"Kinky Paris Honeymoon"
(Chapter Two)
by J.D. Savanyu
The red light district glimmers like a sleazy retro neon paradise. The first two days of our Paris honeymoon were kinky enough, but now we're trying to add more spice to the pot with a
menage a trois.
Lola leads me by the hand along the Boulevard de Clichy; admiring the iconic windmill over the Moulin Rouge cabaret, and trendy boutiques with names like L'Erotique, Sexodrome, and Pussy's. Way more interesting than those hole-in-the-wall sex shops back home in Philadelphia.
"L'Erotique is where I got that French maid costume," Lola beams. My hot redhead wife takes me into that store and shows me the lacy vintage housekeeper getup that she wore in our hotel room last night. I'm still sore after she tied me to a vintage clawfoot bathtub and whipped me a few dozen times with a riding crop, among other BDSM delights.
"That was awesome, babe. I've never seen a porn video with a dominatrix who acts like a naughty Paris housekeeper."
"I have more imagination than all those hack porn writers out there."
"Let's stop imagining, and start looking for a good French three-way partner."
"Sure thing, Jerry. Starting a menage a trois in Paris is easy as going to 7/11 for a gallon of milk."
She buys a wooden spanking paddle engraved with "TU ES
MA
CHIENNE, MON MARI!" (YOU'RE
MY
BITCH, HUBBY!) Then we head out and take a left turn on the Rue Duperre, with a series of small theaters that are far from "legitimate." The live sex show capital of Europe.
"Strip clubs are so twentieth century," Lola remarks. "This is the only live entertainment people care about anymore, besides
Hamilton."
"Hey, let's go see
L e Meilleur Spectacle de Sexe Coquine Pervers à Paris." (The Best Damn Kinky Sex Show in Paris.) "
That'll be full of freaks looking for a cheap fling.
"
I pull out my fat wallet, buy two tickets, and enter an old dingy art-deco building. We go through another door and sit in the back row of a small theater with seat risers on all four sides. A few bondage platforms are scattered around the stage, with various ropes, whips, and chains hanging off the sides, and more ropes and chains hanging down from the ceiling. The audience is two thirds men one third women, chatting amongst themselves
en francais.
There's one straight couple from Philly, judging by their matching Bryce Harper t-shirts.
The show begins a few minutes later. A sexy twenty-something brunette woman enters stage left, wearing nothing but a lacy vintage french maid cap and a nineteenth century tie-up corset, with her big tits hanging out. Her wrists are bound together in front with rope. She moans in convincing distress, with her shaved pussy dripping in anticipation of the painful pleasure she's about to recieve. A few seconds later, a tall muscular man enters stage left, dressed like a dapper eighteenth-century French nobleman, complete with a grey powdered wig. A nice change of pace from the usual modern Fifty Shades-esque tropes.
"Bienvenue dans mon cachot, servante Elyna," the nobleman growls
en francais.
(Welcome to my dungeon, maid Elyna.) I understand him well enough, thanks to four years of French classes at William Penn High School. Lola took four more years of that langage at Harvard, so she can shoot the breeze with anyone in this crazy town.
"Dieu vous damne, Marquis de Sade," Elyna whimpers fearfully.
Ah, this should be interesting. An episode from the notoriously perverted life of Donatien Alphonse Francois, Marquis de Sade. A bisexual libertine who was so fucked-up, the term "sadism" was coined in his honor. The S in BDSM.
"Dieu n'existe pas, espèce de salope stupide!" Sade barks angrily. (God does not exist, you stupid bitch!")
He shoves her toward center stage, yanks her bound arms straight up in the air, and ties her hands to a chain that hangs from the ceiling.
"S'il te plaît, ne me fais pas de mal, Sade! Je ferais tout," she wails. (Please don't hurt me, Sade! I'll do anything.)
"Ferme ta gueule, putain de vulgaire!" (Shut the fuck up, you common harlot!)
