#301) A Parisian Fantasy

How astute is your eye? Do you know where this photo was taken? Maybe you could not pull your eyes away from the gorgeous lady to notice the Louvre Museum in the background through the window. The iconic Pyramid designed by legendary architect, I. M. Pei, stands before it. The lady is sitting in the Café Marly, a swanky bistro just across the way.
If you could not take your eyes off the pretty lady, you are to be forgiven. But, just like the setting for this shot is worth investigating further, so is she. Her name is Veronique. She elevates being privileged to an artform. The world revolves around Nicky, it always has from her perspective.
Look at her tabletop. I’m not talking about the designer accessories, they’re a given. I’m talking about her food order. She will have a bite of the dessert and a sip of her coffee. Better that they go to waste, rather than her waistline. Nicky leaves a very large carbon footprint in her wake. The term “jetsetter” was coined generations ago, but Veronique gives it new meaning, as she flits to the south of France to Cannes for their festival, then to Dubai for a shopping excursion, to Gstaad for some off-season skiing.
Any chair on which she sits her pampered posterior becomes a throne. Besides that strict diet, she attends regular work-out sessions of Pilates, hot yoga, cycling. She receives regular massages. Her bum cheeks are a perfect pair of bongo drums, tight and alluring. But they’re never been struck, beaten upon, played. Her life has been too entitled for that. Her anus is pristine clean from the bidet, waxed and bleached, so that it’s as flawlessly arresting as her face. What business is it of anyone else what condition her rosebud is maintained, her bottom is you ask? It becomes the business of every one patronizing the Café Marly in mere moments.
Nicky has been dating a wealthy industrialist, a man used to getting his way as soon as he thinks it, buying whatever he wants immediately, only hearing, “yes, sir,” from employees to sycophants to girlfriends (categories that he often confuses). This man, Mr. Z., expects Nicky to be an arm accessory and eye candy at whatever event he attends, otherwise she has free latitude to do as she wishes. Her sexual exclusivity was taken for granted, even though with high blood pressure and the many other pressures of his fast-paced life, old Mr. Z. often cannot get it up, no matter what Veronique tries in the bedroom. This left Nicky sexually frustrated until about a month ago, when she took a female lover, a lesbian graphic artist named Dee. Nicky did not see Dee as breaking her faithfulness to Mr. Z. No cocks were involved. He never ate her pussy or licked her rosebud, things that Dee excelled at doing. For the past month, Nicky has been very happy, traveling where she pleases, doing what she wants, including Dee, keeping up appearances with her main man.
Her man does not see things the same way. He considers Nicky as his. He doesn’t share, never has. He heard a rumor about his girlfriend, paid an investigator to look into the matter. Scandalous gossip was confirmed as true.
Mr. Z. storms into the Café Marly, seething, red-faced, apoplectic.
“Sit down, darling,” Nicky caringly consoles, “remember your blood pressure…”
He ignores her advice.
“I won’t even ask you if it’s true, I’ve seen photographic evidence…”
Nicky knows right away to what he is referring. If she had spent a million dollars at the Saratoga thoroughbred sales, it would hardly elicit a comment from him, spent as much on Cartier’s jewelry, pfft!… There was only one thing that would make Mr. Z’s blood boil as it was. Possession.
“She’s nothing to me, darling… it was just a little dalliance… because it was another woman, I didn’t think you’d mind…”
He interprets this as being talked down to, and he will not be talked out of his righteous indignation.
“It isn’t just your faithlessness! It’s the optics of having a lesbian affair… right under my nose!”
“If you don’t want me to see her, I won’t see her…” Nicky concedes.
“You don’t get it, do you? How you’ve humiliated me…!”
“No. I don’t, Harold.”
She didn’t realize it, but it was a trigger. His last wife had used that same patronizing tone. And Nicky had just said “no” to him!
“Maybe you need a taste of humiliation…” he said under his breath.
What transpired next happened very quickly. Nicky offered no resistance; she knew that she had been bought and could just as easily be sold. Harold Z. took her by the arm and turned her on her heels, then forced her down in the chair where she’d been sitting. Now she was kneeling on its seat, bent over the back, so that, to keep her balance, she leaned her elbows on the table nearby. Harold yanked at the waistband of her designer jeans and they gave way, came down to mid-thigh on the model-like figure of his girlfriend. Her lingerie came down with the same forceful gesture. Her cute, well-manicured and physically fit bottom peeked out at him between the lowered jeans and the coattails of her blazer. Because it was handy and looked lethal, Mr. Z picked up the large serving spoon from off of the napkin on the table. He spanked a bottom that had only been pampered until this moment, he paddled virginal ass cheeks, he taught her a lesson in corporal punishment, a treatise in humiliation, in short, he wailed the tar out of her.
