My Vegas Discovery
Copyright© 2026 by RichardGerald
Chapter 4
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 4 - An unusual love story about a marriage that was not as it seemed.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Sharing RAAC Prostitution
My flight to Paris was overnight, leaving JFK at 1:00 a.m. on August 1 and arriving at Charles de Gaulle mid-afternoon. I was traveling business class on Air France. It was the most luxurious flight I had ever taken.
They started by serving champagne and cheese crackers. I was able to get a good night’s sleep, interrupted only by the meal service, which was actually a treat to eat. I had packed the pretrial briefs but ended up holding them to read on the following day.
At the Paris airport, the parties to the arbitration had a limousine waiting. It was a bit of a ride to the small hotel I had selected, Petit Lafayette, which was a brief walk from the arbitration site at the Maison Mère Hotel. I had decided not to stay with the parties but instead take some space for myself.
I spent August 2 in my suite. Petit Lafayette is referred to as a boutique hotel, and my per diem covered the cost of what the French see as a family-sized room, which would be a bit small for an American Family. The hotel had just 24 rooms, but they were a good size and air-conditioned, a necessity in the August heat.
Jacqueline Foucault was in her early forties. We met at dinner on my second evening in Paris. The hotel dining area was small, crowded, and she graciously offered me a seat at her table. She was an avocate (lawyer) from Lorraine. Like me, she was in Paris on business. Tall, good-looking, and wearing her wedding ring, she had a respectable command of English.
“So, you are here for la mediation?” she queried.
“Yes, I mean, qui, the parties have set aside the next month for it.”
“Odd to come to Paris for an American arbitrage.”
“Yes, unusual, but the circumstances are exceptional. When they last renewed their agreement, the parties acknowledged that they might find themselves in a situation where the materials necessary to fulfill the contract were no longer available. They provided in this situation to resolve the matter under New York law using arbitration.
“New York is a jurisdiction whose court will not overturn an arbitrator’s decision absent extraordinary circumstances. Nor will the New York courts tolerate delay in confirming my decision.”
“But you are in France?” she protested.
“Merely a convenience for the parties and witnesses, who are French, Italian, and English.”
“Ah, the Robert Daller Fashion House case,” she guessed.
“You know the case?” I questioned.
“It is in the news. Part of the fallout from the English withdrawal from the Common Market,” she informed me. “Who would have thought it would affect the manufacture of women’s shoes? “You must be very intelligent to be selected for such a case,” she went on with a flirty smile.
“Well, I’m not as smart as the shoes that are at issue.”
“Excuse me. Intelligent shoes? I do not understand,” she queried with a tilt of her pretty head.
We were seated along the street, and the setting sun was giving her reddish hair a fiery glow. She was an admirably attractive woman with her auburn locks and blue eyes.
“Smart shoes, meaning stylish, as opposed to dumb shoes, meaning plain or ordinary. These shoes start at four thousand euros a pair,” I explained.
She had been leaning a little toward me, but she sat straight up at the mention of the cost.
“I cannot even imagine owning such expensive shoes, and if I did, I could not wear them.”
“I can assure you, my wife has no problem wearing her several pairs.”
“Are you telling me you make enough as an arbiter to keep your wife in luxury shoes?”
“My wife buys her own accouterments,” I said with a bit too much sharpness in my voice.
“Have I tread upon a point of contention?” she inquired.
“We have some issues; don’t all marriages?”
“Yes, that is true. If it were just who buys the shoes ... but your voice says it is more. Perhaps it is who she buys her shoes for?”
“You are very perceptive.”
She smiled a moment before replying, “Well, I am French.”
She paused and reflected before continuing. “In our marriage, Francois and I have adopted what I believe is a relatively mature relationship. We are two people who have chosen to make a home together and have children, now two young men, one in university and the other soon on his way.
“However, we do not seek to monopolize each other’s lives. He has ... other interests that are both personal and romantic.”
“How enlightened of you,” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice but not quite succeeding.
“Ah, the American does not approve of the liberal French.”
“Less a national issue than a personal problem. You see, my wife has a strange definition of fidelity.”
“Interesting,” she mused. “Now, do explain.”
