An Afternoon in Paris Ch. 2

His fingers eased up and down my spine, silently reminding me of the pleasure he had just permitted me. I could still feel his fingers, clamped around my nipple, as he worked me into our own private frenzy in a crowd of strangers. Yet just when I felt a surge of energy return to my deliciously weathered soul as we strolled further away from the Eiffel Tower, he took my hand again, and led me down a narrow block.

Homeless people snored in each filthy doorway, and the rancid stench of urine strangled my sense of smell. The shops and tiny cafes, which all bore faded painted signs, were closed at that hour of the day, and left the street void of people. I trembled as I guessed what he might have planned, but I knew better than to question.

The shutters hung from threadbare nails, and squeaked in their sway in the light spring breeze. A heavy thicket of smoke caught in my lungs as we stepped inside the tiny hotel's lobby. The dark wooden accents were covered by a layer of dust, coating my body with a film of disgust in my quick survey of the room. My eyes only glossed over the shabby upholstery which barely covered the two chairs adjacent to the front desk, where a fat man sat sucking a cigar between his chapped lips.

Timidly, or perhaps in my submission, I stepped back, and dropped my head while he procured the key. All the while, the sensation in my loins began to mount, peaking my lust to do whatever he simply pleased.

We climbed the creaky staircase to the second floor, and passed down a long hallway to our room in the corner. I closed my eyes and listened to the click of the key in the lock, and the unsteady opening of the door.

Without a word or any sort of acknowledgment, I unbuttoned my blouse, and removed it efficiently before unzipping and stepping out f my skirt. Before him, I stood, waiting again for his careful inspection, and I began to fret. Were my nipples extended to his liking? Had I shaved every last trace of stubble from my cunt? Were my thigh-highs straightened?

I lowered myself slowly to my knees, my head bowed precisely at the zipper of his trousers. His cock was so close, but not close enough. Even when he buried himself in the back of my throat, I still wanted more of him.

However, my focus began to wane in the midst of my other needs. Pressure filled my lower abdomen, and I shifted suddenly, feeling the weight of my bladder dropping. .

Then, he captured my cheeks in his hands. "What does my good girl want?"

"I have to go."

"Go where?" he pressed.

"To the bathroom."

"Then crawl to the toilet."

Bracing myself on the palms of my hands, I dragged my knees behind me. I could feel the wetness fanning over me -- from my clit to my thighs to my tender asshole. As my knees pressed into the cold tiled floor, I pulled myself along with the strength of my upper arms, thankful that at least I didn't have to walk the short distance to the toilet.

"Sit."

Clutching the lid, I pushed myself up, then dropped down to the hard seat. Again, he told me to look into his eyes.

"May I pee for you?" I asked, running my tongue over my lower lip.

"You know what you have to do first," he reminded me.

I shifted uncomfortably on the toilet seat. "May I cum for you, then?"

"Yes, but you can't touch yourself."

I placed my hands on the top of my thighs, and continued to look into his eyes. There was pain now, as I fought so desperately to hold my bursting bladder against the twitch of my building orgasm. I spread my legs to reveal my slick slit, opening up the doors to the center of the body he controlled.

My breath hissed through my clenched teeth as I concentrated on the sound of his voice, and I could feel the familiar thudding inside crescendo into a heavy throb. "That's it, that's a good girl," his voice gentled me. "You're getting closer, and I can see how wet you are for me. So well trained..."

My clit twitched against his verbal stimulation. I clutched the bands of my thigh-highs, pulling in frustration and aching for this release that only he could offer me.

"Cum now," he said, watching me ever so closely as the first shock wave fluttered from my clit into the depths of my cunt and rocked me with jolt after salacious jolt of illicit delight. "That's it, keep it going. Good girl, keep cumming," he coaxed, while I shivered and shook on the toilet before him, wiggling my ass against the hard seat which moved with me.

