Paris Dream....some Of It Is True, But Mostly Fantasy

It was good to get the invite to go out on News Years Eve, and especially nice as it was so unexpected. We were away from home for our first Christmas and New Year together, in Paris, the most romantic city in the world. We hadn’t been very married long, less than 6 months, and at 23 and 20 years old we were deeply in love, but very financially stretched. We had just paid the deposit on a starter home, and the monthly mortgage payments left little for extras. So we were really careful with our budget, which meant mostly walking around that lovely city looking at the buildings rather than going in them, and packing baguette and fromage for lunches rather than eating out all the time.
Nevertheless we decided to treat ourselves just the once and on Christmas Eve we ended up at a restaurant that where the chef came and cooked the food for you on a hot plate at the table. It looked expensive, but it was going to be our one luxury that holiday, and Jane really liked the look of it so in we went. If you booked you got your own table, but for people like us that turned up without a reservation there was a single long table, again with the hotplates, shared with other “walk ins”. When we arrived there was just one couple, about twice our age, part way through their starter. At first it seemed a slightly odd arrangement to be sat with strangers. They said a polite “Bonsoir”, and I’m sure we went up a notch or two by being able to at least converse for a while in French. However they spoke very good English and I have to admit that I soon used up all my French, Jane is much better, and lasted a good while longer and all in all it had broken the ice.
They had asked us quite a lot about ourselves and seemed really interested, and made us feel quite at ease, even though they definitely fell into the Paris affluent bourgeoisie category, and whilst Jane seemed at ease, I couldn’t help feeling a little bit English country bumpkin! They were one course ahead of us in the meal the whole time, and said goodbye as we were finishing our crème brule and ordering our coffee. Twenty minutes later we asked for the bill only to have the Patron come to the table and explain that our dinner partners had settled our bill as well! He also handed us a hand written note from them, saying they had very much enjoyed the evening and inviting us to a New Year’s party at their apartment!
Well, to be honest we were a bit taken aback, and over the next few days returned again and again to that evening and the discussion as to whether we should go to the party. Jane’s main issue was that she had only brought the one decent dress with her, and she had already worn it that night at the restaurant. Also, if I’m honest, we both felt a bit out of depth, aware they were also quite a bit older than us, sophisticated and wealthy. However to not go seemed rude after they had been so kind. We decided that as we had got the meal for free, Jane would see if she could find a not too expensive dress to wear with the money we had saved. Well, I don’t know if you have ever been dress shopping in Paris…but I can tell you it isn’t cheap! I really gulped at the prices. Even so, when Jane came out of the changing room in a flimsy cocktail dress she looked absolutely fantastic, and she obviously loved the dress, which was far more daring than she would normally wear. The bra she had on when we went shopping wasn’t ideal as the dress had a deep vee at the front showing plenty of cleavage and a really low back, but she said she had a more suitable one in the suitcase that wouldn’t show and she obviously loved the thing. I did the wise thing for once and didn’t moan about the price!
Well, as we got dressed it turned out Jane’s backless bra (or whatever it was called) wasn’t suitable either, the edges of the cups showing, and I tried to suppress my glee as she finally came to the inevitable conclusion that it would have to go! After a few “Oh my God I can’t go out dressed like this”, and fortified by a large glass of white wine she decided, much to my relief, that “Well, it is Paris and no one knows me”, so finally off we went.
We followed the instructions in the note, feeling a bit self conscious on the metro (taxis being beyond our by now non existent budget), and made our way to La Muette in the 16th. We headed off early as we had no idea how long it would take, or how hard it would be to find. Jane remembered reading that actually no one ever was expected to turn up on time for invites in Paris, let alone early. Also we had no idea what the party would be like, we had decided we had better eat before hand. We found a cheapish bistro close by, and ordered food and a carafe of house white. I think for the first time ever we seemed over dressed! Jane looked stunning in her new dress with its low back and cleavage, and I was very aware that she was attracting the odd surreptitious glance from other dinners and more obvious looks from the waiters. However she didn’t seem to notice and I didn’t say anything and she soon got over her self-consciousness and we really enjoyed the meal.
