Sight Seen in Paris

Paris.

It had long been a dream of mine to go there. I had romantic notions of studying abroad, meeting a romantic French starving artist with a million dreams and a dinky little apartment with a view of the Eiffel Tower. Cheap wine, great sex, and somehow access to all the best spots in Paris was my dream fling.

Sadly, I didn't get the scholarship I needed to pay for the trip. I graduated and ended up in the film industry. I found success on the production side, moving up from PA to low level producer. It kept me busy enough that I didn't have too big of a social life outside of work, and when the writers and actors went on strike I found myself out of work for the first time since COVID, and realized how much money I had piled up in my savings account.

It was now or never to live my Paris dream.

I called my friend Georgina, who had managed to do a study abroad in Paris (thanks to some well-off parents). She'd had it all: A study in the arts, two sexy male lovers (and one night with a dancer, because, as she said "If a dancer from the Moulin Rouge show asks you to wine, then to her apartment, why would you say no?").

My own trip to the Moulin Rouge had not produced such an opportunity, but Georgina had recommended Madame Vannier's shop.

"Lizzy, you must go, she designs the best lingerie. You will never feel sexier than when you wear it," Georgina exhorted me.

I looked the shop up on Instagram. The designs were gorgeous. Every model, from the rail-thin women with no bust, to curve models, to BBW, looked fantastic. Tall, short, any ethnicity, any hair color or skin tone was matched perfectly. Some of the pictures were the regular models, but so many were just everyday customers who felt so confident for the first time in their lives that they were willing to pose for the public. Even I, who was more than happy behind the camera, fantasized about being featured. But even then I didn't think I would dare...

It wouldn't be cheap, but it would be worth the price. I went in the day after I arrived in the city for my measurements. Claudette, the second-generation owner and head designer, saw me. Her assistant announced the measurements.

"Alright, we have some options," she said.

Immediately she called out orders in French. The assistants went out and picked up a few outfits.

"Now you will try these on, and I will adjust for size," Claudette said.

I tried on several options. They were all beautiful. I settled on a wine-colored piece that emphasized my bust, and made my butt look shapelier. I looked amazing.

I took a picture of myself in the mirror and readied to send it to Georgina.

"I look so hot in this, don't you think?" I wrote.

I was a bit distracted by Claudette knocking on the door as she returned. I pressed send and got about the rest of the fitting.

I heard the text alert on my phone, and figured I would get to it later. The modifications on the lingerie would only take fifteen minutes.

I got dressed, then picked up my phone, ready to gush to Georgina about it. But I saw the message.

"You definitely do! Long time, not chat, but worth the wait," - George.

George?

I had to wrack my mind to remember who this George was who I just sent an intimate picture to. It suddenly hit me.

#

When I first arrived in Los Angeles, I hung out at an alumni party for my university. I figured it would make for good networking, as well as meeting familiar people in this strange, big city.

I didn't know George. He had graduated the year before I arrived. He had been in Los Angeles for four years. I spotted him and thought he looked cute, if maybe a bit tired. Granted, I had been casually seeing a guitar player in a jam band with a drug habit, so the strung-out look was sort of what I was into at the time.

George had been making it, barely, in the lower rungs of the industry. Though as a total newbie, he might as well be an Oscar winner in my eyes. I flirted some, but whether it was anxiety of his position, ego bruised by rejection, or just plain exhaustion, he seemed to ignore my cues. I moved on from that at the time, thinking he just wasn't into me. Later I heard through a mutual friend that he missed the cues and kicked himself over it, but the situation never came up for anything to happen. I still had gotten his number for networking purposes, and it sat in my contacts list through several phone upgrades.

Now this guy I barely knew and hadn't spoken to in years had a lingerie pic of me!

#

"Sorry! I didn't mean to send this to you!" I texted.

"Nothing to be sorry for. You have good taste in lingerie. Madame Vannier's?" George texted.

I didn't know what to say to him.

"Yes. Are you familiar?" I asked.

I don't know why I was engaging. I should just try to get him to delete this and move on.

"I've bought a few things there. For partners, not myself," George said, "You must be in Paris?"