Exhausted from the intensity, I collapsed in my own lap, my nipples pressing against the silk of my stockings. All the while, my bladder remained full, having been conditioned not to leak a single drop in the throes of orgasm.

"May I please pee now?" I asked, as I touched my hands to the linoleum floor. "Please, let me pee."

"Yes," he said, closing the distance between us. His large hands crowned over my bent head. "You may pee now."

A few moments passed as the muscles in my cunt relaxed, and my breath evened along with the patter of my heartbeat. The steady stream poured from me, echoing against the porcelain bowl.

"Thank you," I murmured, as he drew my shoulders up, "for allowing me to pee."

"You've been such a good girl this afternoon," he said, while he stroked the sheets of toilet paper along my wet slit then back toward my anus. "Now, come. Let's play."

Back to my knees I dropped, and followed him into the dilapidated bedroom, which was filled with the stench of stale cigar smoke and erotic odors of someone else's tryst. The bedspread was tattered, torn in various spots, and the single dresser, on which sat an antique television set, bore nicks in its thin wood.

Never before had he brought me into such a seedy atmosphere. In fact, I had grown quite accustomed to the marble hotel bathrooms, where he would so lovingly slip enemas into my ass to cleanse me for his rough entry, and king-sized beds covered with fluffy down comforters over which he would lay me for my floggings. However, on that afternoon, he simply wanted me to feel like the filthy slut I had so willingly become.

"Where are your toys?" he asked, as he threw open the tall windows.

My words were timid, barely audible in the silence of the room. "I was afraid to pack them. Security is so tight at the airport..."

"You know you'll have to be punished," he warned me, which I understood as I made the conscious decision to leave my vibrators and plugs and restraints behind. "But not right now."

Our intimacy was so deep that he knew a paddling would only pleasure me. Humiliation drove my quest to obey. Ultimately, he would place me in an embarrassingly uncomfortable situation, then remind me with sharp words that were so uncharacteristic of his persona that I had disobeyed. Punishments were few and far between, but I remembered -- and learned -- from each and every regimen.

"Haven't I taught you how to prepare?"

"Yes, you have taught me well," I stammered. "And I'm very sorry that I've displeased you today."

"You're quite lucky that I brought your clamps with me," he said, pulling the long silver chain from his pocket before sitting down in the chair by the window. "Your favorite set."

"Thank you for thinking of me," I said.

"Here, come to me."

Again, I scooted across the dirty floor to kneel before him, and waited patiently while he tugged on my nipples, pulling and stretching them in preparation to tweeze. I could feel the cold metal close around the taut tip, and the tightening lock of pain -- first over the right, then over the left.

"Mmmm..." I murmured, as his hand gave one sharp pull of the chain.

"Feels so good, doesn't it?" his voice was calm again, while he tugged a second time. "You love this so much, don't you?"

"Yes," I breathed, feeling the rush of sensation flow from my bound nipples, down my stomach and into my wetness.

"You're ready to cum again, aren't you?"

"But not until you allow me," I replied.

"Climb into my lap."

Across his knees I willingly dropped to feel the soft touch of his hand tracing the curve of my ass. Against my tummy I could feel the strength of his cock, straining through his pants, and wondered again how he could endure such restraint. Round and round his fingers caressed, increasing my agitation. Yet I held ever so still under his cool palm, as it glided from cheek to cheek.

His first strike was punctuated with a pull on the nipple clamps, then followed up with a second slap. I couldn't contain my squeals of shock and satisfaction as he continued to whack his steady hand against my needy flesh. From my position, I could clearly see the people on the street below from the second floor window. There were two men staring from across the narrow street, their eyes transfixed on mine as I writhed between the welcome sting of my Master's hand and the promise of his cock beneath me.

"You just love to be watched, don't you, my slut?" he taunted, tugging again on my clamped nipples. "It could be me -- it could be those two drunks down there on the street. You don't care who sees you."

