Welcome to ‘Jaimie the Libertine True Erotica part 3’. If you have landed here randomly and haven’t read parts one and two, I suggest that you catch yourself up with part one here. As I’ve previously said, this is a true story about my experience of visiting a Libertines Club in Paris a number of years ago when I was 24. I was with my, then, boyfriend Sean, who had provoked the whole thing by telling me that he had a fantasy of watching me being fucked by somebody else. As with some other sexual experimentation that Sean and I had tried, the evening had not gone entirely the way we had expected. In this instalment, the shit is about to get VERY real.
This is quite a long instalment so, pour youself something interesting, get comfortable and read on…
18.
So, Sean has been recruited by a sexy Parisian woman to form a select team of guys chosen to, um, ‘team’ her. He has gone off now, with my blessing (which I gave through somewhat clenched teeth), and I am feeling pretty pissed off and more than a little frustrated. I have decided to sulk off to the bar and regroup. Who knows, I might decide to get smashed on champagne and get Sean to pay the bar tab when he eventually turns up.
I perched myself on a bar stool at the end of the bar. The barman approached. I was definitely going to get stuck into the champers, I thought, but first, I needed to get some water inside me. It was hot in the club, and I was feeling very parched.
The barman stood attentively, waiting for my order. ‘L’eau s’il vous plait.’ He nodded and went to fetch it. At least my schoolgirl French meant I wouldn’t die of thirst. I always feel a little pleased when my pathetic attempts to speak even the most simple phrase in another language are successful. God, I’m so English…
A bottle of chilled still water and a glass filled with ice arrived quickly, and I set about decanting it, then took a grateful gulp. I hadn’t noticed how thirsty I was.
19.
‘Bonsoir, mademoiselle,’ came a male voice just behind me. I turned a little on the swivelling stool so that I could see who was speaking. It was an older gentleman in his early 50s, I would guess, slim-built and as suave as you please. The most noticeable thing about him initially was that he was wearing a waistcoat made of flecked grey material, which matched his trousers. Obviously, two parts of a three-piece suit. He was not wearing a tie, and his crisp white shirt was open at the collar with a couple of buttons undone. He had a neat, greying beard and twinkly eyes. I wouldn’t say that I was immediately attracted to him, but there was something about his manner that was appealing. I smiled in response.
‘Is mademoiselle not drinking wine this evening? Very sensible. It is so important to remain hydrated!’ All the while, he was smiling and fixing me with those twinkling brown eyes.
‘My attempt at ordering in French didn’t convince you that I was a native then?’
He laughed. ‘Ah, it was very good, but your accent gave you away! If it’s more comfortable for you, we can converse in English. I worked in London for a number of years in the 1990s, and I flatter myself that I am quite fluent.’ Indeed, he was. And very smooth, to the extent that I only realised later, when thinking about it, that he had assumed that we were going to be having a conversation!
‘You are here without a companion?’
‘No – my boyf- uh.. ‘companion’ got dragged off by some woman. I think she wanted him to be part of her male harem for a little while.’
He laughed again. ‘Well, that kind of thing does sometimes happen in places like this!’
20.
He introduced himself as Charles and helped himself to the stool next to me. When I told him my name, he exclaimed, ‘Ah, but that is a beautiful French name!’ Of course, I knew that ‘Jaimie’ is French, but Charles pronounced it in such a sexy way like the French pronounce ‘je’, which puckers your lips as if you are about to move in for a kiss.
Charles insisted that I have a proper drink with him and took charge in that masculine, old-school way by ordering for both of us. I don’t recall what cocktail he ordered, but they came in champagne flutes and were fruity, fizzy, and delicious. We were soon chatting away as if we had known each other for years.
Charles was at the club with his wife; he told me her name, but I don’t remember it. They had been attending libertine clubs for a few years, mostly to scratch a particular itch that she had. Madame enjoyed being tied up or chained, or whatever, and generally being at the mercy of strangers. There was a lower floor at the club, which was kitted out like a sex dungeon. Charles told me that he had left his wife cuffed to an ‘X’ shaped wooden device, wearing nothing but heels and a black ribbon around her neck (classy, I thought!) I wondered why she did not want him to stay around to keep an eye on things. He told me that she preferred for him not to be there. Anyone who wanted to could approach her and touch her. The standing position made actual penetration tricky. Mostly, men and women would stroke her and bring her to orgasm with their hands or, occasionally, mouths.
