Parisian Exhibition by Marina Michaels © This story is mostly true… It was my lover’s idea to go to Paris. We had been there once before, back in 2000, but at that time we were just getting to know each other. This time would be different… over the years in between, I had become increasingly interested in exploring my sexuality, and, encouraged by my lover, at dressing in daring, even provocative ways… So… springtime in the city of lights, and we decided to play a game. My lover would pick out some clothes for me, and I would go for a stroll, stopping in a café and an art gallery (I’ve always found them to be very sensual places – maybe because everyone is already in observation mode… so they’re excellent places to make a little, er, exhibition of myself…). He might, or might not, follow me, and watch – but would not intervene unless things got out of hand. OK, I thought. A little tame, perhaps, but OK. That was until I saw the ‘outfit’ he’d selected… my lovely leather jacket, which comes down to just above my knees. A red silk scarf. My gorgeous Italian leather black boots, with just a touch of a heel. My lover charmingly refers to them as my ‘follow me, fuck me’ boots, and has dared me to… but that’s another story. And a pair of hold-up tights, which end at the top of my thighs. And that was it. No knickers, no bra, not even the sliver of a thong. I would have to be careful how I sat down… Or not… It was mid afternoon – a lazy Thursday, soft sunshine glancing off the rooftops. We were staying just off the Place des Vosges, if you know Paris… so I strolled out along the streets, aiming for the square… Even though my jacket was done up right to the neck, I still felt scarily – and deliciously – naked underneath. I could feel my nipples gently hardening against the roughness of the leather fabric, and could feel my hips brushing against it as I walked. The jacket was long enough not to reveal anything as I strolled, but I must have been oozing sensuality, as several men half-smiled at me as I passed… Eventually I reached the cool colonnaded square, and strolled slowly across the flagstones, aiming for a café on the corner. Once inside its smoky sunlit bar, I took a table at the corner, ordered a coffee from a brusque, chubby, balding waiter, and amused myself by slowly crossing my legs, just to see how high the jacket would ride up on my thigh… It just brushed the top of my hold-ups, showing a little lacy band where they gave way to my bare skin. I felt scared, excited, trembling slightly with the thrill of it. Then suddenly something in my inside pocket vibrated… the phone! Of course… I thought it was just the bulge of my purse in there, but Lover had slipped the mobile in too. “Hello?” “Hi sweetheart – how do you feel?” “Amazing… and nervous. Where are you?” “Nearby”. I scanned the bar and the street outside, but couldn’t spot him. “You bastard! Are you watching me?” “Only some of the time.” I laughed aloud, and a man a couple of tables away looked up at me. I smiled, half in apology, half in a slightly flirty way… “Anyway”, Lover continued, “will you do something for me?! “Sure. Lover”, I replied, and noticed out of the corner of my eye that the man was glancing at me again… I felt a little mischievous, so added: “You know I love doing what I’m told” – and there was the glance again. “My favourite sex slave!”, he laughed, and added, “OK, now I want you to just subtly catch someone’s eye. Preferably a man.” “I already have darling”, I replied, half looking over at my voyeur… “Great! Now, is he looking at you now?” “Mm-hmmm.” (This is in my best throaty, drawn out, sensual voice.) “Ok, so slowly, slowly, undo your top button.” “O-K….”. This was warming up nicely… I slipped my hand up to my neck, and as he said, slowly slipped the button open, and toyed idly with the scarf. The gesture, I was pleased to see, didn’t go unnoticed… “Now say something provocative to me, and undo a second button.” Warming up? Moistening up, more like… My lover knows me well enough to guess that this was making me distinctly horny – and my nerves were slowly vanishing behind a veil of sexiness creeping up me… “…. Yeah, it’s warm today all right… kind of… sticky… really… no, my leather jacket… yeah, those boots… no, I thought of wearing that dress… no, the really flimsy cotton one. What? Yeah, it is pretty skimpy, isn’t it?! What? Oh there are about three buttons missing – it wouldn’t have been decent. What do you mean, ‘knowing me’?! You bad man…” And as I said that, I glanced briefly over at my neighbour, and half raised my eyebrows at him… then turned away slightly, clicked off the phone, and very slowly and deliberately brought my hand up to my second button, looked into the middle distance with a half smile on my face, and unclasped it…absent-mindedly stroking my hand across my bare skin