The Café Marly was not busy at that mid-afternoon hour. The few customers stopped to stare, but then looked away; it was none of their business. There were no paparazzi to document this affair. It was over soon enough. Not soon enough to please the well punished and thoroughly humiliated Veronique. The sizzling splats from that spoon were wicked!
But Nicky saw something through her copious tears, after she wrestled her jeans back into place, and sat on her flaming derriere. Mr. Z. was quite noticeably aroused. Spanking her had stretched his trousers’ crotch with an erection. An erection such as Nicky had not seen in months, an erection she had been unable to inspire, no matter how she tried.
Without inhibition, Nicky rubbed her bruised bottom through her jeans, feeling like a confused little girl. Did the spanking mean she was no longer loved? Or was she forgiven her sin now? No longer on a throne, Nicky felt like a six year old as she looked up at the old man who stood over her.
“Come back with me… the limo is right outside,” he said.
“Only if you promise not to beat me again…” she returned.
“Then don’t cross me again.”
Nicky had no answer to that, silently got into the back seat that resembled a long couch. She didn’t know what to say, decided that words were unnecessary. She pulled her pants down as they had been, her satin panties coming down again, as they had before, with the denim. Then she unzipped his fly. He fondled the tender flesh he caused, while she sucked the erection that the paddling had instigated. Their simultaneous touch brought them each to a fever pitch. She mounted him in the cowgirl position, rode him as he continued to grip her tender bottom.
“It excited you to hurt me…?” she said as though it was too much to comprehend.
“It was your cute little ass, focusing on it got me hard…”
“My ass has been yours as long as we’ve been together. It was the punishment, the paddling, maybe because it was so public…!” she rebutted his lie.
They each retreated into their own thoughts. He thought that she was incomparably beautiful, so sexy, so tight, such a good fuck. All the more with a bruised bottom! She needed that, had it coming, hopefully learned from it! But he realized he wanted to do it again, soon…
Nicky thought that it was so good to have a hard dick inside her once again. She cared for him! He was so good to her! Except just now, when he’d been so cruel! Did he really like that sort of thing?
She rode him all the harder, gripped him all the tighter.
“If you do like S & M, we can bring someone else into the relationship, someone for you to spank, to dominate, someone else for both of us to fuck…” For a brief second, Veronique considered suggesting Dee. But he’d never go for that. And Dee wasn’t submissive enough. They’d need someone deep into that scene. Harold really seemed to love to paddle a bottom! She felt him grow even stiffer, larger at the suggestion.
Nicky didn’t know it, but she was about to learn another lesson. They did open their relationship up, admit a very kinky submissive named Ginger into their bed (after she signed the same nondisclosure agreement that Nicky had). For a while, it was sublime! Harold spanked Ginger, Nicky fucked Harold, Ginger and Nicky made-out, Harold fucked Ginger as Nicky fed the redhead her brunette pussy. Everybody got off. The first time the three of them got busy was a real eye-opener, for example. Ginger turned her porcelain white ass over Harold’s knee and he proceeded to spank her crimson. Nicky winced, remembering her public spoon paddling, with every hard wallop. Better her than me, she thought of her new partner. Clearly, they’d discovered the key to Mr. Z’s libido. The more Ginger cried, the redder her backside grew, the harder he became. And he utilized that hard-on so well afterward!
But over time, Veronique started to feel more and more left out. Harold spanked Ginger, then they made passionate love, while Nicky played with herself and looked for an introit, an available mouth to kiss, a sex organ to fondle. But there was less and less of Harold to go around, until Nicky found herself cordially uninvited to the trysts. If she didn’t take a turn over his knee, there wasn’t a turn available in bed. The gravy train for Veronique came to the end of the line.
Look at the photo, that table in front of Nicky in Café Marly once again, please. She should have realized that she can’t always have her souffle dessert cake and eat it, too.

2 responses to “#301) A Parisian Fantasy”

  1. I’ve never been to the Louvre, never seen in-person the Mona Lisa and other works of art housed there. It’s on my bucket list to travel to Paris to see it (among many other places in Europe).

    Liked by 2 people

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