Unspeakable Acts in Paris Hotel

Have you ever done something completely out of character, so completely on the spur of the moment?

All conversation had stopped in our section of the cafe. Some people were listening to the argument, some had just paused their own conversation due to the volume of the shouting. The staff also had paused their work, monitoring the unfolding explosion took precedence over serving coffee and croissants. The couple in the eye of the storm were attractive, and they were both expensively dressed, it was quite the spectacle. He was about 50 and I would guess she was about 35. The woman was furious. She was shouting at him. It was all in French and very fast so I didn't get much of what she was saying. But the words were more or less unnecessary. There is really only one thing that can get a woman so angry with a man. She really was furious. Eventually she stormed off. He sat back down, called the waiter and ordered another bottle of wine. My impression was that this was neither their first nor their last argument.

People around gradually went back to their own conversations. The staff went back to their duties. The situation was going back to normal.

Back to normal in every way except one, something was not normal in me. Something was seriously wrong with me. I watched the waiter bring the wine and pour for the guy. As the waiter left again I heard a voice in my head scream 'NOOOO. don't do it'. It was too late, some other part of me was stronger. I left my table, walked across the cafe and joined the guy at his table. I didn't say anything, I just smiled slightly. He smiled back.

The table was set with glasses, cutlery, plates. After a minute I watched myself brazenly, slowly, slide an empty glass towards him and he graciously poured for me from his newly arrived bottle.

This was totally out of character, as I said something in me was not normal. I guess it was obvious that I was inviting his infidelity. That I wanted him to join in my infidelity. It was also obvious that he was open to it. Neither of us had to say anything.

I think, if I had said nothing then we would happily have smiled at each other for a few more minutes and then made our way to a hotel room. But, as I said, something was wrong with me, I was out of control. I didn't know I was going to switch tables until I did it and I didn't know what I was going to say until I said it.

As our glasses clinked I whispered, «Cinq cents euros pour passer l'après-midi avec moi», in my barely passable French.

He was not as taken aback or surprised as he really should have been. But then again, all he had to go on was my completely out of character behavior in the last 2 minutes.

"All inclusive?" in English he answered me with a question.

"All inclusive costs double," I whispered, giving up on my French. If I'm honest I didn't know for sure what 'all inclusive' meant. But apparently some part of me was totally fine with agreeing to it for the right price. Some part of me was driving this insanity. The saner part of me had given up objecting, it was just observing now.

He said nothing, he relaxed in his chair, his body language indicated that he was happy with the arrangement.

We didn't say anything further. We took our time finishing the wine in our glasses, but he didn't pour any more. He called for the bill and we left. I guess the other diners knew exactly what had been negotiated. Scandalous! I was a long way from home, feeling free, let them be scandalized.

All of this happened about 15 years ago. I had never done anything like that before and never repeated it since. I've given up asking myself why I did it. I didn't need the money, that was for sure. I was 33 at the time, my career was taking off and I was happily married.

I was on vacation in Paris with my husband. He had gone to watch some afternoon soccer game and I had opted out. We agreed to spend most of the day apart, sport for him, shopping for me. I said goodbye to him at 10am and arranged to meet back at out hotel room at 6pm. That morning I enjoyed the shopping. I was feeling stylish, sexy, French fashion, French underwear, French shoes. I was enjoying myself, I was also enjoying the male glances. There had been a few complements, and some attention, so maybe I was a bit worked up. But that should not explain why I proposed selling myself. I could have just satisfied myself with all the admiring looks, I could even have fucked him, or any of ten others for that matter, without actually selling myself. Something else was driving my outrageous behavior.

As we left the cafe he introduced himself, "Philippe."

"Amber," it felt appropriate to give a false name.

He flagged down a taxi. "We can't go to any hotel near here. We need to go outside the center," he explained.

"OK," I said.

He spoke to the driver in French, I only half understood. After about 20 mins we pulled up at a Hotel-F1. Not romantic. Not high class. I couldn't exactly say 'I don't do it in places like this' since up to now I had never done this at all. All inclusive is not high class. It seems like I'm going to sell myself for all inclusive sex in a shitty French motel.

