Central Bank, Paris

I was a young, ambitious woman when I entered a top MBA program in the 1980s. Being a woman in an MBA program was a rarity, but I worked hard and excelled. I was super excited to find out that I had been selected into a 2-year fully paid internship with the World Bank after my finishing my MBA. I guess it pays off to get accepted in a top 5 MBA program. It was a huge opportunity, we would be farmed out to various national central bank. I was even more excited when, during our week long orientation in DC, I found I was going to Paris. (This was pre-EU central bank.)

Paris was undergoing a housing crunch, and I considered myself lucky to have secured a tiny, shared apartment with a French girl. She picked me up at the airport, looking elegant, me looking like I had just spent 10 hours traveling on cramped airplanes. She whisked me to our apartment and helped me get settled. We shared a bedroom, but it was all I could afford that wasn't extremely bad. Fortunately, Ines was super nice, and we got along well. She had a boyfriend, but always came home at night.

Ines helped me get ready on Monday. I wore my best business suit, spent extra time putting my face on, but still felt overshadowed by the chic look Ines seemed to effortlessly don. It would soon become apparent the 'smart business fashion' in the states is nothing like fashion in Paris.

At the office I in processed with Louise. I again noticed how immaculately she was dressed. While in processing, I was introduced to my boss, Dominic Audran. He was an older, handsome, distinguished man, dressed in a stunning suit. I went to shake his hand, but he pulled me close to exchange cheek kisses. I froze, surprised at the close contact, and he told me I would have to work on that. He spoke English with the telltale French accent. My desk was in his office, a huge, sunlit room in an old mansion. French classical in every way.

The French Central Bank in Paris, wasn't a big organization. There were about 50 people in the entire building, but they controlled billions of francs. My first week consisted of largely of sitting in this enormous, lovely office and reading piles of papers. I slowly realized that my boss had written many of these papers himself. Dominic largely left me alone as he worked at his desk. Sometimes he was out of the office. I must admit, I was a bit in awe of him. Distinguished. Classic. French. Brilliant. All business. Being studious, I took even my reading home. I got to meet another division head of the French Central Bank and promptly flubbed the cheek kiss. Dominic practiced with me later in the office.

There was a group of younger women, secretaries, interns and the like, at the same location that met for lunch. They were from across the world, but English was still the lingua franca. I was invited to join them and once again was awed at their seemingly effortless fashion sense. I wonder if my time as one of the few women in the MBA program had spoiled me, male attention being effortless. I now felt positively dowdy among these women. Upgrading my wardrobe soared to the top of my priority list.

On Friday morning, Dominic told me that there was a dinner party that night with other members of the banking community, and he and his wife asked me to join them. I had hoped to maybe go out with Ines, but I happily accepted his proposal. He sent me home early. I kicked myself repeatedly at home as I never clarified what to wear. Thank God Ines came home and helped me pick out an outfit. I could tell she was not impressed with the clothes I had packed, but she helped me put together a nice outfit by combining some of her clothes with mine. A black skirt, slit to mid thigh, a white blouse with a deep vee, a black blazer and heels. I felt the outfit was a bit too risqué for a dinner party, but Ines assured me it was appropriate. I wasn't even too concerned about the blouse, as I am not well endowed and have no cleavage.

Dominic and his wife, Vivian, picked me up and drove me to the party. His wife was gorgeous, an older lady and radiating class. Her outfit was dazzling, a teal silk and lace dress that had to have cost more than I could possibly afford. Dominic was wearing a suit, like he always did, only somehow looking even more dapper. I figured the salary of a top central banker must be quite good. The other guests, around 60 in all, were all in very fashionable clothes. There were a few men and women my age, but most were older. Also, several women were wearing outfits that would have been totally inappropriate in the US but still looked elegant. High leg slits, lace tops displaying skin beneath, I no longer felt my outfit was too risqué. It felt like I was having dinner with celebrities and royalty. Professors back home acted like they were down to earth, here everyone was just so...classy. Paris was going to be an eye-opener for me on fashion. The building we were in, I hesitate to call it a house, may well have been a palace once. Even among all the guests, Dominic seemed to stand out to me. I felt so, so honored to be able to learn from someone so distinguished. Dominic approached me again.

"Have you seen Paris at night?" he smiled.

"Not really," I smiled, as the apartment I was in only had a view of the next building.

He took my hand and led me up a staircase, his hand slipping to my waist as he explained that the balcony offered a lovely view. He steered me to the railing near the wall, the lights of Paris, the Eiffel Tower on brilliant display on a cloudy night. We gazed at the city for a moment, his hand still on my waist, before he turned and leaned on the rail in front of me, legs spread.

"Come here, Heather," he said.