21.
Charles told me he would leave his wife to it for a while before going back to find her later. In the meantime, the deal was that he was allowed to go off and do what he liked, provided he had enough left ‘in the tank’ for his wife, who often liked to be taken by him whilst tied up in front of an audience. He seldom penetrated anyone but his wife in a club but very much enjoyed giving oral pleasure. I recall that it was quite startling to me to be discussing the most intimate topics with a complete stranger. I was sure I was blushing but tried to appear as though this was all quite normal to me.
Time passed, and I began to admit to myself that I was finding Charles increasingly attractive. If he was trying to charm his way into my knickers, he was doing an exceptionally good job so far…
The cocktails were recharged. They went down far too easily and definitely had a kick; I was feeling pleasantly warm and woozy.
‘But this is your first time, Jaimie,’ he said to me. ‘You must think that we are completely shameless and decadent?’
Actually, what I was now thinking was what it would feel like to have Charles’ soft beard tickling the skin of my inner thighs. I smiled and could feel my cheeks burning again. Charles was very smooth. Those sexy eyes and attentive manner (as well as the details about what his wife was doing) were making me feel very tingly you-know-where. I remember feeling very young and thinking that this was a real, mature, experienced man who knew how to give pleasure to a woman, and, right now, I was his prey.
22.
I had a strong feeling about Charles. He had melted me. I don’t recall thinking about it consciously, but I knew with absolute conviction that if he wanted to have me, I would give myself to him without hesitation to do whatever he wanted. I really hoped that he wanted me.
Charles held my gaze as I looked into his eyes, wishing I could stop the flush that I knew would be covering my face and neck. ‘Jaimie, you look so sexy when you blush. Is it something that I’ve said?’
I seemed to have lost the power of speech and could only look away and down at my legs while I tried to get control. So much for trying to appear as a sophisticated and mature woman!
‘You are so very beautiful. I wonder if I moved to kiss you, would you receive it, or would you think that I was a presumptuous old man?’
I looked at him. Every part of me was inwardly shouting, ‘Yes, god, yes! For fuck’s sake, kiss me now!!’ Fortunately, I didn’t say it out loud (yay for internal monologue!)
23.
Despite my muteness, Charles got the message loud and clear. He leaned forward, and I tilted my head towards him. His lips touched mine with such tenderness and sensuality, and I felt his big hand on the side of my face, holding me ever so gently. It may have been the effect of being in a state of arousal for several hours already, plus the booze and earlier events, but I was completely undone. His experience told him, I’m sure, that as far as I was concerned, he was home and dry. I leaned my head onto his hand as his lips pulled away and kept my eyes closed. My mind was of no use to me; rational thought was not presently something which was within my capacity. I put my hand up and held it against his, pressing it against my cheek. I wrapped my fingers around it and then slowly redirected it to my leg. I kept my eyes closed as his gentle but firm grip settled on my thigh.
Charles stood up. ‘OK,’ I thought, ‘it’s going to happen. It’s going to happen now.’ My heart was pounding in my chest, and I felt my cheeks and neck flushing again.
I uncrossed my legs and was expecting Charles to lead me off to somewhere secluded. Instead, what happened was that he put a hand on each of my thighs and leaned in to kiss me again. I tilted my chin up to meet his mouth. This time, the kiss was assertive and insistent.
24.
I put my hands on Charles’ waist, parted my legs, and pulled him towards me so that he was standing between my thighs. My neck was tilted right back to receive his kiss, his hands now cradling my head before one, wrapping his fingers in my hair gave it a little pull as his other hand found the back of my neck and his fingers traced the curve of my spine until his hand was on the flat of my back.
If I had not been ready and willing to give myself to him before, which I was, as you know, I was now completely at his command. I arched my back and pressed my lips up harder into his.
When he broke off, he held my face again in his big hands and looked at me seriously for a moment. He reached to the bar and picked up my glass of water, bringing the glass up to my lips. I took a mouthful as he tilted the glass, never taking my eyes away from his.
‘Are you sure?’ He said. ‘Are you a little drunk? Do you want to take a breath for a minute?’ I pulled him closer again, still seemingly unable to string a coherent sentence together.
