The Roman Gambit Pt. 02

Hilley was not looking for haute-couture but the pret-a-portiere was as close as you could get to custom dresses without buying actual high fashion. They secured a personal sales assistant and the two women spent a couple of hours sipping champagne and picking out what they thought would give them an unfair advantage over the males of the City.

Hilley's figure was as close to the perfect female form as you could get. So, it was not hard for her to find three gorgeous outfits that made her look even more remarkable. Poor Mel, with her extraordinarily big tits had to try on dress after dress in order to find some that would make her look sexy, but not slutty.

They topped off the visit with the obligatory trip to the shoe section; no young woman would pass up the shoe section at Chanel. Because of her height, Hilley settled on a couple of open toed four-inch heels. Mel went the full five inches of strappy fuck-me pumps.

They went back to the hotel to change. Hilley, who rarely used much makeup, did her eyes for the occasion. Her eyes were uncanny in her beautiful dusky face. And when they were made up to emphasize their azure blue depth, they could freeze men in their tracks.

She added a deep blue silk low scooped dress that clung to her shapely body in interesting ways and particularly showed off her large firm breasts and the engrossing cleft between her buns. The dress ended three inches above her knees. Hilley knew that she might have the hips and bust to attract men. But her real glory were the longest, fullest and most beautifully shaped legs any woman had ever been gifted with. She added some of her special perfume and looked at herself in the mirror. She was impressed.

Mel's approach was different. For one thing, she knew that she could not compete with her friend when it came to sheer shapeliness. But her extreme curves and beautiful dark features also had their selling points. So, she had chosen an outfit that had a jungle print motif.

There must have been eight inches of delectable cleavage with a huge overspill at the top. The tailoring nipped-in to her tiny waist, and then wrapped tightly around her taut hips. With her huge dark eyes made up Indian style and her wide sensual mouth outlined in red Mel radiated pure jungle sexuality.

*****

It was clear that Mel was firing for effect tonight and I didn't blame her. She hadn't had sex in at least two weeks which for Mel is almost a vow of abstinence. I was feeling the need too. The last time I had had a man between my legs was over three months ago. That was Mr Jim Kelly

Kelly HAD given me the kind of ride that I had not experienced before, and that bout had been satisfying enough to tide me over until now. But the hunger was back, and I was very interested in feeding it.

I had done some thinking about Kelly since that night in Singapore and I had concluded that I would put him on my permanent friend list. He had a lot of things that I was looking for in a man. He was competent, dangerous, self-possessed and he had the kind of devilishly handsome looks I like. Plus, he could fuck me like no other man I had ever met.

But the spook part was not attractive to me. Normally the opportunity to get fucked by a real spy would turn a girl on. But I wasn't interested in a fellow whose idea of a long-term relationship was three weeks and who was a professional liar on top of that. So, I put Kelly on the list of potential fuck buddies right next to William Southfield, who was my physical and intellectual equal if not exactly worldly.

My main problem is that the male ego finds it hard to establish soul mate status with a woman who is as inherently powerful as I am. So, no matter how many things we have in common, my attitude prevents me from forming the kind of bond my mother has with my father. And frankly I would rather spend my whole life as I am now, single, than pair up with a person who doesn't want me as myself.

We walked down to the Lutetia bar. I ordered a JW Blue and Mel ordered a margarita. I can never tell whether she does that because she is making some kind of comic gesture, or whether she seriously just feels like ordering whatever she wants without any consideration of the impression she is leaving. At any rate it is one of her most endearing qualities and a sign of her total free spirit.

We drank and I briefed her on the Paris club scene. The main difference would be that the people dancing there would be older and much wealthier than the club scenes that we were used to in London. She seemed intrigued. Mel is very intelligent and tough minded inside that happy persona. And she is clearly much better suited to being with richer and more mature men than the twenty-somethings she had previously hung around with.

