The early June weather in New York City was a perfect send off to my much-anticipated rendezvous with my husband, Jacque, who was on an extended business trip in Paris. We had spent many days apart over the last few months while he traveled to both London and Paris, and I had to stay home for work and family obligations. But the longing to be in Paris and to rejoin him was finally over and my flight from La Guardia to Charles de Gaulle was tonight.
I spent the previous day in Manhattan shopping for outfits for the trip and then had a wonderful dinner at 11 Madison Park. Jacque had made all of the plans for our time together in Paris and had already procured the more formal dresses I would need, and they would be waiting for me when I arrived. So, all I needed to pack was a small carry-on bag and a few casual outfits suitable for fashionable Paris in June, which meant it was finally warm enough to not have to worry about heavy clothes and jackets. June in Paris is my favorite time of the year.
I was eager to see what he had purchased and could guess at what they would be given his love of seeing me and my well-known penchant for exhibitionism. The 7 pm flight to Paris allows you to get some sleep and arrives at 8:30 am Paris time, giving you a full day upon arrival. Although it is always best to be wearing clothes on the plane that you plan to wear most of the morning the next day.
For this leg of the trip I found a nice pair of walking sandals and stretchy Capri pants for comfort during the flight and a high quality, crisp and very tight plain white short-sleeve top. More or less, a high end and fashionable T-shirt. At the age of fifty-three, I have to keep a very regular schedule of running and exercise to stay fit. And because we scheduled this trip well in advance, it allowed me to up my workouts over the previous month, so I looked even more fit than my usual.
At five-feet-four-inches and now weighing in at a fit one-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds I was proud of how I looked. My 32C breasts, albeit not what they once were, were buoyed by some nice pectoral muscle improvements and the warmer than expected spring weather had allowed me to get a head start on my summer all over tan.
When I am in Paris, I always pretend that I am retired fashion model and usually dress the part with chic outfits, usually braless, which was definitely going to be the case for this trip. The shirt had to be very tight to keep my fifty-three-year-old breasts in their place and, as a result, the natural curve of my breasts advertised my braless state. While the top was not transparent, it was thin enough so that my nipples, which are usually noticeable through a bra, were now on full public display. I liked my Paris look and was ready to get on with the trip and with my flowing red hair, I looked the part.
I went for a long walk through Central Park after lunch before calling an Uber for the ride to the airport and retrieving my bag from the Soffitel Hotel doorman. I purposely stayed at the Soffitel this time because the staff always greet you in French, so it was a perfect segue to Paris. I reveled in walking through the busy park in my revealing Paris outfit and loved the looks from the guys as well as the not so approving looks from some of the more prudish American wives and girlfriends. It made me happy and somewhat aroused which did even more to accentuate my show. I walked proudly by myself, thinking of how Jacque would love it.
The Uber driver’s name was Paul. He was in his mid-thirties or so. While my bag was not heavy and I could have easily managed on my own, he got out and helped me load it into the back of his Toyota Prius. I suspect he was more interested in getting a better view of his fare than in being helpful.
The inevitable small talk ensued as we started the drive to the airport but once the usual formalities were out of the way he said, “Ma’am, I am not usually this forward; but I just have to tell you how incredibly beautiful and sexy you are. I have a lot of fares every day driving throughout the city and I rarely see anyone as beautiful and outwardly sexy, particularly a woman travelling alone. I just want to thank you for dressing the way you are. This is not a sexual come-on. I just felt the need to tell you how great it is to see a woman’s real figure!”
I smiled at him (the inner me was smiling even more) and said, “Thank you Paul. I very much love hearing that, and I am sure you would not have said anything if my husband was in the car, so I am glad I am alone.”
“You are absolutely right. I would never have been so open if he were with you. Would he have wanted to punch me if I did?”
“Oh, no! He would have loved it and I want to tell him what you said when I see him in Paris. In fact, can we get a picture of the two of us when you drop me off so I can send it to him? It will be a big tease for him.”
“Only if I can take a picture of you with my phone to remember you by.”
“Deal,” I said.