He spoke to the receptionist. She looked me up and down as if I was a hooker. What did she know. Maximum disdain. He paid in cash and was given a keycard and a bottle of bubbly. No paperwork, no credit cards - sleazy!

I felt nervous in the elevator. In the room he opened his wallet and handed me two €500 notes. I saw myself take them and fold them and slip them into my purse all in slow motion. I had a feeling like I was watching someone else not me! Watching a prostitute.

He slipped off his suit jacket. His shirt was quite fitted, he was in good shape for this age. He sat down by the window and poured two glasses of champagne. He smiled at me, "relax!"

Was he on to me? Did he know it was my first time? I was happy that he wasn't rushing me. For a few seconds I was kind of stuck. The part of me that had gotten me into this crazy situation was now, unbelievably, silent! How could you do this to me? How could I do this to me? Don't abandon me now. Say something.

The seconds were ticking by, he was watching me, I felt the need to say something. I took off my coat and, acting calm, methodically hung it in the wardrobe, playing for time. Part of me was surprised I was still here, not making for the exit. Am I going to do it? I've taken the money so I think I have to.

Maybe it is better to say nothing. I moved to the chair opposite him and smiled as I put my hands on his knees. I drank a little champagne. I was nervous.

I leaned forward and touched his knees again. "Show me," I said. I had to force myself to overcome my nerves. I felt like I was going to explode from the pressure I had to apply to get the words out.

He undid his trousers, exposed himself. It looked clean. I know that doesn't mean anything, but it is still better than the opposite. Clean, not too small, not too big, I can deal with this. I have already taken the money so I have to deal with it.

I leaned forward and let my knees slip to the floor, I moved towards him and took him in my mouth. Cocksucking for money. He had paid a lot of money. Previously I would have said that I would never do this for any amount of money, that no amount was enough. But I also knew that others did it for a lot less. What did I have to do to make it worth so much?

I'm not a prude, I've lived the life of a 'hot girl'. I've lived. I know guys joke that hot girls don't have to give good head. I hope that's not me, I hope my husband and former boyfriends were not just saying it was good to placate me.

Sucking cock for money. In a shitty French hotel. I reviewed the situation in my head.

Sucking cock for money. In a shitty French hotel. I repeated silently.

All inclusive. Sleazy escort. In a crappy French hotel.

All inclusive €1000 prostitute.

In a shitty French hotel.

Repeating those words in my head excited me. Sucking his cock excited me. I was enjoying myself.

"Slow down," he said.

I looked up, made eye contact with him.

He was flushed, his breathing was shallow.

"Slow down, make it last longer," he requested.

I knew then a little more about why I was there. Why I had put myself in that situation. I was hot. I was on fire. Thinking those thoughts. Saying those words to myself. Taking a strangers cock in my mouth for money. I hadn't been this turned on in a long time. My sex life had become sedate, the situation with Philippe was dangerous, exciting, wild.

I slowed down, did as he asked. I took him deep and slow in my mouth. I unbuttoned my blouse. Every stitch of clothes I had on me had been bought that day. Everything was new, exciting, confidence boosting. My husband had not seen any of these clothes yet, Philippe or whatever his real name was had seen them first. When I got back to the US I made a point of wearing these clothes any chance I got.

I let my blouse drop to the floor. He touched my arms and my breasts. He was gentle. He unhooked my bra. I stood up and let him kiss my breasts.

All inclusive. In a shitty French motel.

I undid his shirt. Soon we were naked. I led him to the bed by the cock. It hit me afresh, I was about to have sex for money. An actual prostitute. I made sure he put a condom on.

Fucking for money. In a shitty French hotel.

Fucking for money. In a shitty French hotel. I repeated to myself.

I liked the way he fucked me. Mish. He took his time. I pressed my nails into his back as he came in me.

Evidently he liked it too. He took his time catching his breath. He was smiling. Eventually he stood up and topped up our champagne glasses.

We chatted, I enjoyed it. I was feeling completely free. I was enjoying his company. Drinking bubbly. Chatting about nothing.