We finished our drink and hailed a cab. Unlike New York, Berlin, or Tokyo, Paris is not a great clubbing city. It is probably because Paris has so many other things to offer. But there are a limited number of good clubs compared to the other big cities of the world. I was going to take us over to La Batofar. It is by far the oldest and best of the Paris dance clubs.

La Batofar is located on a sturdy old barge that is anchored in the Seine off the Quai Francois Mauriac, next to the Pont de Tolbiac over in the 5th. You could hear the techno beat as soon as you got out of the taxi. There was a long line and a gorilla at the door holding the rope. But I have been in those situations far too many times to NOT know what 500 Euros will do for jumping the line.

Once I had tucked THAT gift into his pocket and he had ogled me we found ourselves entering an absolute maelstrom of heat, light and sound. It was mind-altering. My mother taught me a trick for those situations. I just headed for the middle of the floor with my beautiful little friend in tow and we started dancing, arms over our head and hips gyrating. It didn't take long to attract a crowd.

*****

He was sitting at the bar looking for something worth his while. Pierre liked La Batofar because it always attracted the best women. He particularly favored the married kind because they were so appreciative afterward.

Pierre was a very high-level predator. He knew how to make any woman, do whatever he wanted once he got them in bed. And he liked to exercise those skills as frequently as possible. It was not so much the sex. It was the process of subjugating each new woman to his will.

At heart, Pierre did not like women. He considered the entire sex weak and pliable. He would use them in the most heartless way, and they would come back for more because they were drawn to his good looks, his money and his domineering personality. And he particularly liked breaking the more spirited ones. The challenge of turning a beautiful, self-assured woman into a submissive sex toy gave his ego a boost.

In this case there was a woman so special that all of his predator's instincts were on high alert. He had never seen such perfection. She was taller than average with a body that was both voluptuously full and yet supple and athletic.

However, it was her legs that drew his direct attention. Proportionately, they were longer than normal, and absolutely as full as they could be without looking bulky. She resembled a cheetah or some other sleek muscular creature and the heat she projected while dancing was giving him a hard-on just watching her. This woman would be a superb conquest.

She was dancing with a friend who was nearly as amazing as she was. Except the friend was almost a photographic negative. Where his target was tall and lithe, the friend was small, incredibly stacked, with an extreme hourglass figure. Unlike the stunning one, this one had a look about her that projected intense sexuality. Pierre was an expert in sexual cues.

He turned to his wingman Marcel and said, "I get the tall one and you get the short one." Marcel nodded his agreement and they both pushed off the bar and headed for the dance floor. Pierre positioned himself in front of the woman and for the first time realized that, although she had an incredible body, her most exceptional feature was an angelic face.

She had her eyes closed dancing with her hands over her head, which only served to emphasize her huge, firm boobs. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him. Something occurred that had never happened in all of his days of seducing women. It was like parting tall jungle grass and finding a Bengal Tiger gazing calmly back at him.

*****

Mel and I were dancing in a heady mixture of rhythm and flashing light when a man appeared in front of me. There were several men dancing with me. But I only had eyes for this one. He was strikingly handsome in the classic French, sad eyed, expressive lips way but there was something about him that projected total self-assurance in the art of seducing women.

I was intrigued. I lowered my arms, stopped dancing and motioned toward the bar. He looked astonished and then followed. He was with another almost equally attractive fellow who was obviously a wingman. That one immediately began to monopolize Mel's attention.

Mel was looking at him like he was a prime cut of Chateaubriand and she hadn't eaten in a week. I didn't think his wingman had any idea of the physical jeopardy that he had just put himself into. I left him to Mel's mercy. My guess was that once Mel had finished with him there would be very little left.

As soon as I got to the bar, I turned to confront my new friend. It was obvious that he was looking for a score and I was in the mood to give him a memorable one, as long as I approved of him. So, I wanted to get a sense of who he was. He was a little wary as he approached. I understood. He was not used to the woman controlling the situation.

All I was hoping for tonight was a quick satisfying fuck to take the edge off. I have been told by several men that my attitude about sex is a lot more like theirs. I see sex as a physical need, without any of the emotional trappings. That's a guy attitude. Men separate sex from love. Most women don't.