Knowing Paul loved to see me was arousing and was a great send-off from NYC. I posed with him while getting a fellow passenger at the drop-off zone to take a picture with my phone then allowed him to get a few shots of me with his. I am sure he was happy to see the results as in my aroused state my nipples were quite obvious through my tight top. We said our goodbyes and he thanked me again as we parted ways and I made sure to give him a generous tip and rating in the Uber app as I walked away towards the security gate.
Once on the plane and ensconced in my business class seat with the first of several glasses of Champagne, I texted Jacque to let him know that I was safely on my flight. Since it was about 11 pm Paris time, I was worried that he would be asleep after working all day. But he immediately texted back and wished me a safe flight and that he would see me at the hotel around 6 pm after he was through with the Friday workday. I couldn’t wait to see him again and knowing that it would cause him to fantasize about me through the night, I sent him the pic of Paul and me. “Here is a pic of my Uber driver and me at La Guardia for you.”
The almost immediate return text read, “God, I love your new Paris outfit!!!! You are incredible and I love that you are already in the exhibitionist spirit for our Paris rendezvous and I am now even more sure you are going to like the new dresses I bought for you here!”
“Sweet dreams, Love :-)” I texted back before turning my phone to airplane mode. I was so looking forward to this trip and had many thoughts and fantasies as I drifted to sleep on the long flight.
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The flight was uneventful but even with three glasses of Champagne, I did not sleep much so I was tired when I arrived at passport control and customs. Since I had not checked any luggage I breezed through customs and headed for the exit where I was greeted by a chauffeur holding a iPad sign for “Jean”. I greeted the driver in my meager French and he took my bag and led me to the waiting black car.
One of the niceties of being over fifty is that you can afford a luxury like a hired car skipping the long train ride from the airport into the city. Jacque was booked in a suite at the Hôtel Barrière Le Fouquet’s in the 8th arrondissement. One of my favorite hotels in all of Paris, just a few blocks from the Champs Elysées. When we arrived, the chauffeur helped me with my bag and escorted me to the concierge desk and introduced me in French.
“Ah, Madame Jean. We have been waiting for your arrival,” said the young concierge in heavily accented English. “Monsieur Jacque has upgraded his normal suite to the Paris Suite while you are here. I trust you will enjoy your stay with us and since Monsieur Jacque is already our guest, you do not have to wait for your room. Here is your room key card, and I will gladly escort you to your suite.”
I don’t know if it was just because I was now in Paris or that the men are better at concealing glances here. But it did not appear that the concierge was making any attempts to look at me like my American Uber driver.
The Paris suite is large and stunning. It is on the end of the building on the fifth floor and has a separate bedroom and living room that has large modern windows on two sides of the room. The concierge showed me the amenities then opened the draperies covering the large windows and secured them to the sides revealing the beautiful view of Paris. One side faces the Avenue des Champs Elysées then wraps around the corner to face another ornate building on the side providing an amazing view. Being Paris, the building next door is close in proximity but has beautiful architecture and makes for a wonderful contrast to the Champs Elysées.
After the concierge left me alone in the suite, I freshened up then opened the closets to eagerly see the dresses that Jacque had purchased. I was excited to see what I was in for. But the closets were empty, except for several of his business suits. ‘That’s strange,’ I thought to myself, somewhat disappointedly.
I looked through the closet in the bedroom as well, but they were equally empty save for two luxurious bathrobes. Looking around, I spied an ornate, square envelope on the center of the bed labeled, Madame Jean, in stylish calligraphy. I opened the envelope to find a note, this time in Jacques clear handwriting.
Dear love,
As you know, I have made detailed arrangements for our rendezvous this weekend and can’t wait to share our time together. To make the most of my plans, you must follow my instructions exactly.
This note is your first set of instructions:
The curtains must remain open for the entirety of our stay.
I have made a spa appointment for you at 11 am.
Remove that sexy travel outfit and put it away.
Wear one of the robes down to the spa and enjoy.
I love you,
Jacque
I smiled at the mischievousness of Jacque and was excited and a little scared of exactly what I was in for this weekend. I was sure that I was in for a whirlwind.
It was obvious that it would be hard to avoid undressing in front of all of the windows, so I figured that if this is what Jacque wanted then. This is what Jacque would get for the weekend and decided that I was all in for the challenge. I walked to the large windows facing the ornate building and struggled to take off the tight top; releasing my breasts from their confinement.