as I shifted the jacket’s lapels apart a little. Nothing too obvious was on display, but my voyeur could see the very top of the curve of my right breast….. Just to make my point, I asked for the bill, and then leaned down, directly opposite him, pretending to look in my bag for my purse. The angle meant I was pretty sure he’d realise that I wasn’t wearing anything on top under my jacket… if he looked closely enough. And I sure hoped he did… Two buttons open, four done up… Hmmm… I was going to enjoy this afternoon… (To be continued!) Parisian Exhibition Ch. 02 by Marina Michaels © So there I was in the café, dressed in my ‘follow me, fuck me’ boots, my black thigh-highs, my lovely thigh-length leather jacket, and my red silk scarf. And that’s it. Two buttons on the jacket undone, and a slightly salivating voyeur at the table on my left. Time to move on. I summoned the fat greasy waiter, and asked for the bill, noticing as I did so how his eyes drifted down to the bare skin of my neck, the hint of the curve of my breasts… Then I stood slowly, stretching up to run my hands through my hair as though refreshing myself, knowing as I did so that my hapless voyeur was watching as the jacket slowwwwly rose to the top of the thigh-highs… just enough to give him the merest glimpse of bare thigh… and set his pulse (and more) racing, no doubt. Turning to give him my best winning smile, I left the café and headed out into the cool colonnades of the Place des Vosges. Next stop: Beaubourg. The sun was fully out as I strolled along the narrow streets, heading west through the Marais. Walking, my jacket held my modesty, the open neck just a little more revealing than normal, the red scarf, loosely tied and pointing south suggestively towards my still concealed breasts. But the sensation of walking along naked beneath the jacket sent a constant thrill coursing through me… my breasts bare against the leather, the warm air circulating freely down my chest, over my thighs, across my…cunt. (I do love that word, I thought, as I wound my way past a couple of market stalls, brushing past the shoppers… the thought of my cunt, naked beneath the jacket… there on the streets… I even murmured the word under my breath a couple of times, strolling past coffee drinkers at their pavement tables… “cunt…cunt…”. One man looked up sharply – had he heard? Surely not. Maybe he just picked up the scent of my arousal. I looked back over my shoulder and he was still looking at me, so I winked, and walked on.) Eventually I came to the foot of the massive multicoloured cliff face of the Pompidou Centre, and was wondering whether to go in, when my phone rang again… The screen showed a picture of a smiling, strong featured, bald headed, 55 year-old man… my lover, my sexual inspiration… “Hello darling!” “Hi ‘Rina… I see you’ve reached Beaubourg…” “You have been watching me, you bastard!” Laughing, despite the words… “Of course…” “So how am I doing?” “Ohh, very well, very well… now – are you ready for the next step?” “Definitely!” “Even if it involves another button coming undone, outside, in public…?” God, he knew how to tease and turn me on with anticipation… “Mmmm, absolutely…!” “Good! Now… walk over to the cafes near the Tinguey sculptures… and sit down at a table that’s covered with a cloth, and order a beer and call me again… But you must promise to do anything I say…” “Of course I will! So what are you going to make me do?” “Wait and see!” he said, and rang off. My nipples hardened sharply against the smooth leather of the jacket, and my cunt started to tingle and seep moisture, in a thrill of anticipation… The café terrace was warm, kissed by sunshine. I sat in the middle of a little cluster of white-clothed tables, some with sunshades spread. I chose one of those, half in, half out of the shade. The sun was warming the surface of the jacket nicely, and warming my bare skin beneath. The waiter this time was a younger man, in his 30s, elegant, perhaps gay. “Un demi, s’il vous plait” “Oui madame.” I pulled the phone out of my pocket, noticing as I did so a couple of guys a few tables away; some sort of business meeting it looked like, each trying to impress the other, tense, slightly awkward. And actually both rather good looking… The phone rang. “Hi babe” “Hiya. So… I’m at the café, and the table’s got a cloth. What now?” “Is the cloth concealing your thighs?” “Kind of.. depends how I sit…” “Well you might want to make sure it does…” “What do you have in mind, darling?” At that moment, the waiter brought the beer, and I had to fumble in my pocket for a couple of euros. Needless to say the action slid the jacket above the tops of my thigh-highs. The waiter saw, and gave a half smile. Indulgent, almost complicit. Definitely gay, I thought, but playful with it. “I want you to undo the bottom button on the