I think that women need the emotional tie-in because they see sex through a reproductive lens. That is perfectly understandable given our traditional role in childbearing. But, in an era where women have absolute reproductive rights, the only valid consideration ought to be whether the act itself is physically and psychologically healthy for both parties.

Obviously, the rules will change the minute that I make a personal commitment. Then the issue with sex will not be enjoyment. It will be whether I was living up to my vow to be faithful. And under the unbreakable rules of my own moral code I could not violate anything that I had pledged to do, no matter the situation. Still, the motivation to do that was somewhere in the indefinite future.

You lose your honor if you are unfaithful, and honor is very important to me. My Mom taught me that. More importantly, my Daddy spent twelve years as a prisoner-of-war because he chose honor over the easy way out. I would NEVER disgrace his sacrifice.

My absolute need to remain faithful is the reason why I will not make a commitment to a man until I am utterly certain that the person who I am pledging myself to is worthy of my vow . That requirement is something that my mother constantly reinforced. And she lived it. Even though she thought my Daddy was dead; she always steadfastly loved him.

However, I just wanted to have sex tonight. It had been an exceptionally long layoff. But I wasn't going to give it up to any man unless I was sure he could satisfy me. This new guy looked like he was right for the job. He was a gorgeous specimen and he clearly had the savoir-faire of a first-class lover.

Even So, before I gave him the fucking of his life, I wanted to make sure he wasn't a jerk. So, I said in French, "Are you a gentleman?" He looked astonished and said, "I believe so Mademoiselle. Why do you ask?"

I continued in French, "Let's cut out the small talk and get right down to why we are both here." He looked even more wary. I said, "I know what you want, and YOU have what I want, but this is a one-night-stand for both of us." He looked absolutely flabbergasted.

I said, "Are you interested?" He looked as eager as a Labrador retriever after you've taken down the leash and said, "I am certainly interested Mademoiselle, but this is so direct. What do you expect from this night?"

I said, "You're attractive. If you have a nice place nearby, I will come with you. But I do not want any names and I do not want any romance, just sex. When we are finished, I will leave you and you will never see me again. Is that acceptable?"

He said, "Certainement but what about your friend?" I said, "My friend can take care of herself. But since she is with the person who is obviously your wingman, I assume you both share quarters." He said, "Oui."

I said, "Then give me your address and we will meet you there in one hour. He gave me an address on St. Germaine in the Latin Quarter. I said, "One hour and walked away to get Mel."

Mel is a lot more used to one-night-stands than I am, and she really liked the looks of our two friends. I do not often indulge in casual sex. But this new guy was attractive in a way that I couldn't express. He gave off a subliminal vibe that made me want him more than I've wanted somebody in a long time.

It might have been the total self-assurance. It also clearly had something to do with the fact that he was gorgeous from the top of his perfect hair, through his huge worldly eyes to his tall slim graceful frame. But there was something more than that. It was like he was radiating pheromones that screamed "fuck me." At any rate that was exactly what I planned to do.

We left the club and found a taxi. Taxis cruise that area looking for people from that club. Since we were already in the 5th it was a short ride over to the Rue St. Germaine and their place. We found ourselves in front of one of those Belle Époque buildings that radiated money. I thought to myself, "So this dude is rich?"

I went to the address and rang the buzzer. The door opened immediately, as if they had been waiting for us, and my friend and his buddy were standing together in the parquetted entrance hall. I adjusted my estimate to BIG money.

*****

Pierre had never known a woman like her. Her beauty was like nothing he had encountered in his extensive club life. But he had never met a woman who could take over and command the initial seduction like this one had.

It was almost like she was seducing him. Except seduction requires a subtle game of inference and this one outright told him that she wanted him to fuck her. It was both disturbing and totally exhilarating to be treated like that.