After a while I was starting to get cold feet about the whole idea of going to a party where we knew no one, other than an hour or two spent at the restaurant the week before with the hosts! Also I was worried about my not very good French. Added to that I had the hots for Jane, having seen all and sundry ogling her, and had ideas of going straight back to the hotel for some fun. I suggested we skip the party but Jane would have none of it and simply ordered another carafe, and told me to stop being so English! A glass or two later I could certainly feel the effect of the wine, and my spirits lifted. By then Jane was really giggly and flirty with the waiters, who were getting an eye full, their glances ever more obvious as time went by. I’m sure Jane’s attire earned us each the massive ouzo digestive that appeared “on the house”. It was like firewater!
We arrived as high as kites and what we hoped was fashionably late, actually about 10 p.m. at the apartment. It was in a beautiful old typical Parisian building, with wrought iron railings in a tree lined avenue. Nervously ringing the bell we grinned sheepishly at each other in a sort of “Well, here we go” way. We had to have a couple of goes before we could make ourselves understood over the intercom but eventually made our entrance into what was a huge and snazzy apartment. I fact it was what they call a duplex, covering two whole floors. The furniture had mostly been moved out of the way, so there was plenty of space to mingle. Our host Jacques and hostess Marie-Jeanne greeted us like long lost friends, lots of Parisian kissing and then took our coats and brought us drinks. I was hoping it wasn’t too obvious we were already rather merry. We were introduced to the others or at least some of them, there were about a dozen or so couples, so it wasn’t that big a party. Almost all of them in their 30’s or early 40’s, one or two couple perhaps in their late 20’s but we were obviously the youngest ones there by a margin. It was a sophisticated crowd, someone from French TV, an investment banker, a couple where the husband, a tall dark man who I thought looked Middle Eastern, though actually I found out later he was Parisian but his parents came from Algeria, I coined him “The Algerian”, a couple we chatted to a lot, where both partners, Jon and Michelle, were either from, or had parents from, Nigeria (I didn’t quite catch the explanation), someone who was something to do with the tennis or horse racing or something, a lady that had a little art gallery, and so on. There was music but mostly it was chatting, everyone was surprisingly friendly, and really seemed pleased to chat with us, a little in French but mostly in English. I was coming to the conclusion that the Parisian reputation for rudeness wasn’t warranted at all. We drank what even I could tell was good wine, and there were posh tabnab food, although we didn’t need it.
Most of the time Jane and I were together, but occasionally chatting separately, just depending on the flow and ebb of the evening. Lots of people were interested in us, the newly married English couple, and we were even subject to some gentle teasing about our “extended honeymoon”. Later I watched Jane talking to the investment banker and his wife, when she wasn’t aware I was looking at her. She didn’t look at all nervous, rather animated and expansive, happy, no doubt helped a bit by all the alcohol we had both downed. She was holding her own and she looked dead swish too!
The time flew by and then suddenly we were preparing for the New Year count down, everyone toasting with Champagne, the real stuff, and looking out of the windows towards the centre of Paris where we could see some of the firework display. I remember thanking our hosts profusely for being so kind, buying us dinner and including us in their party, probably I was burbling a bit by then!
As the midnight celebrations faded things quietened down and the mood changed, the lights were dimmed and the music slowed down. Jacques and Marie-Jeanne explained it was traditional to dance with a different partner each dance, at least to start with, and with that Jacques led Jane to the floor. Other couples formed and joined us. Marie-Jeanne took my hand and held me close, and that seemed to be the style for everyone on the floor. The next dance and she was gone, and Nicole, another of the wives I’d chatted to earlier was suddenly in her place. I remember I was a bit self conscious as I’m and only 5’8” tall, and Nicole the art gallery lady, on heels, was actually taller than me, which always feels a bit odd when you dance. The same routine continued, a new partner for each dance. I’d sometimes catch Jane’s eye, but after a while she didn’t pay so much attention to me, and I focused on the dancing, which was rather pleasant. Someone turned the lights down even further, my new partner happily was a petite lady this time, she was called Neyh (or something similar) and like Jane was wearing a flimsy dress. I felt her curves against me and then I felt myself getting aroused a little dancing with her, not helped by watching some other couple dance, with the man stroking his partners’ bottom. The woman didn’t seem to mind, nor did Neyh mind my reaction, though she must have noticed my state she was too polite to comment. Two or three dances more and I decided I needed a drink. Fortified with yet another glass of fine wine I turned to watch the dancing, Jane was deep in the arms of one of the husbands, one of his hands resting lightly on her rump, the other in the small of her back pulling her into him. She seemed oblivious to anything around her.