jacket”, my lover continued. “And then, slide your hand between your thighs, stroke your skin, rub the folds of your cunt lips…” God, it was hard not to give a little squeal of excitement as he breathed these sensual orders into my ear… “…let your fingers stroke your clitoris, dip them into your cunt…. You’ll do that?” “Mmmm, yess… definitely!” “And all the while, sip your beer, and look around you…and if anyone catches your eye, smile at them, and carry on stroking…” This was going to be fun… I clicked off the phone, slid it back into my pocket, and slid my hand down to my lap, sliding my thighs apart as I did so. Then undid the bottom button, and, by shifting my bum a little, let the jacket slide apart across my thighs. I glanced down. There was a sliver of a gap between the edge of the cloth and the jacket…enough to see the creamy flesh of my upper thighs, just where it met the crease of my groin. I tentatively moved my chair in a little, so I was more concealed. Then my fingers got to work… stroking at first gently, then more insistently, dipping into my already moist pussy, and rubbing up over my lips to tease my clit… Little frissons of pleasure jolted through me. I was amazed how freely I was doing this… I had to resist the temptation to lean back, spread my legs, throw my head back and moan… Instead, I sat at a slight angle to the table, stroking away, sipping my beer, my face occasionally twitching, eyes half-closing, lips opening, as the tiny waves of excitement flowed through me. Idly glancing over at the businessmen, and noticing one or the other of them looking back at me… once, then twice.. then a longer, slightly quizzical gaze… And all the while, I kept touching myself, gently, teasingly, making little circle motions with my fingertips… At a café table, in broad daylight, under a warm sun in the heart of Paris. Fingerfucking my cunt while looking at men. Mmmmmmmm……! To be continued! Parisian Exhibition Ch. 03 by Marina Michaels © After the fun in the cafés (see Parisian Exhibitions Parts 1 and 2), it was time to play a different game – a wilder, more wicked one… It was a warm, almost hot afternoon, and lover and I had had our lunch in a little place off the rue St Antoine. Now he had a particularly juicy little game in mind… and I had a couple of glasses of full red wine in my blood, and a rather sexy little sundress on my body. I still have this dress. It’s black, with little white flowers on, and – of course – little buttons, all the way down the front, from the low-ish scoop of its neck, to the hem half way down my thighs. Around the middle, I had a red cotton scarf, rolled up and tied at the side, making a nice sexy little belt – something to clip my mobile to, which was essential given my lack of pockets. On my feet, little canvas pumps; beneath the sole of my right foot, a couple of 100 franc notes (this was a couple of years back, just before the entry of the blessed euro…). Oh and boys, boys… for those of you obsessed by four inch heels, trust me: it’s no fun strolling sexily through the summertime streets if your feet are killing you. Anyway, the whole shebang was all perfectly decent… if you want to be decent. So… while my lover walked discreetly behind me, I headed north through the sexy city streets, till I came to rue St Denis. Those of you who know Paris will know that this street has a certain… reputation. One that is best represented today by the lines of sex shops, selling everything from DVDs and videos to those tacky little scraps of lingerie and dildos that are supposed to pass for sex aids. Today, I was my own sex toy; my mobile the only prop I needed. I slowed as I reached the stretch with all the video stores, strolling as though in thought. I sat at a café table and ordered an espresso, sipping it slowly, and, almost absentmindedly, slipping open the top two and bottom buttons of my dress. I hadn’t really meant to do that, but the wine and the atmosphere of this horny little street was having its effect. As were the frequent looks of the two young Arab guys at the next table. I looked down. The curve of my breasts was nicely on show… nothing indecent, mind, but already I must have had the air of a woman who enjoyed revealing a little of her… charms. Naturally, I was naked beneath the flimsy material of the dress. After a while, with many a sideways glance, the two young Algerians left, and their place was quickly taken by a couple, about my age, the man rather boyish looking and quite cute in a 40-something way, the woman very pretty, dark hair, and lovely grey eyes. She also seemed to have dressed to please, in a mini-sarong skirt and an elegant lacy crop top. They smiled at me, I smiled back, ordered another espresso, glanced through a copy of Liberation that someone had left on the next table... The woman had crossed her legs, and