He asked me to suck him again. I was happy to oblige. I was still turned on. I had thought about masturbating after he had finished. I didn't know if it was done, didn't know if I should go and do it in the bathroom or if I should let him watch. I did neither, yet.

He was soft, it took some effort to make him hard again. Getting him hard made me feel powerful. Even more turned on. I wanted to touch myself as I sucked him.

"All inclusive?" he reminded me. His inflection was as a question, but I didn't take that as a signal to revisit our arrangement. He had already paid. I wanted to finish what I had started.

That said, I didn't know for sure where things would go as regards 'all inclusive'. I decided it was best to simple ask him what he wanted. He replied in French. He 'expected to sodomize' me. The French language is filthy, if you think it is romantic then you know nothing.

On one hand, I was nervous to do anal for the first time. On the other hand, I was relieved that it was not anything more freaky. How many guys do you have to take €1000 from before one of them asks to drop a deuce on you, or you on him. I bet not many. Anyway, I more or less knew anal was on the menu for 'all inclusive', I would have been lying if I said I was surprised when he asked. I was prepared to deal with the anal. I thought I could do it... at least I hoped I could...

I had always refused anal. My husband had given up asking. In the early years he was all about taking my 'anal virginity'. But I told him I didn't view it as such. Its not for sex so its not a valid type of virginity I would tell him. But, in the shitty French hotel room it seemed like I had been misleading my husband all along, my ass was absolutely for sex, I had already sold it for sex. You could say I only had my anal virginity for an hour or so. I denied it existed all those years, then I sold it, then an hour later he took it. Lucky Philippe! Lucky me!

"You have to take it slow," I said.

"I understand," he replied.

What did he understand? I asked myself. Had he guessed at everything. Was my first-time-ish-ness that obvious? Or did he just say that to reassure me?

Ass fucking for money. In a shitty French motel.

Sodomize me for money. In a shitty French motel. I wound myself up...

I lay face down on the bed and he touched my ass with his fingers, started to work some lube in. It did not feel bad, he was gentle, it was sensitive, sensual even, he teased it, opened it up slowly, I was surprised that was how it went.

"You are tight," he commented.

I should hope so, I thought to myself.

I did nothing to rush him, I let him finger me, take his time to get the lube in there, warm me up. After quite a while he progressed to slowly fucking me with two fingers. I was amazed to find myself actually liking it.

I expect to be sodomized, I said to myself.

I found myself looking forward to it! Eventually it occurred to me that I was actually ready.

"I'm ready," I said.

He lay back on the bed and I lowered myself slowly onto him. Cowgirl. It was still scary. There was a stretching sensation. Slightly painful. Most of all it felt unfamiliar. And dirty. Don't forget dirty. And nasty. Amazingly nasty and dirty.

"Don't move," I pleaded, "not yet."

After a bit of effort I was all the way onto him. He was all the way in me.

"Thank you," he said, "You are very tight... we will take it slow." In that moment he was disarmed, he was impressed, grateful, it was sweet.

I started moving, just rocking my hips at first. Then eventually sliding up and down. Wow, I was surprised with myself. It felt more full than normal sex and like I could feel every movement much more so than normal.

€1000 anal!

€1000 sodomy!

€1000 all inclusive anal whore! I repeated in my head as I fucked him with my ass.

It seems crazy to say it considering what I was doing but in the cowgirl position I was too shy to touch myself while he watched.

"Do you want doggy position?" I offered.

He didn't need to be asked twice. He slid out from under me and was behind me a few seconds later. I asked him to add more lube. He pressed into my ass, opened me up again, the unfamiliar, the stretching, the oh my goodness I can't believe I'm this nasty. Accepting a little pain. Enjoying the taboo, nasty, dirty feeling.

Shitty French motel.

Shitty French motel.

Forbidden fruit on forbidden fruit. Delicious. Secret. No one will know.

He was more active in this position. It was more intense. I felt like I had given myself to him completely. Total surrender. He was pumping me. Hurting me a bit. His initial sweetness was long gone, he was getting his €1000 worth. I was earning my €1000 the hard way. I felt it all over my body, waves of heat, I felt like my eyeballs were going to explode. I couldn't decide if I loved it or hated it.

