Parisian Exhibition

This is the continuation of Part 1, based on a true story, in which my lover dared me to walk through the streets of Paris dressed to thrill… It’ll make most sense if you read Part 1 first.

So there I was in the café, dressed in my ‘follow me, fuck me’ boots, my black thigh-highs, my lovely thigh-length leather jacket, and my red silk scarf. And that’s it.

Two buttons on the jacket undone, and a slightly salivating voyeur at the table on my left.

Time to move on. I summoned the fat greasy waiter, and asked for the bill, noticing as I did so how his eyes drifted down to the bare skin of my neck, the hint of the curve of my breasts…

Then I stood slowly, stretching up to run my hands through my hair as though refreshing myself, knowing as I did so that my hapless voyeur was watching as the jacket slowwwwly rose to the top of the thigh-highs… just enough to give him the merest glimpse of bare thigh… and set his pulse (and more) racing, no doubt. Turning to give him my best winning smile, I left the café and headed out into the cool colonnades of the Place des Vosges. Next stop: Beaubourg.

The sun was fully out as I strolled along the narrow streets, heading west through the Marais. Walking, my jacket held my modesty, the open neck just a little more revealing than normal, the red scarf, loosely tied and pointing south suggestively towards my still concealed breasts. But the sensation of walking along naked beneath the jacket sent a constant thrill coursing through me… my breasts bare against the leather, the warm air circulating freely down my chest, over my thighs, across my…cunt.

(I do love that word, I thought, as I wound my way past a couple of market stalls, brushing past the shoppers… the thought of my cunt, naked beneath the jacket… there on the streets… I even murmured the word under my breath a couple of times, strolling past coffee drinkers at their pavement tables… “cunt…cunt…”. One man looked up sharply – had he heard? Surely not. Maybe he just picked up the scent of my arousal. I looked back over my shoulder and he was still looking at me, so I winked, and walked on.)

Eventually I came to the foot of the massive multicoloured cliff face of the Pompidou Centre, and was wondering whether to go in, when my phone rang again… The screen showed a picture of a smiling, strong featured, bald headed, 55 year-old man… my lover, my sexual inspiration…

“Hello darling!”

“Hi ‘Rina… I see you’ve reached Beaubourg…”

“You have been watching me, you bastard!” Laughing, despite the words…

“Of course…”

“So how am I doing?”

“Ohh, very well, very well… now – are you ready for the next step?”

“Definitely!”

“Even if it involves another button coming undone, outside, in public…?”

God, he knew how to tease and turn me on with anticipation…

“Mmmm, absolutely…!”

“Good! Now… walk over to the cafes near the Tinguey sculptures… and sit down at a table that’s covered with a cloth, and order a beer and call me again… But you must promise to do anything I say…”

“Of course I will! So what are you going to make me do?”

“Wait and see!” he said, and rang off.

My nipples hardened sharply against the smooth leather of the jacket, and my cunt started to tingle and seep moisture, in a thrill of anticipation…

The café terrace was warm, kissed by sunshine. I sat in the middle of a little cluster of white-clothed tables, some with sunshades spread. I chose one of those, half in, half out of the shade. The sun was warming the surface of the jacket nicely, and warming my bare skin beneath. The waiter this time was a younger man, in his 30s, elegant, perhaps gay.

“Un demi, s’il vous plait”

“Oui madame.”

I pulled the phone out of my pocket, noticing as I did so a couple of guys a few tables away; some sort of business meeting it looked like, each trying to impress the other, tense, slightly awkward. And actually both rather good looking…

The phone rang.

“Hi babe”

“Hiya. So… I’m at the café, and the table’s got a cloth. What now?”

“Is the cloth concealing your thighs?”

“Kind of.. depends how I sit…”

“Well you might want to make sure it does…”

“What do you have in mind, darling?”

At that moment, the waiter brought the beer, and I had to fumble in my pocket for a couple of euros. Needless to say the action slid the jacket above the tops of my thigh-highs. The waiter saw, and gave a half smile. Indulgent, almost complicit. Definitely gay, I thought, but playful with it.

“I want you to undo the bottom button on the jacket”, my lover continued. “And then, slide your hand between your thighs, stroke your skin, rub the folds of your cunt lips…”

God, it was hard not to give a little squeal of excitement as he breathed these sensual orders into my ear…

“…let your fingers stroke your clitoris, dip them into your cunt…. You’ll do that?”

“Mmmm, yess… definitely!”

“And all the while, sip your beer, and look around you…and if anyone catches your eye, smile at them, and carry on stroking…”

This was going to be fun… I clicked off the phone, slid it back into my pocket, and slid my hand down to my lap, sliding my thighs apart as I did so. Then undid the bottom button, and, by shifting my bum a little, let the jacket slide apart across my thighs. I glanced down. There was a sliver of a gap between the edge of the cloth and the jacket…enough to see the creamy flesh of my upper thighs, just where it met the crease of my groin. I tentatively moved my chair in a little, so I was more concealed. Then my fingers got to work… stroking at first gently, then more insistently, dipping into my already moist pussy, and rubbing up over my lips to tease my clit…

Little frissons of pleasure jolted through me. I was amazed how freely I was doing this… I had to resist the temptation to lean back, spread my legs, throw my head back and moan… Instead, I sat at a slight angle to the table, stroking away, sipping my beer, my face occasionally twitching, eyes half-closing, lips opening, as the tiny waves of excitement flowed through me. Idly glancing over at the businessmen, and noticing one or the other of them looking back at me… once, then twice.. then a longer, slightly quizzical gaze… And all the while, I kept touching myself, gently, teasingly, making little circle motions with my fingertips…

At a café table, in broad daylight, under a warm sun in the heart of Paris. Fingerfucking my cunt while looking at men. Mmmmmmmm……!

To be continued!