"Yes," I said, "Decided to take a break while the industry is shut down with the strike."

"Smart move. Take these opportunities when they come up," George wrote.

"I guess," I texted, adding "When was the last time you were here?"

"I'm in the city now on business," George wrote, "If you aren't too embarrassed we should meet up for dinner."

"Is this you taking opportunities when they come up?" I asked.

"Yes. Neither of us would be in Paris right now if we didn't," George responded.

He named a restaurant, a very fancy place.

"I guess it wouldn't be smart to turn down this opportunity," I texted back.

"It wouldn't. Though I guess it's only fair I send you one of my own dressing room selfies," he said.

I felt a rush. I hadn't seen him in years. I didn't know what he would look like -- older, but still handsome. Would he be stripped down, and ideally in shape? Is this going to just be a dick pick? I was both anticipating and fearing what I would see.

The picture came in. It was George, more handsome than before. He was before several mirrors in a tailored designer suit and dark sunglasses. If he were a less confident and more boastful guy, this could come off like a desperate douchebag. But there was a genuine warmth in his smile. If only I could see his eyes. Honestly, a well-tailored suit and mystery behind the sunglasses on a guy could be just as attractive as a woman in fine lingerie.

We set the time for dinner. By then my lingerie was ready. I went to check out. The price came up. I felt a sting. Even though I had the money, it was still hard to wrap my mind around paying for such a luxury. I pulled out my wallet from my purse.

"No need, George called and said to let you know he has it covered," the attendant said.

"Does he buy here a lot?" I asked.

"He has been a good customer for a while," the attendant said.

"I take it he's a bit of a playboy?" I asked.

"He has bought for models from that magazine, yes," the attendant said.

"Huh," I said.

My dreams of being whisked away and being special seemed dissipated before my eyes. The attendant seemed to catch my mood change.

"If George has seen fit to pay for this, you must have made some impression on him," the attendant said.

"I haven't seen him for years," I said.

I spilled the whole story, feeling foolish about it, and awkward taking his gift.

"So, all these years later, amid his many adventures, you accidentally stumble into his life, and he welcomes you back in with gifts and dinner?" the attendant asked.

"Yes," I said.

"George is very sought after. He doesn't usually have to make the approach, he lets them come to him," the attendant said, "He's pursuing you. Very interesting."

"I accidentally approached him," I said.

"Intent matters," the attendant said.

"Are his intentions good?" I asked.

"Very," the attendant said, "It's bad form to let the customer know how jealous you are of them. Let me just say any feelings are offset by professional pride that our selections worked so well as to attract you such a man."

"Maybe as thanks I should invite you as a bridesmaid if this really works out," I nervously joked,

"If not the wedding bed," she said in French. I didn't know if she knew how well my French was. I think she hoped I did.

I took my purchase and went back to my hotel.

#

I arrived at the restaurant. I was dressed in the nicest outfit I could find, a recent purchase in the city. Luckily I blended in. The maître d' greeted me and took me back.

I spotted George. He stood up to greet me.

"I am glad you dressed up a bit more than last I saw you," he quipped.

"Careful, I plan to keep dressed up most of the night," I said.

His smile showed he didn't believe it. I certainly didn't. But I wasn't about to give it up.

But until then, he attended to other appetites. He took the lead in ordering food and wine, and every choice was exquisite. He was a man of good taste.

I told my own story of how things had gone since we last met. But I was more interested in his story.

He had struggled for a year after we met, then headed home. He was afraid of having to restart at home. But he used a crappy bullshit job as a chance to reset. He read a lot of books on building up character and engaging with people, and applying it to his job. He caught the eye of a client, who invited him to lunch. Hearing his tale of going to Hollywood and failing, the client insisted his talents were too good.

"He connected me to his cousin, who did marketing for Broadway shows in New York," George said.

He spent two years doing that in New York, always taking a chance to see a new show and meeting with the high-end clientele. They loved his work, and kept picking his brain for their own marketing struggles. Like Hollywood, even the high-end advertising and marketing shops were full of mediocrity. In the course of a half-hour conversation he managed to come up easily with a dozen better ideas. His boss at the time pushed him to take advantage.