I had another dance with someone’s gorgeous wife, though who she belonged too I didn’t remember. This time glancing over my partner’s shoulder I watched yet another couple, the lady had her arms round the man’s neck and they were kissing passionately as they danced. One of his hands was cupping the woman’s bottom, and he was gently squeezing it as they danced, as now seemed the norm (I even found myself doing the same and my partner - I never knew her name - didn’t protest, indeed, she seemed to enjoy it).
The next dance was with Marie-Jeanne again. She swayed sensually against me with the music…and once again I felt myself becoming aroused, she noticed immediately, and simply pressed herself back at me seductively and smiled at me! I felt myself blush, would you believe. She must have noticed me looking around for Jane as she whispered “Don’t worry, she will be fine” and started kissing me! That certainly had my attention. I was enjoying it an awful lot but hoping Jane wouldn’t see me or I’d be in real trouble. Marie-Jeanne kept hold of me for the next dance, the one after, and the one after that, lithe and supple under my hands as we danced I never wanted it to end. Finally after I don’t know how many dances one of the other wives came up and said something to her in French. As the track changed once more she whispered “come with me, its time, we are going to find your wife”. She took my hand and let me down a corridor and into another room, a sort of gallery, turning to me as we entered and holding her finger to her lips and making a shushhhh sound as we entered. There were two couples and two women, one was Michelle the coloured lady, standing by or leaning on the gallery balustrade, silently looking down into the room below which was bathed in light. Indeed the double story room was lit by a single very elegant hanging light, hanging just below the floor level of the gallery, with a large shade designed so that it threw light downwards, but not upwards. I realised for anyone in the room below would not even be aware of the gallery above, which would be invisible, lost in the darkness.
Marie-Jeanne led me to join them the silent watchers, Michelle turned to me and smiled, but said nothing. Below us Jacques our host was leaning against a doorway to the room on the lower level, a glass of wine in his hand. The sound system must also have been rigged for this room, it was the same music. Jacques was watching a couple dance, smooching as we used to say, the woman’s arms around the neck of the tall Algerian man, face buried in his chest, her eyes shut, apparently unaware of the watchers on the upper level.
I had found my wife.
I stood there in shock, Marie-Jeanne whispered in my ear “she cannot see us you know”. As I watched Michelle’s husband Jon, the Moroccan man, walked through the door way, glass of wine in his hand, and joined Jacques. They both watched my wife and the Algerian, sipping their expensive wine. I realised that all three of their wives were with me on the gallery, intently watching the scene unfold beneath us.
The Algerian had one arm around Jane’s waist, his other arm such that his hand was firmly on her bum, not just gently resting there but cupping and gently squeezing. Jane didn’t seem to mind at all. Jon spoke some unheard words with Jacques; they conferred intently for a few moments apparently appreciating the scene before their eyes the dancing couple seemingly oblivious to their presence.
