I like to wander around the streets of Paris during tourist season and try to pick out the tourists from the locals. Most of the time it isn’t very hard, especially since “tourist” in Paris means someone from almost anywhere in the world. They are also the ones looking all around in wonder and very often are carrying cameras.
When I see someone taking pictures of their companions, I usually offer my services on the assumption that they would prefer to be in the picture if it were possible. I don’t remember ever being refused and they are usually quite grateful.
On this particular day, I had already volunteered as a photographer several times. The sunlight had that special Paris quality that day and people were almost giddy with the atmosphere, the sunlight and the realization that they were visiting the true center of the universe. If not yet, they would become convinced as soon as they went to the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower.
Yes, I’ve been to the top of the Empire State building and the World Trade Center (sigh). I know that Paris is not in the same league with NYC as far as tall buildings go, but nowhere on earth is there the feeling that emanates from my beloved Paris.
He was portly, balding, sweaty and red faced. She was Summer and sunlight and gossamer and lace and daisies and Cinnamon. I stood in awe of her as he clumsily attempted to operate the camera. I quickly snapped off a couple of shots of her pose with my own camera before offering my services, just in case they were declined. I would kill myself if I allowed this vision to be permanently gone, although she was seared into my retina to a degree that just might remain there forever, if I was lucky.
She accepted radiantly. He was more reluctant. He had heard stories about strangers simply walking away with cameras.
They posed with bright smiles, arms entwined. I offered to make a series of shots. Anything to stay in her presence. At my urging and direction, they waved, assumed touristy-type stances and even followed my instructions to stand apart, bend at the waist and kiss on the lips, framing Notre Dame in the arch of their bodies. I know, I know, but they were tourists, right?
When I couldn’t remain inventive any longer, I reluctantly returned the camera and steeled myself for the loss of her company.
“Well, hey fellow! You did a great job. How much do I owe you?”
I explained that it was very much my pleasure and that it would be unthinkable to accept money for being allowed to photograph them.
She smiled radiantly and suggested that they could treat me to a coffee or aperitif, at least, and could I suggest a nice, quiet place, her feet were killing her?
As it turned out, I did know a very nice place right around the corner. As we sat and watched the other tourists, I introduced myself and explained that I lived in Europe and devoted a lot of my time to people-watching, but they were the nicest people I had watched, so far.
While he mumbled something, she fully grasped my meaning and gave me another sweet smile, with a shake of her long auburn hair.
“Daddy and I are here to celebrate my graduation from high school. Mom couldn’t come and they wouldn’t let me come alone, so here we are, Daddy and I.”
AHHHH! The prayers that I had not even been aware of uttering had been answered. She was not a child bride, nor was she eye candy for a business man or his trophy wife. She was fair game--beautiful, somewhat innocent and uncommitted --maybe.
“What about your boy friend. Couldn’t he come?”
“There’s no way that son-of-a-bitch is ever laying a hand on my Lisa again. I threw the bastard out of the house for what he tried to do at her eighteenth birthday party. He won’t be back.”
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. You can’t protect me from everybody.” She wiped his sweaty forehead with her hanky while her eyes told me she had decided he wouldn’t protect her from me.
My heart pounded. Surely they could hear it. The sound of blood coursing through my inner ear was so loud I failed to hear the next thing she said.
“I said that I really appreciated what you did for us, but I’m wondering if I might persuade you to do me one more little favor?”
As long as it didn’t involve the torture of small animals of the loss of both arms, I was ready and tried to let her know in a dignified manner, assuming that a fast head nod that spilled drool qualified as dignified, that is.
“Well, after all, it is Paris and we all know its reputation for being a wide open sex city, don’t we?”
“Oh, Daddy. You might as well hush. You know I can twist you around my little finger, don’t you?”, said with a devilish smile while she traced her pink fingertip across his lips.
“Well, um, huh, well err.”
“Hush, Daddy. You’re out of your league. I was just going to ask this gentleman if he would mind giving us a guided tour of the dark side of Paris. I’m sure he knows it well.”
She had me there. Of course I was not a taxi driver or a resident, but I was one hell of a voyeuristic, frequent tourist. I knew the places she meant, but none that would be too dangerous to take her. I even knew a few things that most Parisians would not notice, that she might find intriguing.
We started our walking tour along Boulevard Sebastopol. Within a few blocks, we were in an alley that is probably a red light district at night, but during the day is sparsely populated with people. Several sex shops offering various wares surrounded us.
“Let’s go in that one!”