"You're too good to stay in this job, writing copy, when you could lead somewhere else," his boss told him, "Find your own company and soar."

He found a business partner, who schooled him on the finer points of high society etiquette, while handling the business side of their company. George handled the creative elements.

"I knew he was the one when I visited his offices," he said.

"How?" I asked.

"He paid his interns. It showed he valued good work.. And he didn't count it as generosity," George said.

He then told how his job had taken him all over the world. He was in town for meetings with a large auto client hoping to pair their classical brand and styling with a luxury watch and suit retailer.

"To think, I almost passed to take on another job in Berlin," he said, "Luckily I was able to convince the Berlin people to push back the meeting a week."

"I'd love to see Berlin," I said.

"I'd love to show you," he said.

His hand reached across the table. As soon as he touched my hand, I knew I wanted nothing more than to go with him to Berlin. But first....

#

His hotel was one of the nicest in the city.

Of course it would be. But why would I be here, a regular woman like me?

I walked around while he made us drinks.

"This is lovely," I said.

"So are you," he said.

I got one sip of my drink before he leaned in and kissed me. It was the only thing that could have taken my attention away from one of the best drinks I had tasted.

He dutifully placed his drink and mine on the dresser as he slowly moved me toward the bed. I could already feel his cock getting hard inside his tailored pants.

He sat on the bed first, and pulled me on top. I straddled his lap, and his head. His cologne had an intoxicating smell. His hands did their own trip over my body, feeling up my side from the hips, over my shoulders, caressing my neck.

His fingers went to the straps of my dress, while his mouth moved to my neck. I looked damn good in this dress, but I was more than happy to get out of it

He unzipped my dress from the back and soon I was slipping out of it. He did it all without breaking the kissing on my neck. When he finally pulled back he looked me over and grinned.

"You wore the lingerie," he said.

"Of course," I said, "Only fair, since you paid for it."

"There was no obligation, but much appreciation," he said.

"If I had to accidentally show it to someone, I'm glad it was you," she said.

"What if you wanted to intentionally show this off to strangers?" he asked.

I blushed.

"How," I said, eyeing his phone.

"Not online. That doesn't count. They should see you in the flesh," he said.

His eyes made for the hotel room window. The drapes were open, but the sheer curtains were still closed.

"Are we talking silhouettes here, or..." I began.

"You didn't buy that outfit just so someone could see the silhouette," he said.

He had me there. But at the same time, I hadn't sought it out to just show off to just anyone.

"You've done stuff like this before?" I asked.

"I have, and I've been an audience member to it," he said.

"What if someone you know should see it?" I asked.

"They'd congratulate me on finding such a beautiful woman," he said.

I had already not expected to get this far on my trip to Paris, It would be a mistake not to take it to see where this would go.

"Okay," I said.

He brought me in for a kiss, firm and confident, which was exactly what I needed. He then stood up and approached the window. He flung the sheer curtains open in one move. The power and confidence further aroused me, giving me the second-hand daring to actually go through with this.

He beckoned me to come over, and I obeyed. She pulled me in for a kiss, making sure to run his hands down my body and lingerie.

Before this night I had always been a traditional bed or couch sex person. Even simply standing or being bent over the bed or couch was wild for me. Sex while standing would have been wild, let alone in front of a window. Yet, in his arms, I was comfortable enough to try.

He turned me around and pointed me out the window. I was ready, eager even, to be undressed. I closed my eyes, ready to be handled, ready to be displayed for his pleasure.

He kissed my neck and ran his hands down my body. My nipples got aroused and pushed against the fabric. I imagined the people watching, whoever they may be, could see them clear as day.

"Open your eyes, see your audience," he commanded me.

I felt fear in my stomach, but I knew he could see in the reflection if I didn't obey. I was more afraid of disappointing him.

I looked across the street. Most windows were dark, or lit with the curtains or drapes drawn. But there were some open. In two I could see observers.