I shuffled forward to him. I didn't know what else to do. His other hand took mine and drew me closer, into the angle between his legs, before holding me in a loose embrace about my lower back. I tried to lean back but largely only accomplished being slightly off balance, teetering on my heels, bowed slightly away from his face. My hands ended up on his shoulders. I noticed how thick they were and had to stop myself from squeezing them.

"Have you had your first kiss in the city of love?" he asked.

"Uh, no...," I started.

He slowly leaned forward and to my surprise kissed me lightly. I let my lips soften into his. After a few moments he pulled back and appraised me in silence. I looked up at him, his demeanor authoritative, important. Mine was, well, not. More like accommodating. I looked over his shoulder to the city.

"We have a great view," I said, trying not to think about how I was pressing into the lower body of my married boss.

"Yes we do," he said, eyes never leaving my face. "So what are your plans when you go back home?"

One of his hands drifted down and cupped my bottom. It was behind me, so I ignored it. Out of sight, out of mind. He leaned forward again, and I guessed he wanted another kiss, so I kissed him. His other hand joined the first and squeezed my bottom. I tried to arch my back but only succeeded in forcing myself deeper between his legs. He pulled back and looked at me, his face millimeters away. He said nothing and I suddenly remembered his question.

"I...um...get a job, I guess." Which sounded idiotic, given that I would be working in France for the next two years.

"In banking?" he asked, giving a slight nod, his eyes darting down.

I figured that his nod meant I should kiss him again, so I did. This time I leaned into him, my hands moving to his neck. His lips parted and his tongue touched my lips, looking for an open. On the balcony, the city illuminated before me, I let my lips open to let him in. His neck seemed solid too, an odd thought to have when you are kissing your very married boss on a very public balcony while his wife was in the next room.

One of his hands had wandered from my butt and had found the slit in my skirt, sliding inside. He quickly discovered that I was wearing a thong underneath, giving his hand full access to my bottom. Our kiss ended and I leaned back a bit. I caught my breath and managed to focus back on him, ignoring what was going on behind me under my skirt. My body, however, was acutely aware of his hand on my bottom.

"Yes," I finally said, remembering his question.

"Good," he smiled.

"I mean yes, I plan to go into banking," I clarified, so that he not think I was saying yes to his fingers, now dipped under my thong and were exploring further.

"This internship should be eye-opening for you," he said. I nodded.

His other hand came around and stroked my cheek, then stroked my neck. I turned my head a little. His fingers on my neck were soft, surprising me considering his broad shoulders. He leaned in and kissed my neck. My neck is very sensitive, something few men had cared to find out.

"I plan to learn a lot from you," I said, immediately following up with "at the bank." As if to clarify.

"Indeed," he smiled, and then said something in French. I wasn't yet fluent in French, but it seemed...clearly not platonic.

He turned my face to his and kissed me again. This time my tongue came out to play, even as I wondered if I should put a stop to this. His wife, after all, was just a staircase way. With one hand he was stroking my neck and my ear. With the other hand, unseen and therefore ignored, he was caressing my bottom. My skirt had begun to twist, and now the slit ran front and back, and pulled up enough to give him easy access.

We kissed for quite a while, our tongues exploring each other. He kissed very well, better than any of my previous relationships. I sucked on his tongue. His lower hand slipped lower, now down to my rosebud, letting me know he found it, then moving still lower. I started in his arms as his finger slipped between my legs. He broke the kiss and moved away. I realized my hand was in his hair and pulled back, slowly. Wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea.

"It was a lovely dinner, was it not?" he asked.

"Yes," I sighed, his lower finger brushing me. "I thought the..."

I glanced down suddenly. My train of thought was interrupted as his hand slid inside the vee of my blouse. I looked back at him, uncertain of what to do and then looked back down to hand. The hand behind me I could pretend wasn't there, out of sight, out of mind. But this was different. More obvious. He stroked the flesh of my breast, the expanse above my bra.

"Go on," he whispered. I looked back up at him.

"I...uh...thought...urrggg," I groaned as his hand cupped my breast.

My small chest was curse in two ways. One, men weren't interested in my breasts. Two, they are ludicrously sensitive once I get aroused. Apparently I was getting aroused, there was no missing the signs. He gently squeezed me. When a man does pay attention to my breasts, I was a goner. I whimpered and pressed into him. His lower finger was now stroking me between my legs, finding out just how aroused I was. A finger found the edge of my bra cup.

"You were saying?"

"I...uh...well yes," I stumbled, wondering what I had been saying.

He kissed me again, this time sliding his hand under my bra and finding my nipple. I moaned into his kiss. Ludicrously sensitive. He broke our kiss and we looked at each other. I was flushed and panting. We stared at each other as he continued to fondle me, front and back. I smiled weakly, but he didn't smile back. Just studied me intently.

