Not all sessions go as planned.
I’ve been writing a lot of stories for my book this week and I can’t help but poke fun at myself for the myriad of times that some of my more far-fetched ideas have blown up in my face. In recounting memories of some of the worst the one that makes me laugh the most had absolutely nothing to do with Femdom or BDSM , but rather my penchant for being somewhat of a bird-brain while travelling the world on my Mistress as a Girlfriend experiences.
So my sumbissive pet had checked us into a cute boutique hotel in the Gare du Nord area of Paris. He was following my instructions to find us an upscale but unassuming hotel that came equipped with a sauna – and was off the beaten trail as I had intentions of teasing him by being naked once we were alone getting all steamed up.
Once I’m comfortable enough with a guy , there’s absolutely nothing more seductive than sitting naked in front of him in a sauna with my legs open and letting him watch the streams of sweat run down my nipples and cascade over the cracks of my pussy lips. It was my intention to tease him as such.
So there’s two ways to go about such a tease. On one hand, we could enter the sauna together and after a while just nonchalantly slip out of my towel and look at him flirtively to get an instant erection out of him.
But on the other hand , the shock value of going to the sauna first to get a full sweat on and having him walk in to see me all hot with legs spread open – well that always gets the greatest reaction.
On this occasion, that was the plan I had set up in my mind, so while my boy was tasked with the job of running to the SuperMarche two doors down Rue de Petit Hotels (I’d prefer to stay on Rue de Hommes avec de Gros Pénis, mais c’est la vie) I slipped on a baby towel and left a note on the bed for him to join me in the sauna.
Now this is an old building and in the area of the toilets/gym room/sauna/weight room the halls twist and turn themselves into a bit of a maze and after innocently peeking behind a door to find it led to the men’s change room I came upon sign that hung from the ceiling that said sauna and below it were two doors , one a thick looking wooden one and the other a paint chipped blue one.
I’ve been in hundreds of saunas, they’ve all had big thick wooden doors so naturally that’s the one I chose. After all, this isn’t the movie Labyrinth , it’s not like I’m choosing certain death, right?
Have you ever been momentarily ‘shocked so scared’ that you temporarily lose the ability to think clearly?
My mind had gone from full Mistress mode a minute ago in imagining my boys’ reaction to seeing me – to giggling at myself and uttering a cute ‘fuck’ as I mistakingly opened the men’s bathroom door, to feeling confused at the choice of two doors as I thought it was a silly way to put signage for a spa.
So when I realized that the wooden door didn’t lead to the spa but instead into a cobweb filled and dimly lit rear hallway with stairs and a service elevator my mind froze. It was like stepping into The Twilight Zone.
Then I head the door click shut behind me.
I whirlled around to open it but it had locked me out.
Like out of a Nightmare on Elm Street scene I began furiously pushing down on the latch (the kind that looks like a face with a long nose) and then began first knocking and then pounding on the door. But it was like 3pm , such an obscure time chosen by me to ensure the spa area would be empty so nobody heard me pounding on the door.
Then panicking, I eeked out an “oh my god” as i tiptoed down the grey mouldy concrete stairs to the even more dimly lit floor below only to find that door locked as well.
Looking down the stairwell I could see the floor two floors below completely shrouded in darkness so there was no way I was going to go that way and come face to face with the French version of Freddy Krueger.
“Oh fuck my life” I cried as I again tip toed up to the fake sauna door and tried my luck banging and yelping for help to no avail.
Behind me and to the left of the stairwell was a very narrow pasage that was crammed with unused chairs, a table , some lamps … all of which either real or imagined … was full of lint and cobwebs. Behind that mess of junk was a service elevator.
“Fine” I thought, “at least it’s lit better than the stairwell.”
In definitely one of the creepiest moments of my life I side stepped the unlit area with the chairs and lamps with my back turned towards them – fully expecting a witch’s hand to reach out suddenly and grab me by my shoulder.
The service elevator door had to be noisily yanked open … it was like a honey combed metal sliding door that had to be slammed shut in order for the elevator to function , and the lift itself was uncomfortably huge.
Worse was, as the lift went down it was open faced meaning, I could see the dank dark concrete wall as we descended and I’ve always had nightmares about that since as a kid I one time hit the stop and alarm button in a highrise lift only to have the elevator shake to a halt and the door open to the red number 34 painted on the concrete wall of the lift’s chasm.