Just at that moment, unseen by my wife, the Algerian lifted his hand from her bottom and with his palm upwards and with all four fingers made a “come hither” gesture towards Jacques and Jon. Evidently a decision had been made; Jon handed his glass of wine to Jacques, and walked up to the slowly rotating couple. The Algerian saw him approach, and turned slightly so that Jon walked up behind Jane. Then, to my utter astonishment Jon pressed hard up behind her, she turned her head and he tugged her chin and began kissing her passionately her head turned so she on the lips, his hands falling to wife’s hips, she didn’t seem at all put out that she was sandwiched between the two men. Still kissing her I saw him with each hand start to gather her dress by sort of stroking it upwards, and I watched both horrified and fascinated as inch by slow inch the back of the dress rose higher and higher, finally revealing her stocking tops and suspenders. When the hem of the dress was almost level with her bum in a single movement he lifted the hem to her waist, and with his hands flat slid each one down the back of her white knickers from the top, cupping each of my wife’s buttock. By now he was kissing her neck, and her head was thrown back against his chest, her hands resting lightly on the Algerian’s shoulders, the two of them still in a dancing sort of embrace. While Jon kneeded her bum gently, I realised that the Algerian had a hand down between their bodies. My God, I thought, he’s was fingering her! Jane seemed to be almost swooning, at which point Jon slid his hands round a bit, still inside her knickers, and moved his wrists outwards which forced her knicks down over her hips. At this point Jane finally reacted, but not as I thought to tug her knicks back up, but to use one hand to push them down even further! Jon took the hint, breaking their kiss, he simply pulled Jane’s knickers the rest of the way down until they were pooled round her ankles. She was now back kissing the Algerian, who with his spare hand held the dress up at the back. Jane’s now very bare and very lovely young bottom was in clear view to the watchers on both levels.
Jon, down on one knee, lifted her high heeled feet one at a time and detangled her knicks. He then held them to his nose for a second before tossed them aside onto the floor, and there they lay, a small scrap of lace, the evidence summing up everything that had happened, was happening, and was about to happen.
Jon calmly walked back and retrieved his wine glace from Jacques, who had watched the whole thing, and they both seemed very pleased with themselves. Then, bit by bit, as they danced the Algerian slowly manoeuvred her across the room until her bare bum was up against the back of the large sofa which divided the room in two. Unable to back away any more the dancing, such as it was, gave way to a deep passionate kissing, Jane’s arms around his neck, stretching up due to the foot or more difference in their height, even with Jane in high heels. Suddenly and without warning the Algerian broke the embrace, spun Jane round like a rag doll, placed a hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her firmly forward. With the back of the sofa at waist height in a moment she was face down doubled over the sofa back. I felt myself let out an audible gasp, and Algerian’s wife, next to me did almost the same thing. Her husband hoisted Jane’s dress right up over her back so it was almost covering her head. Then he stopped and stepped back, admiring the view. It was quite a view from the gallery too, and you could have heard a pin drop and I wondered if everyone could hear my heart thumping. I will never forget the moment, with my new pretty young wife bent over the back of the sofa, the bottom half of her dress flung over her back she looked so naked and vulnerable, her rear framed by her stockings and suspenders. The Algerian looked at her for what seemed and age, then slowly undid his belt, still looking intently at my wife’s very white bare bottom and exposed and very visible sex.
Just then I nearly jumped as his wife slid behind me, slid a hand round and felt and squeezed my erection through my trousers, and whispered “My husband is going to **** your pretty little wife. She wants him to do it you know. All white women want this, especially the married ones, especially your wife.” Then she paused for a second, slid her hand down the top of my trousers before continuing; “You want him to have her, don’t you?” I couldn’t have got any words out, and she didn’t seem to expect an answer, I think it was more of a statement than a question. Then, still stood almost behind me she grasped my very erect manhood and very slowly began to work up and down. Leaning to me gain she whispered “I hope she likes it from behind. He’s much much bigger than you, he will fill her up properly, ……he might even make her pregnant”. I couldn’t help it…I started to shudder, she felt it and speeded up gripping me forcefully…and I came! At that moment the wife’s claim of her husband’s size was verified, he stepped out of his trousers and boxers, and even from a distance it was obvious he was bloody big. Jane hadn’t moved, she was still bent over the back of the sofa, head down, rump up, waiting for her fate. He approached, used his foot to push her legs a little further apart and holding his erection, he rubbed it up and down her slit. Jane arched her back…let out an ahh…….and another ahhhh and another ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh as he eased in, inch by inch until he was buried deep inside her. Then, a man we had met some three hours ago, started to **** my loving wife in front of two men she knew were watching her, and unknowingly in front of an entire audience in the gallery above, including the wives of the men who were down in the room with her, and of course, in front of me, her husband. I thought “What the hell is she doing”…but then looked down at his wife, still slowly working my half hard ****, her hand covered in my come, and shut up.