The freedom from the tight fabric was welcoming. I neatly folded the top then removed my capris. Since I was already commando, I was now totally naked in front of the window not knowing if I could be seen. The late morning sun made it impossible to see in the windows opposite but looking the other direction at our windows might have been different. But I had no way of knowing and it was more than a little exhilarating. I walked to the closet and deposited my travel clothes and the remaining outfits from my bag, then donned a robe and looked for the location of the spa for my late morning massage and whatever else I had in store for me.
I pulled the front of the robe closed and, thinking of Jacque, left it quite loose and open at the top. My breasts were not in view but making it clear that I was naked under the robe. That is the way Jacque would want it and since he splurged for the Paris suite, he would get what he wanted.
The spa and pool are in the basement of the building. The whole set up looks more like a luxurious grotto than a pool. I checked into the spa reception and was told that I had thirty minutes before my scheduled massage. The attendant was an attractive and fit man in his late twenties or early thirties. He was wearing long pants and a tight T-shirt showing the obvious definition of his muscled figure. He gave me a tour of the showers, steam sauna and pool and invited me to take advantage of any of them and the complimentary champagne while I waited for my massage time.
“The showers and steam sauna are shared by both men and women and are clothing optional but the pool is more public so full nudity is not appreciated there,” he said. “But, at this hour of the day there are very few guests using the pool, so I am sure you could have a nude swim if you do not have a bathing suit with you today.”
I considered a dip in the pool but opted to relax in the sauna for a while to sweat out all of the travel stuffiness of the past twelve hours. I entered the empty shower/sauna room and hung up my robe outside of the sauna. I took one fresh towel and entered the sauna for some relaxation. Since I was alone, I placed the lone towel on the upper bench of the sauna and stretched out on it, fully naked, leaning my back on the side wall of the sauna. The sweat felt good spilling from my pores as I breathed in the hot and steamy air.
After about five minutes, my entire body was dripping with sweat with the feeling of the droplets running down my body and onto the towel. I closed my eyes to enjoy the heat and all of the sensations, thinking again about standing naked in front of the suite windows. I could feel my areolas and nipples constrict, becoming hard and erect and the knowing sensation of blood flowing into my labia. I was definitely aroused by Jacques plans. But after only a few minutes of concentrating on these sensations, I heard the unmistakable sound of the outer shower/sauna facility door open then close.
A new sensation hit me as blood flowed into my already hot and flushed cheeks. I imagine my blushing cheeks could have been mistaken for just a reaction from the heat. But, make no mistake. I was blushing from either excitement of nervousness. I don’t quite know which. Or, maybe it was a combination of the two. Who was there? Was it just the attendant again or was it another guest or guests? Was it another woman or a man?
But despite not knowing, I again thought of what Jacque would want and decided that since this was Paris, he would want me to not cover up and to ignore them and stay as I was and go back to enjoying my short time in the sauna. I again decided to honor Jacque and was determined to keep my eyes closed and concentrate on my growing sensations. And they were indeed growing.
My labia were now fully engorged, and I could feel the telltale wetness growing inside of my most inner lips. I raised my knee up then let it fall to the side allowing my swollen labia to spread open slightly to relieve the pressure on them. The waxing I had before I left resulted in me being completely hairless, save for a small landing strip above my pussy. The feeling of the hot air on my pink and swollen labia added to my list of growing sensations along with the now very distinct feeling of hot air entering my vagina. Which could only mean that by spreading my leg the way I had, my labia had parted allowing the hot steam to enter deep inside of me.
I was getting lost in all of these sensations when I heard and felt the sauna door open. The slight rush of cooler air running across my sweat covered body. I steeled myself to ignore the intruder and stay in my pleasure and focused on myself knowing full well that I was now on naked and deeply personal display to whomever entered. ‘Jacque would approve,’ I thought to myself and smiled.
I soon realized that since I occupied the top bench and my back was leaning against the wall, the only place for the new arrival to sit was on a lower bench with one of two options. Either they were sitting facing the door, or they were sitting with their back to the opposite wall meaning they would have an open view to my now spread and open labia. I was certain by this time that only one person entered the sauna as there was no communication and that it was most probably a man.