her skirt slid up her lovely slim thigh (envious? Moi?!). I found myself doing the same, then, realising that the hem of my dress hadn’t risen as high as hers, reaching down and slipping open a second button. I realised just after I’d done so that this would free the dress rather more than I’d intended, but since I was feeling distinctly frisky by this stage, I decided to let it ride… literally. So after sitting with my legs more or less together for a while, I slowly crossed one over the other, facing away from the couple, so presenting them – and anyone else watching - with a thigh bared indecently, deliciously high… All while I pretended to be reading the paper… I could feel them glancing at me, could imagine the waiter glancing down, his eyes widening as he caught sight of my skin… I wished I’d worn my dark glasses, so that I could spy on them, spying on me. As it was, I carried on reading, or rather running my gaze over the words without remotely taking them in, and once or twice allowing one hand to brush down across my thigh. I was almost shivering with excitement, and actually rather relieved when they left, and I smiled at the waiter and asked for the bill, knowing that he was also enjoying the view down the front of my slightly gaping dress as I slipped him one of the notes from my shoe… Then the phone rang… my lover, as expected. His ‘instructions’ caused little tremors of pleasure to course through me. I knew what to expect… I was to go into one of the nearby sex shops, and browse thru the videos and DVDs, focusing on those with an exhibitionist theme… He’d checked a couple of shops out already, and knew two which were particularly well stocked in that area. He would be close in case of trouble, but not obviously with me… And I was clearly dressed for the occasion. The first shop was larger than I expected – bigger on the inside than the outside, with three or four lines of shelves running down and across a big L-shaped room. There were perhaps seven or eight browsers there, all male, and one couple. I walked in slowly, trying to control my breathing, moving slowly along the shelves, getting a feel of the place, and of the way the titles were organised… Those men who saw me glanced at me with slight double-takes, and one turned to watch me as I walked along the shelves… I was keenly aware of my nakedness under my dress, and of the open buttons. As yet they didn’t reveal much, but anyone looking closely might have thought I was dressed a little racily for a woman alone in such a place. I saw the exhibitionist section – titled ‘exhibitionisme et voyeurisme’ – at the far end, so wandered up there. No one else was in that section, so I had a moment’s pause to catch my breath, facing away from most of the shop, but still visible. I started to examine some of the titles…aware as I did so how when I leaned forward, the dress would fall away from my breasts a little… The covers alone were a feast of erotic imagery… a woman in a restaurant, her open jacket revealing her naked breasts (that one was wittily entitled ‘Brasserie sans brassiere’!)… a girl who could be no more than 18, beautiful, with short dark hair, strolling through a park in a dress not unlike mine – but with tiny thin shoulder straps, and far more exposed - on the back cover she was sitting on a bench licking an ice cream, with a man old enough to be her father sat next to her, his arm draped round her bare shoulder, her dress unbuttoned far enough to see the curve of her breasts quite clearly… That was called Nicole s’amuse… I looked down at my own dress, now seeming inappropriately modest compared to hers, looked across at the shop, and seeing no-one looking, undid a third button. That was better… My breasts were now clearly visible, albeit the nipples were still just covered… I looked up. A man was walking slowly towards the shelves I was looking at. About 50, greying hair, not bad looking. And looking at me… I gave him a half smile, then turned back to the shelves. I picked out another video, and pretended to study it, having half turned to face him, leaning on the shelving. The video was called Marie s’expose…with the ‘s’ex’ picked out in big red letters. The cover showed a woman in just a coat and boots… the coat wide open, her full oval breasts and shaven cunt bared to the world, standing facing two men by some shelves in a corner of a shop… a sex shop. I licked my dry lips, staring at the picture, turning the video over slowly to study the back cover, while all the while aware of the stranger gazing down at me. This could be very interesting… TO BE CONTINUED! Parisian Exhibition Ch. 04 by Marina Michaels © * So, there I was in the video store, three buttons on my sundress undone, looking at the video, and aware of the man beside me... I looked back at the video – Marie S'Expose... the