and you and, yes, calling you Master, which still sticks in my throat.
Again, I may not have Internet tomorrow until we get settled. This country would be SO much better with a man in bed with me, but not just any man.
For now please remain Jack…Sir
Respectfully, Jeni”
That evening, Jeni and Celia had stepped inside a quaint Paris bistro for flaming Grand Marnier crepes and hot chocolate. The damp day had led them to seek some warmth indoors, and what could be more romantic than intimacy inside the tiny place where an androgynous young male? female? (neither of them could tell for sure) served them their small meal as if appointed to the task of giving the pair a night in Paris as memorable as the one in the nightclub. They sat on opposite sides of the small table, bathed in the mood of the early evening hour. For a moment or two, Celia discarded her flats and ran her naked toe up Jeni’s leg, while giving off a steamy vibe with her eyes and her sweet smile.
“I’m really glad we got together,” Jeni said. She thought about how the trip had changed for her after meeting Celia in the Rouen boutique. She didn’t want to imply too much with that comment, but something was welling up inside her that she could not dismiss.
Spontaneous Combustion Page 7