FIRST CONTACT
We took the Eurostar from St Pancras to Paris Nord. I'd booked Premier class because I wanted the dinner amenities. So, we ate on the train. We got into Paris that evening and took a taxi to the Hotel Lutetia over in the 6th arrondissement.
I'd gotten suites for both Mel and me. I wanted my own room to spread out my hacking gear. Mel is technology averse and so she tends to treat the cabling like I had strewn live cobras around on the floor. I told her to go to her room and put something on and we could get a nightcap downstairs.
I had chosen the Lutetia because of the bar. The Lutetia bar was the place where the likes of Gertrude Stein, Alice B Toklas, Josephine Baker and the anarchist and adventurer Alexandra David Neel used to hang out in the 1920s. Since I consider them all to be icons of strong feminine spirit, I wanted to have a drink there myself. I put on a little black dress and pearls, just something simple. Then I went next door to collect Mel.
It was 10:00 when we got downstairs, and the jazz was just cranking up. Mel is a jazz lover. It's one of the many oddly interesting things about her. So, we sat at a little table like two Parisian ladies and listened to the intricate sounds of a piano, bass, drums and saxophone that ranked right up there with Brubeck. Mel was wearing something that was sedate for her, a white silk choker blouse and short cream-colored skirt that made her café au lait skin glow in the dark.
It didn't take long for us to be approached. The one who sat down next to me was the classic Parisian hipster complete with soul patch. I find that type of person pretentious and although he was insistent, I was not attracted. He did the usual warm-up stuff in very good English. Every woman knows what I'm talking about, "Where are you from?" and "What are you doing here?" All of that expressed like he actually gave a shit.
I didn't fill him in on the fact that I probably spoke French better than he did. Instead I adopted my fruitiest English academic accent. I said, "We thought we would pop across for a bit of fun." Mel nodded enthusiastically. She was with the guy who was a little less of a fruitcake. I think that he was the wingman because he kept deferring to the one who I was with.
Unlike his hipster friend, Mel's guy was a nice-looking Parisian student type, with the white shirt rolled up at the sleeves and huge sad puppy dog French eyes. He spoke passable English. But he was clearly dependent on his buddy to do the in-depth communicating.
They talked back and forth in French, just to coordinate the hook-up. As a result, I was able to listen in on their conversation. At first, they were doing the standard, "You get this one and I get that one" tactic. I wasn't paying much attention until the guy sitting next to Mel asked, "Do you have the drug?" That stood my ears up in points. My guy, nodded. Then he offered to buy us a drink. I quickly accepted. I wanted to see how far these two morons would take this.
*****
It was their usual weekly night out. They had been going on these little "adventures" since they discovered the wonders of Rohypnol. The beauty of the drug is that the woman would wake up six hours later, confused, naked and covered with dried cum and not have the slightest idea how she got there. And more importantly she would not be able to remember who she had been with.
The drug itself might blank out women's memories. But it also lowered their inhibitions. So, the victim would do absolutely ANYTHING. As that behavior jibed with Marcel and Pierre's vision of every woman as a slut, the two of them felt like they were "liberating" their female victims from every one of their hang-ups. All-in-all it was the perfect situation for a couple of guys with serious sociopathic disorders.
They liked to cruise the better hotels looking for females who fit their profile; attractive, single, mid-twenties tourists. And they were willing to move their age range up to include married and mid-forties targets, as long as there was no husband actually present. In fact, the older women were wilder in bed. They probably didn't get the attention they needed at home and all of them knew how to fuck.
The boys would wait until the drug started to work and then walk their prey down to a sleazy hotel where they could feast on them for hours. They would hit every hole, often trading back and forth until none of them could cum any longer. Then they would disappear leaving their broken victim to cope with what had happened. The boys knew that given the strangeness of the City and the language problems those incidents would never see the light of day.
Tonight, they were sitting in the Bar at the Lutetia when two stunning ladies walked in. The tall one was a classic beauty. She was wearing a simple black dress but the body underneath it was stunning, lithe and athletic, with round tits and hips. Still, it was her legs that blew both of them away. She sported the longest and most perfectly muscled female appendages in a city noted for beautiful female legs.
The little one radiated pure sexuality. She was almost top heavy; her boobs were so big. But it was that sensual face, and those round hips on that little frame that made her like an earth goddess. She was wearing a demure little skirt and blouse outfit. But she walked, presented and held herself in a way that constantly reminded them of her heat.
So, they just HAD to make these two the beneficiaries of tonight's gift. They walked up to the table and asked if they could join them. The beautiful one looked at them with cool aristocratic disdain. The sensual one said, "By all means" and pulled out a chair next to her.
They sat. Marcel spoke better English, so he carried the conversation. The beautiful one had one of those plummy accents that Oxbridge women adopt. The little sexy one was clearly a Cockney. Although she had tried out at least five different accents, ranging from Cornish to Scottish, while they were talking. It was a little disconcerting.
They talked long enough to be polite and then Pierre asked Marcel if he was ready. Marcel told him that he was VERY ready. They were especially looking forward to tonight's pleasures.
****
The hipster went up to the bar, ordered and picked up drinks for the four of us. I was watching him in the mirror behind the bar. He uncapped a little medicine bottle and added a couple of drops of what I assumed was GHB to my scotch and Mel's daiquiri, just for flavoring I assume. How considerate.
Before he got back, I told Mel to accompany me to the "ladies" to freshen up. You know us girls. In the restroom I told her to not touch her drink because our friends were planning to get laid via the pharmaceutical romance method.
Mel's eyes turned as opaque as two black marbles. She's a ferocious little beast. So, I told her that she could pull whatever crap she wanted on her guy. But I was planning on putting my target to sleep. We returned all flustered and girly.
Fortunately, my guy had also ordered the same drink as mine. I think he was trying to disguise the fact that mine was drugged, by drinking the same thing that I had. Mel, who is a master of getting what she wants using sex, threw her arms around the guy sitting next to her, squashed her huge tits into his arm and gave him an open-mouth kiss.
It was a spectacularly erotic diversion and half the bar was gaping at them including the guy next to me. He was staring with undisguised lust. Hence, it was easy to switch glasses. We drank and talked for fifteen minutes.