Sade goes to one of the platforms and picks up the same "Magnifique Chain Whip Necklace" that I gave to Lola as an anniversary present two months ago. Twelve tiny steel chains linked together and suspended from a silver necklace. She uses it to whip me during our private bondage sessions, and also as a swanky fashion accesory during cocktail parties with our fellow overpaid personal injury lawyers.
Sade delivers a solid lash to Elyna's big tits with those twelve tiny chains, leaving little red stripes all over and making her squeal in rehearsed agony. Lola gasps softly. She puts her right hand on top of my left hand, and squeezes it when Sade whips his maid once again.
"Oh mon dieu, aidez-moi s'il vous plaît!" she shrieks as the chains keep raining down on her tits, turning them a solid red. (Oh god, please help me!)
"S'il y avait un dieu, il ne permettrait pas à des filles sans valeur comme toi d'exister." (If there
was
a god, he wouldn't allow worthless wenches like you to ever exist.)
Sade steps behind Elyna and continues his aggressive act, whooping her bare ass like it's 1799. The real Marquis did the same thing to hundreds of French women and men, and he wrote stories that are still shocking even by 2022 standards.
He grabs a big leather whip from the platform, and waves it about menacingly. He steps back six feet and swings it with all his might against the wooden stage, making a nice loud cracking sound as the leather tip breaks the sound barrier. That whip cracks five more times on the floor, sending literal shudders through Elyna and Lola. He steps forward and whips her right between the legs, making her resume that bitersweet symphony of moaning. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to get her motor running. The whipping continues at a rapid pace, making her entire body undulate in vertical bondage, swinging on the chain from the ceiling. Sade switches to an underhand motion, lashing her pussy and asshole a bit harder.
"Oh merde, ça fait si mal... bien!" Elyna moans. (Oh shit, that hurts so... good!")
"C'est ce qu'ils me disent tous... finalement." (That's what they all say to me... eventually.)
My eyes drift upward toward the audience on the other side of the stage, and I notice a late-comer entering the top row of seats. A twenty-something brunette woman with a pixie haircut and a black gingham dress over her slender boyish body. She sits down directly across the stage from me, and I recognize her as the lady we saw this morning at the
La Bourdonnais
coffee house near the Notre Dame cathedral, when she chatted with her sophisticated college friends from the Sorbonne. Lola was checking her out right before she asked me if I'd ever had a three-way. My answer was no... but this lady seems like the type who could turn it into "yes." The pixie gazes at the kinky show with a blank placid expression, seemingly unfazed by all the pussy-whipping.
"Aie pitié, Sade! Je t'en supplie! J'ai appris ma leçon," Elyna wails. (Have mercy, Sade! I beg of you! I've learned my lesson.)
"Très bien, sale petite bonne. Tu mérites une petite récompense pour avoir pris ta punition comme une gentille fille. Je pense que je vais te rendre encore plus sale avec une bonne sodomisation dure." (Very well, you dirty little maid. You deserve a little reward for your taking your punishment like a good girl. I think I'll get you even dirtier with some good hard sodomizing.)
Elyna groans in fake distress as Sade unties her from the chain. He shoves her torso down on a bondage platform and binds her wrists and ankles to metal loops jutting out of the wood. Then he unfastens his eighteen-century trousers and lets them drop to the floor, revealing an impressive eight-inch prick. French guys have all the luck.
"Je quitte toujours mes "amants" avec une extase à bout de souffle et des trous douloureux." (I always leave my "lovers" with breathless ecstasy and sore bungholes.)
He shoves his long thick manhood all the way up her "bunghole," eliciting a loud squeal of half-pain, half-pleasure. He keeps ramming that Provencal
bitte
up her Parisian
con,
just like the real Marquis de Sade. I can't prevent my own big cock from getting hard, admiring the good anal action. Lola slowly moves her left hand over and gently massages it, much to my pleasant surprise. This honeymoon keeps getting better and better. I feel like I'm in the opening porn theater scene from
The Opening of Misty Beethoven,
where a Paris hooker named Misty gives a handjob to some sleazy guy in a Napoleon Bonaparte costume. Meanwhile, the pixie lady looks straight ahead and recognizes me from the restaurant. She shoots me a flirtatious smile, and I shoot it right back.