‘Jaimie, I do not want for you to have any regret.’ Finally, I managed to get some words out: ‘I suppose I am a little bit drunk but not so that I don’t know what I’m doing. I think the only regret I will have tomorrow is if you don’t fuck me tonight.’ I was a little shocked to hear the words coming out of my mouth, but I meant them.
25.
Charles took a mouthful of his cocktail and put the glass back on the bar. He put his hand under my chin, tilted my head up to him, and kissed me again. ‘Where shall we go?’ I asked.
‘Nowhere.’ Was the reply.
For a moment, I thought that Charles had changed his mind. He grabbed the side of my stool and swivelled it so that my back was to the bar. He stood as close to me as he could, and I pressed my face to the fabric of his waistcoat, inhaling the smell of his cologne. He took hold of the hem of my dress on either side and began to slide it upwards. I lifted my bottom from the seat to facilitate this, and soon my dress was up around my waist; from the tummy downwards, I was naked except for my heels.
If Charles thought anything about me not wearing any knickers (which were in Sean’s pocket, wherever he was right now), he didn’t say it. One big hand went to the small of my back and pulled me forward 2 or 3 inches. His hands ran slowly up my thighs. I watched him intently as I followed his gaze, which came to a stop where my pussy was. His hand now moved to my belly and traced the soft skin downwards until his fingertips met the top of my pussy, and his practised fingers found my clitoris almost immediately. I closed my eyes and let out a little involuntary moan.
26.
‘Is this allowed, I mean, right here?’ I gasped.
‘I don’t think it’s encouraged, but it’s not forbidden either,’ he replied. ‘I don’t want to move and risk you seeing someone younger and more desirable and deciding that you want him instead,’ he said with a smile.
I grabbed the front of his waistcoat. ‘No chance. It’s you I want.’
‘What would you like my beautiful girl?’
‘Just do whatever you want with me.’
Charles kissed my lips again and then bent lower and kissed me just on my belly button, which sent a shiver up my spine. He continued downward, making a little carpet of soft kisses leading inexorably towards my pussy. He was in no hurry, and by the time he did get to his destination, I was seriously worked up. I felt his breath on my most sensitive part, but instead of plunging in, he shifted again and kissed up the insides of both of my thighs, starting at my stocking tops and making his way upwards. By the time I did feel his gentle lips brushing across the outer lips of my pussy I was climbing the walls.
I had my eyes closed but opened them a little when I felt a hand gently brushing my hair away from my face and a soft French voice saying something that I didn’t understand but which sounded very sensual. The mature lady who had been sitting to my right had decided that she would be my assistant throughout this experience. With the limited thinking power that I had left at my disposal, I remember thinking that she looked really hot. She was wearing a black body stocking, and her hair was short in the French-girl pixie cut style, which is so chic.
27.
My assistant’s partner slid from his stool and came around to the side, drink in hand, other hand in his pocket, enjoying the view and exchanging little comments with his wife as she continued to caress me and offer incomprehensible words of encouragement.
There was a small circle of other observers as well, much the same as had happened during the incident on the stairs. I was leaning back on my stool, my back against the bar, legs spread with Charles crouching between them, doing things with his lips and tongue, which were making my head feel very fuzzy. I rested one calf on Charles’ shoulder as he sweetly toyed me into a state of total ecstasy.
Like most people my age and younger, I got a lot of my ‘education’ about sex by watching porn on the internet whilst in my teens. Oral sex in porn movies is often quite frenetic, with lots of fingers jabbing and poking. There was absolutely none of that, and the sheer sensuality of Charles’ technique was incredible, unlike anything I had experienced before. The best way of describing it was that he was French-kissing my pussy. It was, frankly, the way I would give head to myself if I were able to. I was making little squeaks and moans of delight as Charles worked away, but I didn’t care. I felt like I was floating on a cloud of bliss.
28.
All the while, my ‘assistant’ was stroking my shoulders and neck. Occasionally, she bent forward and planted little kisses on my lips and spoke continuously to me in French (none of which I understood, of course) in a soft, sensuous tone. There was so much about this situation which was light-years out of my comfort zone and experience, it didn’t even occur to me how strange it was that another woman was having a one-sided conversation with me in a language I didn’t understand whilst I was simultaneously receiving the best head that I had ever received.