I would have surely detected the smell of another woman. And if it was a man, I was also very certain that he would have chosen option number two. I focused on the heat pleasuring my swollen labia and wondered how open my pussy was to the new stranger. How much could he see? My eyes were still closed, and I had not moved since he entered.
Wanting to let him know that I was not sleeping and aware of his entrance I moved my right hand to my left breast and gently cupped it and wiped the beading sweat away then repeated the motion on the other side, adjusting my back against the wall then returning my arm to my side, all the while maintaining the spread of my legs. I loved being seen and was entering full turn on mode and began to wonder if I was going to be able to make it until I could be with Jacque later that evening since it was still only 10:45 in the morning and I did not expect to even see him until 6 pm.
I remained still and on display for what seemed like ten minutes but in reality, it was probably only a minute or two. I was dying to know who my stranger was. I slowly opened my eyes to get my answer. Sitting with his back to the opposite wall facing me on the lowest bench seat was a fit and attractive man of about my age.
He had one towel draped over his shoulders and a second one wrapped around his waist. My cheeks flushed with renewed heat again upon the realization that the small size of the sauna meant that his face was literally one to two feet from my spread pussy and that he had no doubt been looking at me the whole time since his entrance.
“Bonjour Monsieur,” I said to him with a warm smile in my best attempt at French.
“Bonjour Madame. Tu es très belle,” he said in a French accent I could not place.
“Merci beaucoup, Monsieur,” I replied. I remained still and smiled at him to allow him a last long look at me then I slowly climbed down from the top bench. I faced him and used the towel to wipe my face and breasts, making sure to note the substantial bulge underneath the towel of my voyeur.
I shook out my mane of red hair then draped the soaked towel over my arm and moved towards the door. “Au revoir,” I said without further introductions. I intended to keep this experience a wonderful, yet anonymous one.
I stepped out of the sauna into the outer room and dropped the towel in the used bin and moved to the shower for a quick rinse before my scheduled massage. But in the intensity of the sauna experience, I was not aware that more people had entered the sauna/shower room, so I was now naked and in the company of four more mostly dressed men and one woman on my walk to the shower. I guess I am really in Paris!
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I quickly rinsed off in the shower and dried myself the best I could with a clean towel before putting my thick robe back on to wick away as much moisture as I could before my massage.
The massage “room” at the Barrière Le Fouquet’s is not like the typical American private massage room with dim lighting, a water feature and soft new age music for relaxation. This room was more like those I have seen in Germany with a semi-public space and multiple tables set up in a row.
No ambient music was playing, and the only sound of water was the sounds emanating from the hotel pool. The purpose is to get a massage not to be in a relaxing atmosphere with some massage thrown in. It was warm though, as I walked in, which was a blessing, and it looked like I was going to be the only guest getting a massage at my appointed time. I was greeted by a young man in the same outfit as the spa receptionist. He too obviously spent quite a bit of time in the gym. “Bonjour Madame Jean. Je m’appelle Phillipe.”
“Bonjour Phillipe,” I said.
“You are Americaine?” He tried in highly accented English.
“Yes, I am,” I conceded, embarrassed that he could tell so easily.
He handed me a towel and motioned me to the nearest table. “For privacy,” he stated.
Now I was really embarrassed and a little bit angry. Did he offer me the towel to cover up during the massage because I am an American? Harkening to my desire to act French while in Paris I thought to myself, ‘I am a retired Parisian model not some dumb American.’ I smiled at him and placed the folded towel on the chair next to the table with no intention of using it.
Facing him, I opened my robe and removed it, hanging it over the back of the same chair. The warm flush in my cheeks returned, this time with no hot steam to blame for it, along with the immediate rekindling of the swelling of my labia. It was much quicker to respond this time as I was obviously still quite aroused. He motioned me to lay on the table on my stomach and I obliged.
As I climbed onto the table, I noticed it was situated near the entrance to the massage room and if anyone wanted to, they could have a clear view of my massage. The table was heated and felt amazing on my body. I buried my head in the indentation in the massage table and allowed my arms to listlessly fall to my side and let myself sink into relaxation as he started the massage at my head then my neck.
As he moved to my shoulders, I felt his strong hands expertly working the muscles moving down to my upper back. The heat in my labia continued to grow and goosebumps arose all over my body. I had not been touched in over three weeks since Jacque had left on his business trip.