Sade keeps ass-fucking Elyna with reckless abandon. He pulls out a few times to spread her cheeks and lubricate her sphincter with saliva. Good old-fashioned hetero buggery. Lola keeps massaging my penis through two layers of cotton, and the pixie starts working her clit through her gingham dress. Sade finally pulls out of her asshole and steps around to her face, masturbating vigorously with a vicious smirk.
"Mendie mon sperme, sale petite bonne." (Beg for my cum, you dirty little maid.)
"Va te faire foutre, démon aristocratique!" (Fuck you, you aristocratic devil!)
"Putain de connard insolent!" (Fucking insolent twat!) He smacks her face with his free left hand, making her yelp. She turns the other cheek, and he smacks it with pleasure. He strikes each cheek two more times, and resumes jerking off.
"Putain, putain,
putain!"
He blows an impressive load, covering every square inch of her face. His triumphant roar echoes throughout the fading art-deco theater. The audience releases their own tension with loud applause, and the dapper Marquis takes an exaggerated theatrical bow.
The show continues for about an hour, with three more French women getting bound, whipped, paddled, clamped, electroded, screwed, fucked and cum-splattered by three more men in standard modern BDSM scenes. The pixie lady keeps eye-fucking me like crazy. How convenient, just when were hankering for a three-way.
We exit the theater at ten o'clock in a hedonistic haze. The pixie marches up to us in the art-deco lobby and smiles warmly.
"Amazing to see you twice in same day, in large city like Paris!" she beams in a thick Parisian accent.
"Oui-oui. It must be fate," Lola beams back.
"I heard you talking at
La Bourdonnais
. Always good seeing American
les amoureux
on French honeymoon." She offers her hand to shake. "I am Brigitte, writing student at Sorbonne."
Lola shakes her hand. "I'm Lola, an ambulance chaser from Philadelphia."
"My English not so good yet. What is 'am-bu-lance chaser?'"
"It's a joke. I'm a personal injury lawyer at Greenberg and Goldberg."
I shake Brigitte's hand. "So am I. I'm her husband Jerry."
"So nice, Jerry. You both look so good and happy in love. Would you like I buy some drinks for you at
discotheque
down street?"
I give Lola a cautious look, not sure if she's as eager to pounce.
"
Mais bien sûr, mon cheri
," Lola replies with a big smile. "I want to dance like it's the last day of disco."
.......................................
A euro-tech song thumps like a rythmic earthquake on the dance floor of "Raspoutine Paris." Brigitte flops around like a palm tree in a hurricane. She dances like no one's watching, and so does Lola. I don't bother trying to keep up with them. Just bobbing up and down lethargically like a bookworm at senior prom, admiring the instant sexual chemistry between my American wife and this cliche lezzie-looking writer chick from
Gay Par-ee.
"You make a great couple," I shout to them over the loud "music."
"All three of us do," Lola shouts back.
"
Putain oui, fille!
" Brigitte beams. (Fuck yeah, girl!)
They keep dancing like hell in a writhing MDMA-fueled mass of humanity. The nondescript instrumental tune dissolves into a remix of "The Last Day of Disco," a recent French pop hit by Juliette Armanet.
"Oh my god, I fucking love this song!" Lola shouts.
"Ah oui! Juliette makes orgasm in my ears!" Brigitte remarks.
They dance deliriously to the Donna Summer-inspired ditty. Afterward, we drift over to a bar, and Brigitte orders a glass of white wine for each of us. Chateauneuf-du-Pape Pinot Grigio.
"Great choice, Brigitte," I say flirtatiously. "As a wise man once said, 'beer is the nectar of nitwits.'"
"Which wise man?"
