PARIS 1 - I shouldn’t have gone for the cheap flight.
2 – I shouldn’t have bought the duty-free perfume and cognac.
3. – I should have been more careful with my handbag.
4 – I shouldn’t have insulted the customs official
5 – I shouldn’t have trusted that taxi-driver.
1. As you have probably already guessed, I bought a cheap flight to Paris for my 30th birthday.

2. Yes! And on the flight, they had my favourite perfume at a knockdown price as well as a well-known branded Cognac at a special “Centenary” price. I bought both. There was a customs dispute at the airport with several passengers including myself because the airline had used the wrong stickers and French customs were holding the luggage until the matter was resolved.

3. A group of customs officials and the passengers, including myself, were arguing as we wanted our luggage released. The customs people had a couple of trolley loads of our luggage including a carrier bag with my perfume and cognac. To free my hands for the argument (you cannot have an argument in France without having the use of both hands); I popped my handbag into the carrier bag.

4. The senior customs officer addressed me as “English” and I called him a “pompous bureaucratic ass”.I went to take the carrier bag off the trolley and he became quite indignant and threatened me with arrest. They swiftly wheeled the trolleys away bearing my carrier bag and my handbag before I realised that they had taken the handbag containing the tickets, my passport and my money. The other passengers went their way and I headed for the customs office where the pompous ass refused to listen and gave me a piece of paper bearing the telephone number of the customs service.

5. Disconsolately, I wandered out to the exit wondering what to do. Standing by the kerb and gazing at nothing in particular; a voice interrupted my thoughts.

It was a taxi driver named Marc; asking if there was a problem. I confess I was a little tearful, more with frustration than anything else and I explained what had happened.

He frowned, an ominous sign at the best of times and I was not having the best of times. I didn’t even know the name of the hotel where I was supposed to be staying. All the details, including the voucher for my stay was in my handbag.

“You cannot stay at a registered hotel” The Marc said. “They will need your passport, or an ID card and you have no money to pay the advance to stay in an unregistered boarding house.”

He was not cheering me up one little bit.

He continued. “I can only think of one place that might put you up until you can recover your luggage and your money and papers.”

“How do I find them?” I asked

“I will take you there and explain what has happened. The Madame is very soft hearted, and this will not be the first time she has taken in waifs and strays.”

“I have no money for the fare.” I said but he just shrugged in that Gallic way and said we could sort it out later.

We got in his cab and headed into the darkening Parisian evening.

The trip took possibly three quarters of an hour and we came to a halt in a dark poorly lit street.

“Wait here!” he said and climbed the steps to a front door where he knocked and waited until a woman opened up and the two became engaged in conversation.

I wound the window down but could not make out what was being said.

He returned to the cab and said “She will put you up until you recover your possessions and you can sort out payment later.”

I thanked him profusely and mounted the steps where the woman ushered me in.

The house was very run down and smelled of cheap perfume and drains. I was not really in a position to complain however although I was a little disturbed when she introduced herself, in accented English, as Madame Defarge. (The name of Dickens’ “tricoteuse” at the guillotine).

Ahead was a wide corridor leading to the back of the building and I could see several doors leading off it and a staircase up to the next floor. To the right was a bar area where a large, scruffy man was drinking beer.

“Etienne!” said Madame Defarge. “Take this young lady to her room and explain the rules.”

The large, scruffy man gestured for me to follow him and started up the stairs with me behind; another shifty looking guy with a Middle Eastern appearance also came out of the bar and followed us upwards.

One or two doors opened as we made our way revealing young women in underwear inside. I began to have doubts about the nature of the “house”.

The building must have been larger than it appeared from the outside in the dark as we climbed to a fourth floor where Etienne pushed open a door and gestured for me to enter.

This was really not going well.

“Rule 1!” said Etienne, like Mme Defarge, in a heavily accented English. “You do what we tell you; when we tell you! Compris!”

I nodded.

“Undress!” he said “Let’s have a look at you!”

I hesitated.

“We can help you if you wish.” He said with a grin.

I quickly realised that resistance would be useless and began removing my clothes.

The second man closed the door and moved into the room.

I put my clothes to one side and stood there in my bra and panties.

The two men came closer and circled me.

“Not bad!” said Etienne and the other man laughed.

Etienne stood in front of me and looked into my face.

“Tout!” He said “Everything!”

I removed my last scraps of decency and the two began circling me again, their hands touching, stroking, cupping my flesh.

“Nice one Rasheed?” Etienne asked the other man.

“She will do well!” Rasheed replied in English but with a softer accent I couldn’t identify.

Etienne pushed me towards the bed and bent me over it. I heard the sound of his zip and he pushed roughly into my pussy.

There was several minutes of thrusting and grunting before I felt him stiffen and thrust deep inside me, his seed gushing into me.

He drew back and Rasheed took his place.

As Rasheed ploughed into me, Etienne walked around the bed to see my face.

“What do you do in England; Mo?”

“I’m a teacher.” I replied gasping.

Rasheed paused.” A schoolteacher?” He asked.

“Yes!” I replied as he resumed with a more forceful pace.

“Etienne!” Rasheed grunted as he pushed deep into my belly. “She will be perfect for the party tonight.”

Etienne laughed. “you are right. Those kids will love a teacher. I will speak to Madame”.

Rasheed began a series of rhythmic grunts before he too, erupted in me.

Etienne caught my hair, forcefully but not painfully and whispered into my face “You behave, and you won’t get hurt. Compris?”

The two men left me slightly out of breath but otherwise unharmed.

“Party?”, “Kids?” What did they mean? (although some ideas were already drifting through my mind.

A little while late Rasheed returned with a garment of black cloth which he hung on the bed, a sandwich wrapped in paper and a pot of coffee.

I was sitting on the bed and placing the sandwich and coffee on a little table; he advanced on me and pulled my face into his exposed sex.

I opened my mouth and he pushed in with obvious relish as I ran my tongue over his hard brown flesh and began to suck. His knees began to shake before he exploded into my mouth and muttering incomprehensibly, he wiped his organ on my face and left.

I washed my face and rinsed my mouth before attacking the sandwich and coffee.

The garment brought by Rasheed was a Teacher’s gown and it enclosed a Teacher’s mortar board and a sort of black micro skirt and a mini black top which gave minimal cover to the breasts.

The door opened and Madame Defarge entered.

“You look fine! The boys will be pleased; I am sure. You will make sure they are happy, or you will not. Do we understand?”

I just nodded.

A little while later and with some trepidation I heard the youthful hubbub as they approached the room.