I remember thinking that I was glad I didn't need the money. I pitied those girls that had to do that out of necessity. He was hurting me, but at the same time I wanted it, I was enjoying it. I also wanted to bank the experience. Like a souvenir. A secret sexual souvenir. I pitied those girls that had to do it. I was doing it just once, just for me.

I teased my clit as he fucked my ass. Anal virgin no more I told myself. From virgin to €1000 anal whore. I recalled the brazen manner of my approach only an hour earlier. What had gotten into me then?

Philippe was getting into me now.

He was fucking me hard. I could never have imagined I could take it like this. I was amazed it was even possible. It did hurt, but it was bearable. I just took it, tried not to move, determined to let him finish. Meanwhile I touched my clit. I looked back at him, locked eyes with him as I rubbed and he fucked. Sodomize me, Philippe. I made a mental note to never forget the moment, the sensations, the emotions, the thoughts. I felt him groaning, getting closer. I just waited for Philippe to finish in my ass.

He kissed me and said, «Merci Amber c'était formidable. Je suis honoré d'être le premier à te sodomiser.»

I smiled to myself. So he had figured out it was my first time. I wonder what gave it away.

I took a shower.

When I came out of the bathroom he was gone.

Wow. Is this how it is? He didn't even wash his cock after he finished fucking my ass.

I didn't feel the need to leave immediately. I still had several hours before I had to meet my husband. I put back on my French underwear and my new shoes. Leaning against the window frame in my underwear I finished the champagne and watched the endless stream of cars come and go on the autoroute below. I adapted to the burning that Philippe had left me with. I thought back over the afternoon, I masturbated twice as I replayed it over and over in my head, savoring all the sensations and emotions. Sugar and spice. I processed the events, made them my own.

All inclusive...... Shitty French Hotel.... €1000... expect sodomy....

When I finally left the room I was walking a little gingerly. I steeled myself to the burning sensation, I didn't want the receptionist to see me struggling.

I had to ask her to call me a taxi. I made a point of being present, mentally. I monitored her behavior and my emotions. I was not planning to repeat the performance. After I stepped outside the hotel lobby door I would never be a prostitute again. So I found myself observing how the receptionist treated me, observing how I reacted. I drank in her judgement and prejudice, how she spoke to me, how she looked down at me. I mentally recorded it all.

My husband enjoyed the soccer, he was a bit drunk when he got back. He didn't really ask about my day. His mild neglect made my secret all the more sweet. He was talking about some shit, I was not listening, I was quietly delighted with myself. I had a secret. I privately savored the lingering sensations, the after effects, the stinging. I insisted on paying for our meal, with a crisp €500 note. My husband oblivious that his meal was paid for by my filthy secret. I really liked having a secret.

We had another 4 days in Paris before we flew back to the US. For most of those 4 days every time I walked or sat down or moved I felt the lingering stinging. Gradually fading as time went by. I wore heels every chance to accentuate it. A little reminder of my secret sodomy in the shitty French motel. Every time I felt that stinging I re-affirmed to myself that I would never tell. It was something that I wanted to keep for myself. Forbidden fruit on forbidden fruit.

I have never repeated it, but I often think about it. During sex, with my husband or alone, if I need to up the ante, I think about €1000 secret sodomy in the shitty French motel. I think about how brazen I was as I slid the glass to him in front of all those people in the cafe, how I named my price, how I didn't hesitate when he asked for 'all inclusive'. I repeat to myself his filthy French phraseology 'he expected to sodomize me'. I think about how he fucked me, how he got his moneys worth, how I surrendered, let him use my body, how I had to work for my money. I remember how happy he was to be the first. I remind myself that it has to stay a secret. I think about how easily I accepted it when I realized he was gone. I think about how strongly I climaxed as I reviewed the afternoon while watching the traffic from the hotel room window. I think about how the receptionist could have guessed which of my holes was burning as she looked down her nose at me afterwards.

I'm still happily married. Don't go thinking that just cos I have a secret that I'm not happy and committed in my marriage. If anything it makes my marriage stronger. It definitely makes our sex better that I have this turbo mode that I can tap into whenever I want.