"How long have you been at the Central Bank?" I asked, trying to steer conversation to more professional grounds.

"About five years," he nodded, opening a button on my blouse.

He shifted and I felt his erection press against me. He brushed my nipple again and my mind skipped its track.

"It seems big," I smiled. The added, "the bank, I mean." Because I of course did not mean his dick, which also seemed quite big.

"In money, yes, but in people, not so much." He deftly opened the front clasp of my bra. "We like to keep our people...close. Personal."

His lower hand was now softly stroking the lips of my womanhood while his upper hand tweaked my nipples, my blouse hanging open.

"Yeah," I sighed, having no idea what I meant.

His upper hand and lower hand switched sides, one now holding my back. His lower hand swept along around my thigh to my front, my skirt now rucked up. He wasted no time in slipping a finger under the side of my panties. I shuttered as he brushed my engorged clit, my head flopping forward, pressed flat against him.

"Would you like to work in a close organization?" he whispered in my ear before giving it a nibble.

"Yes," I groaned through a clenched jaw.

I turned, a half formed protest on my lips, but he caught me in a kiss. My lips parted to allow his tongue in, and moment later my lower lips parted as he slipped the first inch of his thick finger into me. He found no resistance, just an abundance of lubrication.

"Should we return to the party?" I whimpered into his ear.

He responded by slipping the rest of finger in. My knees buckled, held up only by his hand in my pussy. His thumb found my clit and started circling it as I bucked. His other hand joined the first, in front of me. It took me a moment to realize what he was doing. Here? On the balcony? In public? Surely not. I was about protest when he kissed me again, and then I felt his cock between my legs. He rearranged me again, positioning me, my skirt up around my hips, giving him the angle he needed. My arms locked around his neck, holding on as he guided himself into me. He found no resistance, as he had done a masterful job ensuring I was well lubricated. My eyes stared out at the city, the Eiffel Tower ablaze in the distance.

I groaned into his neck as he entered me. He was thick. I hadn't been with a man in nearly a year, but still he felt thick. He slid in only an inch, one hand now on my lower back, one hand on my chest. He paused, licking my neck. I twitched and the shift in weight allowed me to sink another inch. I stared vacantly at the city of lights as he pulled one of my legs over his, allowing him to slip deeper, another couple of inches of his hard cock in me.

"But...your wife," I whispered.

He didn't respond. Then he thrust his pelvis forward and even more of him slid into me. I was clinging to his neck, one leg wrapped around his, freeing his hands to roam my body. One was working my breasts, the other had found my clit. He pulled his hips back slowly and then thrust again. And again. I groaned into his neck, trying to stay quiet, as he whispered French in my ear. I started when I heard a new voice, but he held me in place.

"And how are you two getting along," Vivian asked, gently stroking the back of my hair.

"Splendid," her husband replied, as if fucking some random girl on the balcony at a dinner party while his wife watched was no big deal.

I turned dazed eyes to hers, trying to mumble an apology, but Dominic's thrusting rendered me incoherent.

"May I?" she asked, although whether she was addressing me or her husband I couldn't tell.

Her hand slipped between us as Dominic withdrew his hand from my clit. He now committed both hand to my breasts as Vivian found where both of us were joined. A moment later her finger was circling my clit and I knew I was about to come.

"It is a lovely view, isn't it?" she asked, looking out to the city.

My eyes followed hers, staring out to the city, and seconds later I started to come. Hard. Dominic increased the tempo and force of his thrusts, causing me to hold on for dear life as my eyes saw orange. I was still in the throes of my orgasm when he turned and kissed his wife. Then he kissed me.

"Well you two enjoy yourselves," she said, stroking my hair again and then left.

I was completely out of it, still riding my orgasm, just being held up by Dominic as he pounded away at my trembling body, my moans smothered in his neck. I felt his thrusts get more erratic and I crested again as he did, feeling him fill me with his spunk. He finally lowered me to ground, leaning against him as I slowly came back to Earth. I eventually recovered enough stand and reassemble myself.

"A beautiful night in Paris," he whispered as I caught my breath. "Shall we return to the party?"

"I...yeah," I mumbled, and he took my hand. Suddenly I stopped him. "Do I look alright?"

He looked me over and straightened my blouse, then nodded. We returned to the party. I was still dazed, but tried to act interested in the discussion as I felt our combined fluids leak out of me. I awkwardly locked eyes with Vivian from across the room but quickly looked away, though she looked nonplussed. Some of the other women glanced behind me and I saw out of the corner of my eye another couple ascending the stairs to the balcony. I couldn't help but blush as I turned back to catch the knowing nod of one of the French women. Yes, I was going to learn a lot during my time in Paris.