The only problem was that she wanted to be completely anonymous and he was already certain that he wanted to see her again. However, if anonymity was what it took to possess all of that exquisiteness, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

She asked for his address. He knew that her coming to his place was a ploy to ensure that she remained nameless. He tried the gambit about her friend, mainly to see what the situation was between the two women. She said that her friend was perfectly willing to join him and Marcel.

They appeared exactly on time. The two men led their respective women into the main lounge, which was a classic Fin de Siècle room with the 20-foot-high ceilings and the baroque trim. The floor-to-ceiling windows were open to the Paris night, It was a setting that had overcome the hesitations of scores of women. Except these two didn't seem to have any reluctance.

The little one was wandering around the room making small observations about various items of décor. She seemed energetic, open and happy, like a small friendly dog. While his woman sat on one of his Louis Quinze chairs looking cool, totally self-possessed and in control. The cat analogy was too obvious to even think about.

Pierre had never seen a woman with so many exceptional features. Her face was stunning. The features were perfect, like they had been drawn by a heavenly artist to illustrate ideal female eyes, nose, lips and chin. But it was their arrangement in perfect proportions on that face that made her so uncanny.

Her body was full and rich with amazingly large breasts for such a basically lithe woman. But her legs were the item he couldn't tear his eyes away from. They were smooth, supple and hinted at the sort of passionate power that could be translated into a rapturous experience if they were wrapped around his waist. He was getting lost in her.

He had a lot of money, which he had inherited from his family. They had made it in the automobile business. And so, he disdained work. His playmate Marcel made the same way, through inheritance. Except in this case it was older and more traditional wealth.

The two of them lived in a place that set them back five figures a month and the ostentation usually overawed the women they brought there. This one didn't look even mildly interested. It was like she had been in better places. Pierre began to wonder exactly who this woman was.

He said, "Would you like something to drink?" The first round was going to be Ecstasy free. Then they would see. The beautiful one asked for Johnny Walker Blue. Pierre knew that was a test. But since $300 Euros a bottle was more than he wanted to spend he had to tell her that they didn't have anything like that.

She said, "I'll settle for what you have." Her tone of voice indicated that he had failed the test. Inexplicably that failure made Pierre feel inadequate. The gorgeous little one asked for a Mai Tai. Pierre had no idea what that drink was and so he asked her if Pernod would be okay. She dimpled nicely and said in a light tone, "Yes, I like that too."

They sat and talked for a while. A question about where they were staying was met with irritation from the beautiful one. She said, "I thought we agreed that this would be anonymous?"

The little one was working some sort of spell on Marcel. She was sitting next to him and in-effect melting into him in a way that put the weight of those magnificent tits against his side and Marcel was getting less and less talkative. Then Marcel looked down and fell into the little one's huge hypnotic eyes. She was radiating lust.

He obediently lowered his face to her eager lips, and she gave a sexual moan threw her arms around his neck and her mouth opened wide. Then as if she were the male partner in the embrace, she eased Marcel down so that he was lying flat on the couch. It was a move that a man would put on a woman. Pierre had never seen a woman do that kind of thing to a man.

The little one threw her legs completely over Marcel so that she was on top of him and proceeded to hump him fully clothed making small moans as she did it. This was going to quickly lead to other things. In the meantime, Pierre was sitting in a erotic cloud of perfume, as the beautiful one's temperature rose. It was a scent that was so sexually stimulating it made Pierre's heart hurt.

The beautiful one was leaning into him in the same intimate way as her friend had done with Marcel. And she was idly playing with his leg. She was breathing heavier, as if she was growing aroused. He looked into those incredibly deep azure blue eyes. All he could see was extreme hunger. They were the unblinking eyes of an apex predator.

She said, "I assume you have a bed." He nodded. She said, "Perhaps we should adjourn there since things are going to get very hot on that couch if my friend has anything to say about it."

*****

Their place was nice. It had the look and feel of a rental furnished by somebody much older. There was a tasteful mixture of couches for comfort and Louis Quatorze antiques for show. I chose one of the Sun King's chairs as a temporary refuge to scope out the place and the people in it. Mel was moving around the room commenting like she was at her first rodeo.