29.
Charles’ skill had held me on the edge for what seemed like a pink-tinted, fizzing, tingling age, but my orgasm was not going to be denied. Charles sensed it, or perhaps he had decided that it was time to give me release. His rhythm altered a little, and the tempo increased, insistently driving me towards and over the edge. I was undone and could only look helplessly at my talkative companion with my mouth open and eyes wide as it began to hit. She lowered her head and took one of my nipples into her mouth, flicked her tongue across it and gave a little nip with her teeth.
The orgasms I have from external stimulation are different from the ones that I have from being fucked. Not better or worse, just different. Mostly, it feels like my whole body is tingling, rushing and radiating out from my clitoris. This was like that but on a different level. I felt like my clit was literally sparking, and every inch of my skin was a fire of electrical surges and jolts. I remember twitching involuntarily and having to remember to try not to fall off the stool. Eventually I came to my senses and shuffled up in the stool.
30.
I was embracing Charles as I sat on the stool at the bar. He was standing between my legs, and his arms were around me, his hands caressing my naked back as my breathing began to return to normal. He leaned forward, holding me as he stretched to the bar to get my glass of water and asked the barman for another two glasses. He held the glass gently to my lips, and I took a couple of thirsty gulps. I had noticed something as he leaned across me, though. The front of his trousers could not conceal that he was very hard, and, as he had shifted position a little, his erection was pressing against me, just above the top of my pussy. It was suddenly all I was aware of, and my attention was completely focused.
I finished the glass of water. There was some unspoken communication going on because I knew that Charles knew I knew (hopefully, you are following this) that he was very hard. There was now a clear issue about what, if anything, we would do about it.
Ideally, I would have had a breather for a bit, recomposed myself and suggested that we do something about the erection after a short break. I was aware, though, that this was a time-limited thing. If I waited, something might intervene, and we would never get to complete this blissful, bizarre meeting. I couldn’t let that happen. My regular readers will know that there is a facet of my personality that I refer to as my ‘inner slut’. Sometimes, she just seems to take over, sweeping away my normal, fairly shy disposition, thankfully, usually at times which are appropriate to that sort of behaviour. This was one of those times.
31.
Charles was speaking to me in that kind and attentive way that was so appealing to me. I don’t recall what about, but his voice was so soft and sexy that it didn’t really matter. He was continuing to stroke my naked back, and his hard cock was pressing insistently into me. He was doing his best not to mention it, but I had decided that this was something we needed to conclude without delay.
I took my right hand from his hip, where it had been resting and slid it between us, moving straight to the front of his trousers. I held his cock through his trousers and felt it getting even harder. For once, Charles did not have a smooth turn of phrase for the occasion; he just drew a big breath and looked into my eyes, which were fixed on his.
‘This must be very uncomfortable, you poor thing,’ I said.
‘Perhaps now would be a good time to move somewhere else?’ he replied,
‘Uh-Uh,’ I shook my head. ‘No, I don’t want to move in case you change your mind before we find somewhere.’ He opened his mouth, presumably to protest that this would not happen, but I continued: ‘Please fuck me here, Charles. Please fuck me’ I widened my eyes and pretended to plead with him even though I knew this was a done deal. ‘Oh please, please put your big cock in me and fuck me right here, please! I don’t care if these people see me getting fucked by you. I want them too! I want them to watch you make me come again. I’ll do anything you want; I’ll belong to you; I’ll be your little slut, I will move to Paris, and you can have me whenever you want.’
32.
Well, that dirty talk escalated, didn’t it? I shocked myself a little, but it just came out of me, and, in that moment, with this so sexy older man standing between my 24-year-old thighs, the flow of complete and utter sexual submission to him was overwhelming.
This time, it was Charles who seemed lost for words, so I decided to act. I unzipped his fly and felt his cock straining – so hard – against the fabric of his boxer shorts. I wrapped my hand around it, and he let out a little sound, like a grunt, I think. There did not seem to be much need for further foreplay, so I hooked my fingers through his flies into the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down so that his cock sprang out at me. I could see it in the dim light of the club, and I wrapped both of my hands around it, giving it a little squeeze. Another groan from Charles. “Put it in me, Charles. It’s all I want now. Fuck me with your beautiful cock.”