The rest of the first half of massage with me lying face down was wonderful. Not sexual in any way. But as he moved his strong hands down the sides of my torso, pushing on the sides of my breasts, a chill moved down my body. As he moved to my legs, he worked one at a time, articulating them to get to the right muscle groups. This was the second man in a matter of just one hour who got an up-close view of my swollen labia. I hoped for the touch of his hands as he moved up my inner thighs. When there finally was a slight touch of my labia I wondered if it was on purpose or just an innocent accident. Could he tell I was highly aroused?
When he was finished with my legs he came back up to my side, expertly hooked one arm around my bicep and with his other on my back choreographed an effortless flip to my back. I had never experienced such a move before and now I lay face up looking at him. He gently pushed down on my shoulder as he re-loaded with massage oil, keeping contact with me the whole time. The connection I felt was amazing.
He started with my face and gently followed every contour then moved to my right hand moving slowly up to my shoulder then repeated on the left side. Every inch of my body ached to be touched. I closed my eyes, my totally naked body available to him, feeling his touch and loving the pulsing in my labia. I have never had a non-sexual massage that was at once so innocent yet so incredibly intimate and arousing. The chills and tingles rippled through my skin and my nipples were hard and wanting.
He moved to my chest next starting with a slathering of massage oil over my entire chest and breasts. The movement of his palms over my extremely sensitive nipples sent me through the roof and I let out an audible moan letting him know my approval, hoping he would continue. But sadly, he did not. He must have noticed my pectoral muscles developed over the years of weight training at the top of my chest and between my breasts because he started a deep massage of these areas. Placing one hand behind my back and pushing down on my chest muscles with his strong fingers, finding the separations between the muscle groups.
He moved down to my feet, slowly moving up each leg working towards my upper thighs. My limp legs allowing him to move them in any direction he desired to gain access to the right pressure points. The fact that this strong young man was able to open my legs at will, exposing my bare and swollen labia and inner lips for him to see was such a turn on. I could feel the wetness building inside of me and was certain that he could see the buildup of lubricant inside of me.
I wanted to grab him and force him to touch me there. When he reached the top of my thighs, he moved his hands strongly up each side of my leg with the tips of his fingers on my inner thighs pushing into the inguinal area adjacent to my pussy. Stopping, then pushing in again before releasing and sliding back down to repeat three times for each leg.
Then he stopped. I felt the featherlight touch of his fingers on my toes that moved lightly and slowly up my leg to my abdomen, then my breast and nipple to circle around my face before tracing back down the opposite side. The gentle, tickling touch signaled the end of my massage.
I lay there almost exhausted from the stimulation. My eyes remaining closed, listening to my breathing and the continued pulsing of my labia. I slowly opened my eyes. My blurred vision finally seeing my masseuse standing by the side of the table holding my robe and watching me. I smiled a satisfied smile and sighed, “Merci!”
He smiled back at me placing a hand on my shoulder and replied, “je t’en prie, ma cherie.”
He helped me rise to a sitting position on the table, his strong hands supporting me all the way up. He handed me my robe and offered his hand to help me stand. I stood in front of him for a moment. My naked body weak and covered with oil. I looked into his eyes and so wanted him to know how aroused I was but knew that would be taboo. So, I slowly put my robe back on, thanked him yet again and started back to the spa exit and our Paris suite.
It was now just a bit after 12 noon, and I wondered what Jacque would think of my first four hours in Paris on my own. Is this what he had hoped for? I fully expected to be an exhibitionist on this trip for and with him. But I never expected the start to be like this. My body was almost shaking with physical exhaustion and radiated the arousal I was feeling.
I felt wonderful. I felt powerful. I felt like a proud woman in control.
As I made my way out of the spa, I adjusted the opening of my robe, again thinking of Jacque. It was much loser this time. The sides of the robe only connected at my abdomen leaving much of my chest visible. The oil on my skin made me shine and the increased blood flow caused by my sauna and massage experience left my well-tanned body glowing.
The muscles in my chest now taught and clearly visible and the inner sides of my breasts were in view which made it clear that I had no tan lines. I knew that the looseness of my robe would allow me the flexibility to show more if I desired.
I smiled, knowing Jacque would approve and moved towards the exit.
To be continued…