Now Jane is best described as “petite”, she’s only 5’3 and the Algerian was tall and wiry, and seemed to tower over her as he took her with long steady strokes. In just moments she started to whimper, her cries growing rapidly, and within a minute of so of him getting fully inside her, she came too. He didn’t stop, but by carefully easing and speeding the tempo, the Algerian played with her, Jane was either coming or on the verge of coming again and again, had her pleading loudly for release, or in between the crescendos, just whimpering. Finally it was clear he was about to come too, he leaned forward, grabbed her hair roughly, pulling her head back hard, so she had to support herself on her hands, I saw her arch her back as his thrusting became an invasion. Jane now totally lost what little control she had and was screaming loudly in ******, the sound flooding the high room. He shuddered and finally filled her with his seed. I barely noticed my ****** approaching, the Algerian’s wife at work once again on my now hard ****, gently stroking me skilfully such that I came in time with my wife and her husband. The Algerian pulled out of Jane and she simply collapsed forward again, over the sofa, bottom in the air, legs apart, everything on display and with his come leaking from her sex for everyone to see. Jon then sprang into action, walking over he pulled her half upright and then scooped her up into his arms like a baby. I realised about then that all of the couples at the party were now either on the gallery, or had filtered into the room below and were watching the show. This WAS the party. Jane was beyond even knowing.
Now the Algerian was a tall guy, but Jon was simply huge, in both senses of the word, and he had no trouble sweeping Jane up, she wrapped her arms round his neck and hid her face in his shoulder. He carried her round to the front of the sofa and very gently put her down, in more or less a normal sitting position. Then he slid an arm under each knee and pulled her lower body forward so she was half slouched, her bottom on the edge. She looked like she was still in shock from the seeing to she had just had, but she watched as Jon unhurriedly undressed, his ***** was long and very thick and very erect. As he approached again, before he even touched her, her knees drew up and parted as wide as wide could be, inviting him in, her already well used and sodden ***** open and on displayed as if begging to be filled. She wrapped first her arms round his neck and then despite a **** that looked like a weapon Jon seemed to penetrate her with ease. She instantly wrapped her legs round his back and I was struck by the contrast between her tiny white body and the very black, large and powerful man covering her. By now she had let herself go on a wanton wave of lust, her body reverberating with each of his powerful thrusts, her pelvis pushing up in ****** or near ******.
Jon’s wife watched her husband plough into me wife, and slid up to me and it was her turn to grip my **** and nibble at and whisper in my ear. As she slowly stroked me she said “Did you know that ever since Marie-Jeanne phoned us and we heard about the young English newlyweds we have been arguing, most thought it wouldn’t be possible, I’m glad I listened to my husband. Everyone has been laying bets on your wife you know? Would she surrender? How much work would be needed? How long would it take? And if she did open her legs, for whom? My husband is not only screwing your wife, he is making a lot of money too! That is why everyone is here tonight.” She let the words sink in, my wife’s screams echoing round the gallery. Then she continued, increasing the pressure and speed on my **** she said: “Most thought it couldn’t be done at all, not a newlywed. How wrong they were, just look at her! It didn’t take long did it? She was so very easy to seduce, the easiest we have ever seen.” I could feel my heart pounding so much I thought I would explode as she continued “Your new wife just became a salope who loves black ****. She will never be the same again. After tonight she will always need it, you will never be able to fully satisfy her, so I hope you are enjoying what you are watching. And now she has been prepared she will also love and need what Jacques has been waiting for, what he will do to her in a minute when my husband has finished with her. She might squeal a bit at first but she will not have the strength to resist, she will not even want to resist; even though he will do things to your pretty little wife that she has never even dreamed of doing. After that the rest of the men will have her too, all of them. Most of them will do her more than once, Jon certainly will. Oh yes, she is going to work very hard tonight, your pretty little wife.”

I came again.

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3 Responses Jul 27, 2010

A very good tale. Well written and very sexy. Thanks

No worries about getting carried away with me ... I usually write way too much. So much erotica is simply focused on the act. I like the details, the build-up ... it's like foreplay.

This is by far one of the best & hottest erotic stories I have ever read.