“My wife sees sex for purely commercial reasons as not involving any need for repentance or forgiveness. So long as it is business, there should be no personal consequences.”
“Excuse me, please. I mean no offense, but your words seem to suggest a prostitute of some sort?”
“My wife prefers the term ‘escort’ to denote her profession, as do her clients.”
“Ah, I see. Madame Landon is a courtesan.”
“Yes. It is a bit of a family occupation,” I groused.
“Oh, the arbitre is no willing cuckold,” she laughed.
It was a rather sweet and attractive laugh. I laughed myself, but had nothing to say.
“So, tell me,” she went on. “Are you jealous? Or is it your pride that is hurt?”
I thought a moment about whether my feelings were from jealousy or pride; it was the right question. Also, I realized only a beautiful woman like her could ask such a personal question without my getting angry.
“Hmm, I think it was just my pride until recently. But now I am jealous, and I fear, hurt,” I finally answered.
“So, what has changed?”
“She is spending the summer with an old flame. She claims it is strictly business, but I suspect there is more to it.”
“Do you fear losing her?” she asked directly.
I had to think about that question. Did I fear Kate would leave me for Marcus? No, she never would. She didn’t love him and never could.
I shook my head. “No, my wife loves our children and me. Still, she likes her fun, and she loves her profession.”
“But you resent how much she enjoys being with another?”
Jacqueline had hit the nail on the head.
“Yes. She has a satisfying other life I’m no part of.”
Jacqueline nodded her head and pursed her lips. “It was the same with me. My husband had a mistress. I was resentful. I did not fear he would leave me or that he did not love me. It was strictly that he was having fun, and I was not.”
“And your solution?”
“We now have an unspoken agreement. When we are apart, I proceed as if I have no husband. On his part, he pretends he doesn’t know. But he is free to be with another, as am I.”
“I see,” I replied.
“Do you?” she questioned and then said, “My room number is 207, just two floors up. I will expect you at eight this evening if that is convenient.”
I had to consider that proposition. Being with Jacqueline would be, in Kate’s view, infidelity. We did not have an open marriage or some form of unspoken agreement. She slept with others for compensation. Jacqueline represented my going outside of our marriage for my personal satisfaction. Moreover, I would be acting in some part in retaliation. As Jacqueline had suggested, our actions would be gaining our personal pleasure at our spouses’ expense because their actions left them unable to protest.
“Eight will be fine,” I answered.
In the weeks that followed, I learned about the production of expensive women’s shoes and the effect that a strong dollar had on contracts written for euros. How a supplier could make more money by cancelling a contract in euros and then selling material to suppliers that paid in dollars. The other side was helpless because the foolish British electorate had voted to withdraw England from the European Union. This action disrupted the leather supply chain.
However, I was also shown Paris by a beautiful woman from Lorraine and enjoyed the pleasure of her bed. As August came to an end, I was faced with writing an arbitration decision that was fairly complicated and saying goodbye to my friend from Lorraine. She went home to her husband as the attorneys made their final statements.
The decision came down to a projection of how many shoes the French designer was expected to sell over the following three years. The Italian manufacturer was entitled to the difference in its material cost in fulfilling what was a requirements contract. An agreement to make as many shoes as the Frenchmen wanted. The amount was just a little less than $300 a pair. The English company was arguing over how many shoes the French could expect to sell.
In the end, I took the last five years of sales, averaged them, and then calculated the average annual increase in sales. Factored in the cost of money and added a 5 percent negative risk factor. The decision seemed fair at $50-plus million payable over three years. Everyone seemed a little displeased, but accepted that the decision was fair.
It was the worst decision I ever made, and it had nothing to do with anyone involved. It was simply that I made that decision on September 1, 2019. In hindsight, the parties needn’t have argued at all. They sold almost no shoes or leather in the next two years due to a worldwide pandemic.
A day later, I was waiting at Charles de Gaulle Airport for a late-afternoon flight when I received a call from my daughter, Connie.
“Dad, are you coming home?” she asked in a voice that trembled.
I had been neglecting calling home. I had called a handful of times, but not in the last week. I hadn’t disclosed my travel arrangements.