Stranger in Paris

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When my mother and I arrived in Paris after my high school graduation, we spent the first evening in her favorite haunt from her summer abroad in college--an old jazz bar that had been operating since the 1600s. When we entered, it appeared to be a fairly standard setup. There were clusters of little tables and booths situated around a bar tended by a man that seemed nearly as old as the building itself. However, our descent into the basement revealed a beautiful, cavernous room with walls of roughly cut stone. Despite its high ceilings and crumbling stone arches, the dim candlelight glow and soft jazz melodies from the band made the venue felt intimate. We found a little table situated near the small dance floor, and my mother ordered us a bottle of fancy wine as we watched couples swing dance to the music.

"Cheers to you," she said, raising a glass. "I know you can't drink in the States, but things are different here. Let's celebrate."

I took my first sip of wine and felt giddy from the thrill of it. As she began regaling me with tales from her college days, I felt the dizzying effect of the wine take hold. It was pleasant, making me feel warm and light. After the bottle was finished, I decided to push my luck.

"Can we go order cocktails from the bar upstairs? I've never had one, and it is a celebration after all, so..." I trailed off, eyeing her hopefully.

With amusement, she replied, "Sure, but just one. You've had quite a bit for your first time drinking, and I don't want to overdo it. Then we'll head back to our hotel. It's just a short walk from here."

We went back upstairs to the main bar. As we ascended, she whispered to me: "Don't forget to greet the bartender in French. It's impolite to assume they speak English, even though they probably do. Remember, we're guests here, and a little effort will go a long way."

I was nervous about practicing my French--I had taken two years in high school, but I had never really used it outside of the classroom. I approached the bartender with a little trepidation.

"Pardon monsieur," I said uncertainly. "Uh, vous parlez anglais?"

"Oui," he replied. "What would you like?"

"Oh, um..." I faltered. I realized I hadn't thought that far ahead. What do people order in bars?

"I'll have, um... I mean je prenne un... Shirley Temple?" I remembered ordering a virgin version once at a restaurant--sprite and cherry syrup. Yum.

The bartender chuckled and said replied, "We don't have Shirley Temple, but I will make something you like."

As the bartender busied himself making my drink, my mom grinned at me. "You did alright. Some other time, I'll teach you what kind of drinks to order so you don't look silly."

She was teasing me, but I knew it was all in good fun. Once I had my drink, she ordered a gin and tonic, then began chatting in French with a couple to her right at the bar. I tried to follow along in their conversation, but they talked quickly, and all of the words seemed to blend together. Suddenly, a man sitting to my right tapped my shoulder.

"You are from the States?" he asked in a thick French accent. He looked to be about college-aged, with dark brown hair and a hint of stubble.

"Yes," I replied. "I mean, oui. I just graduated, uh, de l'école."

"You know a little French!" he said with a smile. "I can help you practice."

"Oui, s'il vous plait!" I replied. "I've had a little to drink though, so I might not be so good."

"Non, c'est parfait," he assured me. "You will be relaxed. That is the best time to practice."

I noticed that he was slurring his words a bit. He's really drunk, I thought. But he's friendly, and he wants to help me with my French, so what's the harm?

We began to converse a little bit, some in French and some in English. He told me his name was Mathéo, and that he was studying engineering at Sorbonne. As we talked, I suddenly became aware of his hand resting on my knee.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend," I said nervously. Mark and I been dating for two years now, but truthfully, I was considering breaking up with him. After all, we were going to different universities in the fall. I realized Mathéo's touch was kind of exciting, but I didn't intend to cheat on my boyfriend.

"Oh, high school boyfriend? Are you going to university together? You know those relationships don't last, right?" As he spoke, his hand crept up my thigh, and the tips of his fingers went under my skirt. My face quickly became flushed.

Suddenly, my mother whipped around and began to scold Mathéo in rapid-fire French. I couldn't understand a word, but it caused Mathéo to lift his hands apologetically.

"Désolé, désolé," he said sheepishly. He said a few parting words, and then he rose from the table and stumbled toward the basement stairs. After he was gone, my mother turned to me.

"You can't give college boys an inch, they will take a mile!" she said sharply. "You have to be careful with them, especially when they're drunk."

Feeling foolish, I felt my eyes begin to well with tears. I was overwhelmed and completely out of my element.

"I'm gonna go use the restroom," I said, hoping for a chance to pull myself together a bit. Without waiting for a reply, I got up and rushed to the basement restroom. I pushed open the door to the women's restroom, and as it fell closed behind me, I realized that Mathéo was standing at the sink. He looked disoriented.

"Oh, Mathéo, you're in the wrong restroom," I said with confusion. In his drunkenness, he must have gotten the men's and women's rooms mixed up.

His eyes raised to meet mine, slowly raking them over my body in the process. There was a hungry look in his expression that sent a chill down my spine. He took a step towards me, so I darted towards a nearby bathroom stall and locked myself inside. As soon as the latch clicked into place, he began to shake the door aggressively.

"Mathéo, you're drunk! Please leave me alone," I begged, terrified of what might happen if he made it through the door.

"I just want to see you," he slurred. He began pounding on the stall door.

Frantically, I pulled out my phone and tried to call my mother before realizing that there was no service down here. Shit, shit, I thought.

"I'm not coming out," I cried. My voice was shaking.

