4 Minute read

The Frenchman: Dinner and Dungeon

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4 Minute Read

The next time I saw the Frenchman he was holed up in luxury at Blakes. He’d thoughtfully and firmly requested I join him for two days. The morning of his arrival from Paris I was standing at my lingerie drawer, wondering what vibe I wanted to convey. Pink would be wrong. He had already found my inner slut. I couldn’t go backwards so I opted for expensive whore. It wouldn’t last anyway. He liked naked. A lot of naked.

He sent a text from the hotel.

“I may have a surprise for you.”

At that point my imagination boarded a fighter jet and did a 360-degree roll. Off I went into erotic meltdown for a couple of hours, distracted and dreamy to the point where lifting silk lingerie from a drawer felt ponderous. When I re-entered the world, I thought he’d organised a threesome. I hoped he wasn’t going to surprise me with a woman though. I have no idea what the point of an extra woman is in sexual liaisons. I find an additional man far more beneficial to my needs. Anyway, I turned up and the room was empty except for him.

“You missed the surprise,” he said. “There was a man here I wanted you to meet.”

Damn.Had I been too tardy for my threesome? Did our third have another more pressing engagement?

He led me over to the Zen seating area. On the table was an assortment of leather floggers, whips and various instruments of discipline, all just waiting for the perfect collective noun.

His eyes shone with the expected delight of a man who had just purchased new tools.

“The guy who makes these just delivered them to me. You could have met him.” He sounded extremely disappointed that I hadn’t sighted the craftsman of pain.

He picked up something that looked like a whip but was much shorter and came to a thick, short point at the end.

“Zis one is very arrsh.”

“Harsh?”

‘Yes.But it is not for you. Too arrsh.” That one was for his Japanese slave. She was a pain slut. “Slaves are such hard work, ” he remarked. They’re so needy and selfish.” I made a note never to have one. From lunchtime into the evening, at least I think it was evening, it became a hazy, erotic blur. We had sex: well actually we didn’t have sex, he fucked me. We didn’t leave the room. I couldn’t anyway since I was tied up. At some point, mid-evening we napped. Then we fucked again. He finally let me have an orgasm which was good of him and in my Zen surroundings, suitably transcendent. Room service arrived and he kept me tied up, naked. They were young waiters, two guys, who were very happy to see me and when he said “Thank you,” they quickly shot back with “No, thank YOU sir.”

“You bastard.”

“Most ungrateful. You should thank me like they did.”

He had a meeting off-site the next morning so I was allowed to leave the lust nest. Just as I was on the verge of remembering who I was in real life, he called. “Where are you?”

“South Ken. Down the road. Aren’t you at lunch?”

“I came back to have lunch with you. See you in a minute. I am in the restaurant. Hurry.”

I didn’t want to miss the school bell. The Frenchman is strict about that stuff.

We sat in the restaurant at Blakes where he managed to casually eat noodles, while putting his other hand up my skirt. “Tonight I have a surprise for you. Something you have not done.” Only the week before I’d ticked off another must-do when I went to Legoland with my godchildren. Anyway, it was just your average date. We went to Honey & Co where we ate wonderful food, debated falafel recipes and he bought me the restaurant’s cookery book. After that he took me to a dungeon owned by a former pro-domme, told me to remove my clothes, put a dog collar and leash around my neck and tied me up. I looked rather good. Then he led me to a cage, indicating that I should get in. Unsure what the modus operandi was, I assumed a suitably feral pose while he gave me a highly informative running commentary about the dungeon, in the friendly manner of a tourist guide. Then he let me out, tied me face down on a bench, blindfolded me and spent the next couple of hours doing beautiful and terrible things that made me shiver. He scooped up my ravished body, dressed me and said, “Let’s go back to the hotel. I have not finished with you yet.” Indeed he had not. Five denials of orgasm later and I was almost in tears until he finally let me have it. Then he invited me to Paris. Because of course I wanted more.

About Lena Semaan

Model/Actress/DJ/Celebrity (Nah, just fibbing)

I'm a writer but actually that's like saying a hairdresser is a person with scissors. I'm a strategist, ghostwriter,lifestyle journalist and advisor to executive types. Oh, and I've also worked for our very own Suzanne Noble on Frugl. Find me at lenasemaan.com

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