“Daddy! Do you want to go back to the hotel?”
“Just hush, Daddy. When we get back to Boston, you can be the big, bad daddy. Right now, we are in Paris, it’s my trip and we have a great guide. I want to see the things I could never see at home. Now do you want to go with us or not?”
Talk about your sales closers. All of his choices included she and I taking a sex tour of Paris. All she offered him was the opportunity of dragging along.
“Ok, hon. You know I can never refuse you. Just try not to walk too fast. Ok? My feet are already killing me.”
“Poor Daddy. Just sit here on this bench and wait while we check out this shop. Maybe you can get a few pictures of those naughty French girls who don’t wear underwear.”
“You’re bringing me down, Daddy. Last chance.”
“Ok, ok. Don’t be too long”, accompanied by a look at me that promised multiple lifetimes in Hell if I did anything bad to his baby.
“Come on! Hurry!” She grabbed my hand and ran into the shop as if they might put everything away if she didn’t see it immediately.
“Oooooh! What’s that?”
“Just what it looks like, Baby. It’s a rubber dick.”
“What’s it for?”
“Just what it looks like. It’s for stuffing up tight little twats.”
“You mean like mine?”
Be still, my heart! “Is your twat tight?”
“Umh huh. Is yours that big?” Her hand found where I keep it. “Oh, my! I think maybe it is! Show me!”
“Do you always get what you want?”
“Umh huh, always. Show me your cock, please, pretty please. I want to see the big man’s big nasty cock. Here, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you my panties if you will show me your cock. Deal?”
It was a rhetorical question, at best. She flipped her mini up and wriggled her thongs to her feet then stepped out of them and stuffed them in my shirt pocket. “I’ll just put them here so you can smell them better.”
At least she allowed me to face away from the sales clerk as she unzipped me and wrestled her prize into the open air.
“Oh. It is bigger.” Her head bobbed below my waist as she took a taste test.
Too late, I noticed the anti-shoplifting mirrors. The sales clerk was watching everything with a smirk. From that distance, it was difficult to tell whether he was admiring her technique, her toy or her ass. After all, it was Paris. He made no move or sign to stop us and Lisa was quickly rewarded for her efforts by a blast that must have bruised her tonsils.
“Umm. Too bad we don’t have time for you to try me, but maybe this will hold you. Her fingers that had apparently been in her cunt while she sucked were now in my mouth. Her lithe body pressed into mine. “Buy me one of those, and those and two of these. Those look interesting, Get them, too.”
The clerk explained the purpose of the vibrating Ben Wah balls with the remote control. “Shall I wrap them or will you wear them.” I suppose the smirk was painted on. Hope the bastard’s face froze in that position.
“Wear them? Why, what a great idea.” Lisa bent from the waist and motioned for me to insert them. I warmed them in my mouth for a few seconds before pressing them far back into the recesses of her cunt. At the helpful clerk’s suggestion, we inserted three, to help keep them from falling out. He advised that only one or two might slip out, but three should make a bigger clump. Guess he worked on commission.
The first time he demonstrated the remote control, Lisa’s feet left the floor.
“Whoohooh!, as Homer says! Wow! That has quite a KICK!!!!!”
Apparently, he had turned on the second ball. I couldn’t wait for the third one.
Lisa probably figured that one out, too, and had her feet braced against the base of the counter and her arms around my waist when the tsunami rolled over her.
“Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo!” No coherent words came out, but we assumed she was explaining to us that she found the sensations provided by his merchandise to be pleasing.
By the time he finished the demo, her legs were slick. The clerk offered a tissue, then offered his tongue, but she declined both. “I want to feel what it is like to walk around with my ass bare to the breeze and cum dripping down my legs.”
Daddy was really getting into his newfound career as a voyeur photog when we came out.
“Get any nice beaver shots, Daddy?”
Give Daddy credit. He had resigned himself to letting his baby have her way today. After all, he had announced the party line and had made a show of trying to prevent his sweet darling from becoming debauched by the City of Sin, but he now gracefully withdrew from combat, acknowledging defeat in good grace. Now he could relax and enjoy the trip. There were a few things he wanted to see, also. Our merry band continued along the boulevard.
“What did you buy in there?” He made a feeble attempt to peek in the packages.
Lisa slapped his hand away playfully. “Not yet, Daddy. You’ll spoil the surprise. There is one thing I don’t quite understand, though. Maybe you can figure it out.” She handed him the remotes. I’m not sure what these do. They look like garage door openers. They came with one of the things.”