The heat of the spanking, reddening my ivory cheeks, and the stroke which tore at my nipples awakened that divine arousal that had been dormant since our last meeting. Each crack only enticed me closer to the brink of absolute surrender. As I moved in his lap, I could feel the flow of my juices sopping his thigh, spotting the fine linen with the remnants of my pleasure.

"May I cum? Please, let me cum, let me cum," I begged. He ignored me as his hand continued its rhythmic slap to the welts on my now tender ass. "Please, let me cum. Please...please...please."

Still, he remained silent, forcing me to curtail my burgeoning release. I didn't dare to move, knowing that even the slightest brush of my clit against his leg would sever the last thread of reserve to which I so desperately clung. The men on the street were still there, holding their crotches in broad daylight as they continued to watch me plead for mercy from my sweet Master.

"Cum now," he said, plunging me into the depths of my darkest desires. I squirmed against him, while he heavied his hand against me, pressing my clit ever closer against him. In two quick snaps, he released my nipples, heightening my pleasure as the pain I embraced so dearly surged throughout my breasts.

"Good girl...take a deep breath. That's it...breathe for me," he soothed, as he rubbed the skin he had so skillfully welted with his own hand. While I continued to tremble in the aftermath of his sweet assault, I felt him lean down to place his tender lips upon each mark, easing over the burn.

"It's been awhile, and you'll be sore," he said. "But I don't think this is the sort of establishment that places a selections of lotions in the bathroom."

His words reminded me of how dirty -- how splendidly unrefined -- he wanted me to feel. I was his whore, a mere toy with whom he played while his wife busied herself by running up his credit cards in all of the finest Parisian boutiques.

And there was no place that I would have rather been on that sunny afternoon.

I rocked against him, and concentrated on the calm of his voice and the delicate touch of his hands. His finger dipped inside me, pressing into my dampness in preparation for his entrance into my ass. Delicately, he worked his way inside, passing through the soft hole, and penetrated deeper until my anal walls surrounded his finger up to the knuckle.

"May I have your cock?" I asked, still staring at the floor as I moved back and forth against his finger.

"Not without an enema -- which I'm sure you also forgot to bring," he said, then removed his finger abruptly -- his action serving to prove his point rather than to inflict pain in his roughness. "Get dressed."

I wanted to cry shamefully as he rushed off to the bathroom to rinse the stain of our clandestine afternoon from his pant leg. Our time together, once again, had ended all too quickly, and I felt I had ruined each priceless second with my insubordination.

As I struggled into my skirt, he returned to the room to watch me. Usually, he helped me dress, fastening each button and closing every zipper. However, my poor judgment simply didn't merit his assistance. In fact, I didn't even feel worthy of the tenderness he exuded after the spanking.

When at last I had tucked in my skirt with my trembling hands, I dropped to my knees in front of him.

"Why all the misbehavior today?" He tilted my chin to look into my eyes. "You know it's so rare that we see each other..."

"I know you're unhappy with me right now, and I deserve whatever punishment you deem necessary," I said, my voice steady. "It's just that I'm here with my friends, and I didn't want them to ask questions."

"Then your punishment will fall accordingly." With a sharp turn, he moved away from me, and dug his hands into an inside pocket of his black raincoat.

My collar and my leash. He had kept them with him while we were apart, and seeing them now in his hands, the leather entwined through those strong fingers that brought me the most pleasurable pain, swelled my eyes with the tears of emotions I had contained for too long.

"They're so beautiful."

"You missed them, didn't you, precious?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, you'll wear them for me so that everyone will know that you're mine." Carefully, he snapped the collar into place, and patted me on the head before attaching the leash. "You'll crawl out of this hotel, and out the front door. Then, you may stand, but I will not remove the leash. You'll prove to me that you're not embarrassed by the activities you perform for me. Understand?"

With a nervous nod, I said, "Yes, I understand."

"And by the way," he said as I crawled in his lead toward the door, "I'm here -- in Paris -- alone."