Charles leaned into me and, held the back of my head with one hand and kissed my mouth passionately. I yielded completely, arching my back to him as I continued to hold his swollen cock with both of my hands.
33.
When Charles broke away, he retrieved from his waistcoat pocket a little packet – a condom. Look, I am all for safe sex, really. It would have been madness to have unprotected sex with someone that I just met in a sex club! I will confide this in you, though: at that moment in time, I would have loved nothing better than for this lovely man to fuck me to another shattering orgasm and then fill me with his semen. An image came to mind of me standing before Charles after the act, feeling his warm cum oozing out of me and running down my thighs.
No way was going to happen, though, however drunk on lust I was right then, and in any case, Charles was too much the gentleman. He opened the packet, and I stepped back so that he could prepare himself. I noticed that our little audience had moved in with a new intensity of focus, and as I wondered at this, I felt some hands pulling my dress, which was still around my waist, upwards. It was my ‘assistant’ from part 2, and she had clearly decided that if we were doing this, I needed to be completely naked apart from my shoes. I obligingly lifted my arms, and she pulled the dress up and over my boobs and head. She smiled and gave me a little kiss on the cheek.
34.
Charles had put his condom on now and had repositioned himself. I tilted my hips forward, but it was still not quite enough for a comfortable angle. My legs were spread, but my feet were still on the footrest. Charles reached down and hooked his hands under my knees and pulled my bottom upwards and towards him. Suddenly I felt the head of his hard cock pressing against my pussy. I gasped, and our eyes locked. ‘Oh please, oh please, oh Charles, I want you, I want you…’ Oh my god. I wanted him like words cannot describe.
I will never forget the look on Charles’s face. I could have expected a lust-frenzied expression of a man who was going to fuck this young, silly little English slut into a coma. Instead, there was a look of such tenderness.
He stood there for a few seconds. My whole body felt as though it was pulsating with anticipation.
‘Jaimie, you are, I think, an angel. How can I refuse an angel what she asks? But my hands are busy; you will need to assist, I think.’
I reached down and, holding the shaft, slowly rubbed the head across my soaking pussy lips, never taking my gaze from his eyes for a moment. Then, up and down, it parted my lips. Then, as he gently pressed forward, sliding into me.
35.
I don’t think I need to describe the next bit stroke by stroke. Really, you can imagine that yourself. What I will say is that he did not fuck me. He made love to me. That is how I remember it, and it felt at once sexy in an off-the-scale way, debauched and shameless but also, somehow, perplexingly romantic. He thrust slowly, using his skill and experience to tilt my body slightly this way and then that so that he was hitting spots I was not even sure I knew about before. All the while, we kept our eyes fastened together. Charles was talking to me now (my assistant had the good sense to recognise that her chatter would have been a distraction), uttering these soft sexual affirmations.
I can’t remember much of what he said. Some of it was in English, some in French; a lot of it was telling me how beautiful and perfect I was. I am not, obviously, perfect by any stretch, but really, what girl would not want such a man to be telling her that while he is making love to her? I responded with a few comments of my own when I could summon the mental bandwidth. I gave him a little running commentary about what an amazing lover he was, how incredible his cock felt, that I was his to do anything he wanted with, and I’m pretty sure – unless I was hallucinating it -: ‘Oh Charles, I need this, I need this all the time now, I love you.’
36.
Yep. The ‘L’ word. I don’t really know why I’m telling you this, but it happened. I know that sounds insane, and sometimes things just tumble out when you are in the throes of lust, but I do believe that this was the point when – for good or ill – I fell a little bit in love with Charles.
Because there was no frenetic thrusting, this blissful interlude went on for quite a while. I felt like I was on the edge of an orgasm for most of it, just fizzing like a bottle of champagne on the brink of exploding. When Charles felt his orgasm building, he changed the angle slightly and the depth of the thrusts, which became insistent and emphatic. I came. I mean, I really came. I just remember it as one of the greatest orgasms I have ever had. At the time, it was definitely the best, and I was in pieces. Charles came shortly after me, and we remained in that position for a little while, panting until we began to come back to the room.