image of the woman, naked apart from her coat, there in the sex shop... Art imitating my life... The man picked out a video himself... it was Nicole s'amuse – the one with the young 18 year old girl, half naked in the park with the old man... He looked at it, studied the picture on the cover, while I tried to control my breathing... I could feel a moisture start to seep around the lips of my cunt... I was very turned on, scared, excited, reckless, nervous, all at once... He looked up, smiled: "Elle et tres jolie, hein?" "Oui, vraiment." (Now I know what you think: I'm showing off. Well, I'm sorry but I do speak French – up to a point – and this conversation really happened in French... But I appreciate that many of my readers might not, so for your benefit, I'll write it up in english... a gesture to mes amis americains qui croient, malheureursement, que les francais sont les singes qui se rendent et qui mangent du fromage.) "She's very pretty, eh?" "Yes, certainly is." "Like you." "Oh well.... She's much younger than me." "Yes. Very young..." "I know! I have a daughter her age..." (I don't why I said that, but it was worth it for the look on his face...) "Oh really... does she take after her mother?" "Oh no", I replied, "she's far more reckless..." God, what was I saying? I decided I needed to break the contact just for a second, but I also knew I wanted to go further with this man... with his curious smile and slightly laughing eyes... I replaced the video slowly, letting my finger carress its spine as I slid it back into place, and strolled around the corner of the shelves... this led into a sort of short L-shaped section, hidden from the rest of the shop. No-one could see me here... My heart started beating ridiculously fast. I looked around; the man hadn't followed... I took a breath, and undid the fourth button on my dress. That left just two done up. Now I had crossed the rubicon; the dress fell clear of my breasts; they were bared to anyone who looked; nipples, shamelessly hard, included. Of course, I could still pull it closed – if I wanted to... I picked out another video: it was Nicole again! This time sitting on a park bench in some secluded garden; several photos showed her naked apart from a short white pvc raincoat, open wide, and a pair of suede boots... in one she was sat between two men who looked like old tramps, one of them drinking from some grubby bottle, the other leering at her... in another photo, she'd thrown a leg across one of the tramp's thighs, and was leaning across to let the other man put the bottle to her lips... my god, she looked so wild, totally at ease with her near-nakedness. There was something deliciously perverse about the contrast between her teenager's fresh sensuality and the slightly grubby, scruffy strangers (?) on either side of her... In the final photo on the video, she was leaning back against the man with the bottle, who was pouring some of its contents (cider? Thunderbird wine?) into her open mouth; it was splashing down her chin and onto her small, perky little breasts... the other tramp was pressing his palm against her crotch. My god! I really wanted to watch this...! A shadow crossed the corner of my eye: I looked up; there was the man again. "Ah, there you are." "Yes, here I am..." Smiling now. He stood close to me, not touching, looking at me. I felt I could trust him. "You look beautiful." "Thankyou." "Your breasts are bare." "Yes, I know." I smiled again, and then turned around, facing away from him. No one else was in sight.... It was now or never. I reached round and swiftly undid the two remaining buttons on my dress. I could feel him close behind me, but still not touching... "I want to see you", he said. "I want you to see me", I replied, then, very slowly I walked away from him, around the corner... it was a dead end – just an emergency exit. I could feel him follow.... Could feel his breath.... I lifted my shoulders so that the dress, very slowly.... slid off them... And then, like a soft snowfall, fell away to the floor. I was stark naked, apart from my pumps, in a secluded corner of a sex shop. I turned round, pressed myself into his body, and we kissed, briefly, urgently, quietly, passionately... He pulled away, looked at me in awe and admiration – god I could just drink in that lustful gaze for ever! Then the mood broke, I realised just how insanely vulnerable I was, grabbed my dress and hurriedly put it back on, buttoning it up to the point of decency. He smiled; I smiled back.... We kissed again, more sedately.... "I'm Jean-Luc." "Marina." "Very pleased to meet you, Marina." "You also..." Shaking our heads at the madness of it all.... Then... "You know that video you were looking at?" "Yes." "Would you like to watch it with me, here, in one of the booths?" "Mmm..... maybe....!" To be continued!