Mathéo stopped pounding on the door, and I heard no reply. Did he leave? I wondered. I decided to wait for a bit to make sure he was gone. After a few minutes, the door began to shake again.

He's not going to leave me alone, I realized. Oh my god, am I going to have to fight my way out?

Just as quickly as it began, the shaking ceased again. I waited a moment to gather the courage, then forcefully pushed open the door, expecting to see Mathéo waiting for me. The room was empty.

I stepped towards the sink cautiously, then gripped the porcelain to stop my hands from trembling. It's okay, I thought with relief. I'm safe.

Suddenly, the stall next to mine opened, and there was Mathéo. He took two quick steps towards me, then grabbed me by my neck and shoved my face down into the sink. With his other hand, he moved his hand under my skirt and roughly began to feel me up.

I started to cry out, but he smacked my ass hard, then leaned forward so his lips brushed against my ear and said, "If you make a noise, I will fucking kill you."

The pain of my cheek crushed against the sink and the shock his threat made me quiet. I heard him begin to unfasten his belt as I started to cry silently.

His hand returned under my skirt and began fondling my pussy. Horrified, I realized that I was soaking wet. He smiled, then removed my panties, lifted my head from the sink, and shoved them in my mouth before pushing my head back down.

"You will like this, putain," he said. "I can already feel you ready for me." I waited breathlessly, nearly delirious with alcohol and fear, when I suddenly felt his cock shove inside of me. The panties in my mouth muffled me as I cried out from the pain.

He began to work his cock in and out of me in quick thrusts. I couldn't see anything, so I began to fixate on what I could hear and feel. The pathetic whimpering coming from my gagged mouth, punctuated by the wet slap of each thrust. His satisfied groans as he pushed deeper and deeper inside of me, filling me up completely. He was bigger than Mark, and it was starting to feel good. Ashamed by my arousal, I tried to stifle a moan, but he heard me.

"You like it, huh?" he said. I felt his hand leave my neck and his fingers lace through my hair. He yanked my head up and began to fondle my chest. The front of my dress was tied closed, and he used his other hand to clumsily undo the ties before exposing my breasts.

"Look at yourself," he grunted in my ear. "Watch me fuck you."

Reluctantly, I looked in the mirror. I was a disheveled mess. My blond hair was tangled up in his fist. My cheek was bright red from being forced into the sink. My mouth was stuffed with my lacy white panties. I had tears covering my face, but I wasn't crying anymore. I was starting to give in.

I watched as my tits bounced with each thrust. I pathetically began to push back into him as I felt an orgasm starting to build. Mathéo reached around and pinched one of my nipples, causing me to gasp. Then he took the panties out of my mouth and replaced them with his fingers, which hooked around my cheek. He pulled back, hard, then he shoved his fingers down my throat. I gagged around him, I felt so full. As he pulled his fingers out, a trail of spit followed.

Without warning, shoved his spit covered fingers into my asshole. As I cried out through the fabric panties, I was overcome with a sudden orgasm.

"You like having both holes filled?" he asked, sneering at me. "You're such a good little putain."

As the orgasm abated, he continued to plunge his fingers deep inside of my ass with each thrust of his cock. I barely had time to recover from the sensation before I felt his fist in my hair tighten as he gasped, "I'm going to cum in you."

He pressed his cock deep inside my pussy, and thick ropes of cum spilled out of him. He held me there for a moment, then pulled his fingers out of my ass and relaxed his grip on my hair, allowing me to fall against the sink. I sank to my knees as he pulled out of me, my knees to weak to stand. He took advantage of my position and pressed his cock to my cheek.

"Clean me up," he said, removing the panties from my mouth once again. Dazed from drunkenness and arousal, I opened my mouth for him. I felt his cock brush against my lips before he gently began to thrust in my mouth. As I took all of him in, he began stroking the back of my head. The gentleness of his touch following the aggression was addictive. I ran my tongue along the length of his cock and took him into the back of my throat.

"That's a good girl," he moaned. "Lick it all off. Can you taste your pussy on my cock? Can you taste my cum?"

I moaned around him, then he pulled out of me. He put his cock back in his pants and redid his belt buckle. He gave me one last smile and said, "Enjoy Paris," before slipping out of the door.

Once I was alone, I became overcome with shame. The whole ordeal must have lasted a few minutes, but it felt like hours had passed. Not knowing what else to do, I pulled my panties back on and wiped the tears from my face. I had to make myself look normal, like nothing had happened. When I was finished, I stumbled out of the bathroom and went back to my mother.

"Oh honey," she said when she saw me. "I didn't mean to make you cry like that. I should have been gentler with my words earlier. You know I just want you to be safe, right?"

"I know, mom," I mumbled. I could feel the cum dripping out of me, soaking my panties. I couldn't look at her.

"Let's get back to the hotel," she said. "We'll sleep it off and have a good day tomorrow. Does that sound good?"

"Okay," I said.

As we walked towards the door, I saw Mathéo with a drink in his hand, laughing with a couple of other men at a table near the door. He caught my eye and grinned.

When we returned to the hotel and went to our separate rooms, I collapsed on my bed. I peeled the cum soaked panties off of me, and without thinking, I began to touch myself. The orgasm was almost instantaneous--it flooded through me and left me tingling all over my sore body. In the afterglow, I drifted off to sleep.