Charles again leaned in, kissed me and gently lowered my feet to the footrest. I put my arms around his neck, and he lifted me back to a properly seated position. The blissful weirdness continued as we held each other, him stroking my back and my hair and I with my face buried in the side of his neck. Anyone seeing us would have thought that we were long-term lovers in a passionate love affair rather than two people who had met about an hour ago.
37.
After a short while, Charles drew back a little and discretely removed the condom, wrapping it in a napkin from the bar and putting it into his pocket. He re-zipped himself and then suggested to me that we really ought to get me dressed again. I suddenly remembered that I was, in fact, more or less naked in a room full of strangers. I had become used to it, I guess.
I obediently took his hand and slipped from the stool. Immediately, I tightened my grip and put my other hand on his chest. Charles gave a little chuckle. ‘Be careful! Are your legs a little shaky?’ I giggled and nodded.
My self-appointed assistant held out my dress, stooping so that I could step through it. She pulled it up over my hips as I wriggled myself back into it. A quick adjustment of my boobs and I was more or less decent again. I smiled at her and gave her a little kiss on her lips. ‘Merci.’ She laughed at this, kissed both of my cheeks, said something to Charles, and then turned back to her husband.
Charles translated for me: ‘She says you are beautiful but somewhat drunk, and I am to take proper care of you and make sure you get safely home. As if I would do otherwise!’
38.
People were still standing around, generally smiling and exchanging small comments with each other. Charles took my hand again and held it with both of his.
I do sometimes get a little emotional after I have come. Not always, and I think it depends on the circumstances. I was a bit drunk; I had just had two earth-shattering orgasms, people were standing around looking at me, and, frankly, I was in a bit of a state. I think that combination of factors was to blame for the wave of emotion that came over me right then. I felt tears pricking my eyes and saw his expression turn to one of concern. I wrapped my arms around him, buried my head in his shoulder and gave a sob that made my shoulders shudder.
‘Ma Belle Fille! – What is the matter? Have I hurt you?’
I grabbed a tight hold and tried to wrestle my emotions back under control. After a few moments, I was able to take a deep breath and exhale. I let go but took hold of his hand. He squeezed mine. ‘What is it, Jaimie? Are you alright?’
I nodded. ‘It’s just… yes, I’m fine, I’m fine… thank you. You’ve been so… lovely.’ Another deep shuddering breath. ‘Your wife is so lucky.’
God, so so embarrassing.
He laughed and put his free hand up to wipe the tears from my cheeks. ‘Ah, I’m the lucky one, but perhaps now the unlucky one: I don’t think I will forget you.’
39.
Charles guided me back onto my stool and sat himself down next to me again. He insisted that I should drink more water and obtained a small stash of paper napkins from the barman, which he used to dab my cheeks whenever a stray tear made a bid for freedom. After a few minutes, I was more or less back in control of myself again and was chatting away while Charles held my hand.
As we spoke, Charles reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He fished about in it and pulled out a business card, which he passed to me. I looked at it quizzically.
‘If you are ever in Paris again, alone or with your boyfriend, please contact me. Dinner perhaps? As a four or… or if you are alone, perhaps just we two?’ He paused and then put his wallet away. ‘Ah, but I think I may have presumed too much.’
I was at a loss for words. I have thought about this moment many times and what I wish I had said, but at that moment, nothing came to mind. There was a silence of a few seconds before I leaned forward and kissed him. He responded, and I felt another flush and a bit lightheaded. It was an altogether longer and more tender kiss than you might expect between two people who hooked up at a swinger’s club and, about 90 minutes ago, were strangers.
40.
So, dear reader. That’s the end of the sexy bits. If you’re here exclusively for that, then thank you very much for reading! If, however, you are up for a little ‘what did we learn today’ session, then please pop back for the epilogue to this tale where I tie up the Sean and Charles-shaped loose ends. I have always wanted to return to a libertine club, but to date, I haven’t. In fact, I haven’t been back to Paris since these events. I do have some reflections about it, which I’ll bore you with, along with tying a bow around the story itself in the final instalment.
Love, Jaimie. xx
Links and stuff.
The picture which accompanies this and the previous instalment were not, in fact, taken in a club but in my own kitchen! I’m proficient with Photoshop and blended in a new background. I usually only make a few tweaks to make the image ‘pop’ but this was a bit more involved. Photoshop takes a bit of learning but nothing else comes close in power and effectiveness. Here’s the website.