She was a few steps ahead when her father unwittingly turned one of the balls to Warp speed. Give her credit, too. He failed to pick up a thing. I might not have if I hadn’t known the story. I noticed his eyes flash to her bare ass as she leapt up, but she managed to turn the jump into a natural-looking movement of sheer enthusiasm at being free to explore Paris in any way she chose.
Poor guy, if he had known he was buzzing his daughter’s cunt, he might have blown a fuse or two. He kept fiddling with them as we walked, but couldn’t work out a plausible explanation and we weren’t offering any. Eventually, he gave up and dropped them in his pocket. Lisa whispered to me that they buzzed only when he lifted his leg to step up on curbs. She was trying to time her build-up to synchronize with the buzz.
We approached one of the high points of our impromptu tour. “Passage du Desir” is one of those walled alleys that we have heard about, but most of us think they are only in Amsterdam or Hamburg. In fact, they are fairly common and this one in Paris leads directly off one of the busiest through streets in town. If you assumed that it translates to “Passage of Desire”, your French is improving.
At night, the women are in lighted windows, displaying their merchandise. Entry to the alley is controlled through a gate and an iron fence. It is not very obvious. We did not enter. It was too early for that and I didn’t know if Lisa would be allowed to enter. We would save it for later. They got a kick out of my mention that “Passage du Desir” is next to “Rue de Paradis”. Bear in mind that “Rue” means “street” and stick an “e” on the end and you’ve got it. To compound matters a bit, the next street is “Rue de la Fidelite”. Perhaps the French know that the best way to insure a long marriage is to have a definition of fidelity that encompasses a stroll down the Rue de Paradis to the Passage du Desir once in a while.
We continued our stroll, interrupted only occasionally by a whoop from Lisa as her daddy unknowingly pushed her buttons.
“Are you ok, baby?”
“Just excited by all the wonderful sensations Paris has to offer, Daddy, and I only have my sweet Daddy to thank for it. I’m getting such good vibrations from you” She mashed her tits against his unprotesting chest and allowed her hand to drift into his pocket to give herself a couple of extra jolts.
He was obviously pleased and flattered by the attention and wanted to stop for a minute to catch his breath. I think he also wanted to let her get a bit ahead so he could try to get a shot of his daughter’s bare ass to tide him over through the cold winter nights back home.
“Are you too tired, Daddy?”
“I’m ok, baby. If I stop to rest, I’ll catch up later. Just don’t make any unexpected turns when I can’t see you. Ok?”
“Ok, Daddy.” Her saucy ass wiggled at him as she danced away on a high from the good vibrations. I glanced back over my shoulder in time to see him pulling his camera into position with a lustful, satisfied smile on his face. Damn! Aren’t digital cameras neat?
“There’s a museum up ahead that I thought you might enjoy, Lisa.”
“Haven’t you been listening, dweeb? Cheez! Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Calm down, smart ass. I’ll spell it for you. It’s the Museum of E-r-o-t-i-c-a. Interested now?”
“Oops, Sorry. Should have known. Will a blow job get me off the hook?”
“Sorry, miss. Only one blow job per day per customer. You’ll have to settle for a rousing good fuck.”
“But Sir! I’m only an innocent maiden. You cannot defile my virginal temple.”
“Ok. Up the ass, it is.”
That got me a quick kiss and she ran into the museum as I went back to the middle of the tree-lined walkway where Daddy could see me and pointed the direction we were taking. He acknowledged with a wave and I joined the innocent virgin at the ticket counter.
There were several floors of everything imaginable that pertained to sex in art--in any form, from true art to porn to the truly gross. We both agreed that the toilet bowl view picture of the guy taking a shit was notable, and if it were going to hang in any museum, this would be the one, but not to our taste.
“Oooooh!” Lisa had found the Roaring 20’s porn flick with the father fucking his daughters. “Ooooh, it’s turning me on. Look at the size of that prick he’s shoving up his daughter’s cunt.”
Just then I hit her with the other remote control that I had wangled away from Daddy after he gave up.
Lisa’s shriek brought the manager running up the stairs, but she assured him that she was fine and he returned to his counter.
“Oh, you sweet baby. How thoughtful of you. Sure you don’t want that second blow job?” Her smile would tease a blind man.
“Just bend over that case, little lady.” I left the remote on damn-the-torpedos speed and flipped her saucy skirt over her saucy ass. There was no problem with lubrication. What she didn’t have, I had. One careful moment to make sure I was properly centered and one long thrust buried me to the hilt.
This time, the manager didn’t bother.