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Fortunately for me, the room service breakfast arrived as Irene showered; had it arrived earlier or later and I might have had to open the door, or sign for it, in the nude. As it was, I wrapped my body in one of the bed sheets thus preserving a modicum of dignity. I was happy that here was not much time for play or humiliation since we had a lot of shopping to do.
I needn’t have worried; there would be debasement aplenty that day. For a start, I was allowed to wear only my underwear, bra, thong, garter and hose. Over it, my raincoat only and, of course, my high heels. Walking out of the hotel no one suspected that, under the rather conservative raincoat, I was almost nude. The silver choker on my neck, and the matching thin, elegant chain, that hanged from it was another matter. Back in the nineties Linda Evangelista caused some controversy when she posed wearing a choker and chain, much like the one I wore today; of course her chain was attached to a silver cuff on her own wrist, not to a loop of leather carried by Irene.
I heeled her out of the hotel, and we walked across Place Vendome to the Chanel Boutique. She had arranged for a private showing. The people at Chanel were so sophisticated that seemed not to think there was anything unusual for one of their customers to show up with a leashed girl in trail, and only blinked, politely when I dropped my raincoat at the front.
I watched the showing kneeling by my Goddess’ side and, after the first, self-conscious moments, I actually got into it. It was only awkward at the beginning, whenever we walked into one of the exclusive boutiques and I took my coat off. Afterwards, kneeling by Irene’s side, watching the models show the fancy outfits, I got to enjoy the experience. After all, what woman does not like to go shopping?
Pierre would rather parachute into a war torn Middle Eastern country in his boxer shorts than go shopping for clothes; if it were shoes, he would even omit the shorts. He bought his shoes over the internet and managed to only buy clothes once a year. He scheduled his shopping outings with as much enthusiasm as a dental appointment. So I bought much of his wardrobe.
Not that I would spend the small fortune Irene’s spree was costing; I could get any clothes I wanted on Pierre’s credit card but I never did. I bought my own; the allowance from my fund was generous enough, within reason. I did use his card for lingerie; after all, all that sexy, lacy stuff, I was buying for him, mostly.
Fortunately for me, since I had to carry the bags, Irene had most of her stuff delivered to her suite at the Ritz. We had lunch at the Petit Vendome where we lingered over café and gateau. I kept my raincoat on.
I brushed the last crumbs of my cake off my lips.
Irene looked at me, an ironic smile on her face, “You were so good last night I think you deserve a little reward.”
She looked at her watch, “You have an appointment, cherie.”
The guy from last night’s room service arrived shortly after we got to the suite. He wasn’t bad looking, average size, with medium length brown hair and a little brown love patch on his chin. I did notice a ring on his finger.
I removed my bra and panties leaving the hose and garter on. His cock sprung to attention inside his chinos. Kneeling in front of him I opened his pants and let them drop around his ankles. His erect dick peeked out of the waistband of his slip.
Something about seeing the tip of his uncircumcised penis, struggling to come out of his underwear like a giant worm caused the all too familiar weight to settle in my pelvis. After all, I had not come yesterday, and today’s shopping excursion, for all the embarrassment and humiliation it entailed, or perhaps because of it, had me simmering all day.
I ripped off his pants and, with my hand pulled his foreskin back. His red, angry glans glared at me, as if daring me to take him. I engulfed his head with my lips, bobbing down on it, cupping his heavy balls with my hand. He grew even larger, inside my mouth. I took him as deep as I dared; the tips of his curly hair tickling my nose; he smelled like soap, just soap.
Soon I realized that, unless I stopped, he would come in my mouth right then and there. I did not know about his recovery powers, he being married and, presumably, getting serviced routinely, and I wanted more than just a taste of his sperm in my mouth. I released his cock and led him to the bed.
Irene followed us to the bedroom and sat on the chair watching us. I had forgotten she was there.
I lay down on the bed, my thighs and arms open, inviting. He did not have to be asked twice. He rammed his cock into me with a passion bordering on fury and began thrusting immediately. What he lacked in style or refinement he made up for in strength and power. I felt the pounding of his cock on my cervix with such force that, had I not been as worked up as I was, it would have been painful. As it was, that was just what I needed to come over the edge. As his thrusting became more urgent, more insistent, I felt the first wave of a long delayed, massive, orgasm engulf me.
“Je jouis,” I said.