One was an older man, ugly, and a bit lecherous. He sat in a chair with a book on a table next to him. I couldn't see his lap, but I could make out his hand arms moving in a masturbatory movement. He seemed disgusting, and I got no thrill other than knowing he could never have a woman as beautiful as me.

The other was a woman, but I couldn't see too much about her. She was backlit from the lamp somewhere else in the room. I could tell she wore a form-fitting blouse and some sort of skirt. Her arms were crossed and she had a wine glass in her hand. She seemed to be observing smartly. I'm straight, but I definitely wanted her approval. If anything, I wish she was in the room right now, observing us with her wine, and the creep in the other window left with blue balls.

But I wasn't the one in charge here, and I had to trust George. And his deft work taking my lingerie off gave me confidence in this crazy plan.

Before long my breasts were out, and he was skillfully manipulating them. I could see him peeking over my shoulder to the reflection in the mirror, seeing his work. I know in porn there is a balance between things that look pleasureful, and that actually feel so, and porn tends for visuals over performer stimulation. George, however, knew how to balance both.

The lech below was salivating at me, while the woman observing moved to a sitting position and leaned back. She didn't yet look like she was masturbating, but needing to sit down showed the intensity of her arousal.

I would have loved to sit down and wallow in my arousal, but George had me nearly pressed against the glass. And I wasn't going to say no to him.

His hands went down to my crotch and he began sliding them under the fabric. I let out a moan quietly.

"That won't do, they can't hear you. Project it with your expression," he said.

He slid his finger deep inside and hit my g-spot for emphasis. I let out a loud gasp. If my audience couldn't hear it, they could certainly see it.

He pressed my breasts against the glass. I felt the coolness of the surface and wondered something.

"Is this glass strong enough to hold?" I asked.

"I don't know. Better hold onto the frame for safety," he said.

That didn't assure me of my safety. But I followed his instructions.

"Promise to grab me if I fall," I said.

He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back.

"You're safe with me," he said.

Despite all logic, I believed him.

He finished stripping me down. I stepped out of the lingerie as he pulled it to the ground. He thoughtfully placed it on a chair. He then stripped fully out of his clothes. He approached, his cock already hard.

He came in for a kiss and ran his hands down my body. His stiff dick pressed against my thighs.

"Bend down," he said.

I bent down. His fingers found my pussy lips and rubbed. Then his hard cocked slid in.

He thrust hard and strong. I braced myself on the window frame, and felt my breasts and forehead pressed against the glass every time he thrust in. I mainly had my eyes closed as he did so, but I would open them for a second to get a glimpse at my audience. The lech watched and kept wanking. My mysterious woman in silhouette was clearly masturbating as well, albeit most tastefully. I was too in need of steadying myself to blow her a kiss, but got even more aroused imagining her cumming in part because of my attention and affections from afar.

"Let's change up the show," he said.

He pulled a chair close to the window and sat on it. He grabbed my hips and positioned me facing away from him, with my front facing the window.

"Let's give our adoring fans the sight of your tits bouncing," he said.

He lowered me onto his cock and slid me down as far as I would go. I started to ride him up and down, slow at first, then faster. My tits started to bounce the faster I went.

"That's it, let them see," he said.

I moved up and down harder, building up speed and friction. I held the arms of the chair to steady myself so I could ride harder. His hands moved from my hips to my breasts, squeezing, needing, pinching them, which aroused me all the more.

His hands then moved again. One returned to my hips, while the other played with my clit. The stimulation continued to build until I could feel myself about to cum.

"Ah, ah, ah!" I gasped as I built up to climax.

My grip began to slip on the chair, but George grabbed to steady me.

"I have you, you're safe, now cum," he said.

His reassuring tight grip comforted me and I pushed faster and faster, no longer worrying about balance. In less than a minute I came.

"Aaaaahhhhhh!" I exclaimed.

At that point my legs turned to jelly, but I was safely in his arms. He took over with several thrusts, hitting at a few last notes of the orgasm out of me.

I laid back against him a moment and felt him pull his cock out of me.

"You good?" he asked.

I could only moan my yes. My wits returned to me and I reached down to grab his cock.

"Your turn, baby," I said.

"Our audience hasn't had a proper look at your ass," he said.