My knees were shaking when the door opened to the first floor and utter horror set in a moment later when I found the door to the ground floor was locked as well.
Trapped.
“I’m going to die in the abandoned back halls of a never used hotel in Paris” I thought.
I had tears in my eyes as I made my way back to the service elevator, drawn to it like moths to a flame.
Then, hope. The lift had a speaker and what I assumed was a ‘talk’ button beside it.
I pressed it and screamed for help. Like … screamed. Top of my lungs ‘Evil Dead’ type of scream. I even bent down and put my lips right up to the metal speaker and yelled right into the microphone ‘Fucking help me s’il vous plais, s’il vous plais, s’il vous plais”
Moments later a none too amused hotel employee opened not the door in the front of the lift, but to my absolute horror, the back part of it.
It was at this moment I realized by the way he looked me up from toe to face that I was naked.
At some point with all the banging and tip toeing, I had dropped my towel.
He said something to me in French. I shook my head. He spoke again. Again I shook my head having no idea how to speak French I just used puppy dog eyes to get the hopelessness of my situation across to him.
Rolling his eyes to the top of his head and uttering a “mon dieu” he gestured for me to follow him.
A few steps forward he led with his shoulder through another blue door, much bigger than the one I should have chosen in the first place.
It led out onto the busy street. At 3pm in the afternoon. With cars, motorcycles, and people walking by.
I looked back at the lift thinking ‘oh you have got to be fucking kidding me, there has to be another way back to my room”
Understanding immediately what I was thinking he pursed his lips and shook his head sadly , then shrugged his shoulders as if to say there was no other option.
So out through an ominous blue door I stepped, naked, onto the streets of Paris.
Directly in front of me were motorcycles and bicylcles parked together , one of which had leather motorcycle gloves draped over the handlebars. Not fancy ones , nope, these were workman’s type gloves with the design of a dinosaur raptor on the sleeves.
“Fine, they’ll do” I thought. It’s amazing how quickly one can dismiss the thought of theft when presented with an adverse situation.
I draped the gloves over my shoulders. They were just barely long enough to reach but not cover my tits so I pinched them with my fingers and dropped them a few inches so they’d at least cover my nips.
Two steps later I realized the SuperMarche I’d sent my boy to fetch food from was right next door. Meaning, we were going to go in the front door of the hotel.
And wouldn’t you know it, the bells that I first thought were so quaint when I had first checked into the hotel , seemed to chime even louder as if to announce my entry to everybody in the lobby as my escort swung the door open for us.
I don’t remember much from that point on. My mind had been withdrawn like a turtle’s head to hide in my sub-c0nscious as we walked up to reception.
“Passport?” the lady behind the desk said.
“Are you serious?” I asked her.
I lifted my left raptor claw, and then my right, showing her both my tits in the process.
“Nope, no passport. Go figure , eh?”
She talked to the employee briefly in French and then they … as well as all the people in the lobby looked at me with what could only be described as an “how….the….fuck” look.
There’s a gate she has to buzz open , it sounds like the “fail” buzzer in the game show The Family Feud.
“Fail” it screamed, as it allowed me to pass through.
“Numero de something or other” the French employee asked me as we reached the elevator. I caught the word “numero” , and held up four fingers of a raptor claw to answer.
The elevator doors open and yup, it’s packed full of Amish people. Because of course it is. Four guys with all the same neck length tapered grey beards are frozen in place in the lift as they check me out – two or three times.
At this point my feet just shuffled forward. I swear , I could almost imagine the employee changing into a prison guard and yelling out “Dead girl walking” , and the lift was replaced by the room they hang people in.
Reached the 4th floor, and still numb with embarassment, I shuffled along the carpet to my room and knocked on the door.
And knocked again.
and again.
Finally after about 30 seconds or so, William my slave opens the door to me standing there naked – with the hotel employee standing behind me shaking his head as if he’d brought home a lost puppy … and William has the audacity to say “Where the fuck have you been, I was waiting for you in the ….”
SLAP. Definitely the hardest I’ve ever face slapped a man. It was like a Muay Thai kick , my hand’s trajectory starting from hip , was accelerated through the rotaion of my shoulders and down through the core of my abs , and followed through “like you’re aiming at hitting something 6 inches behind your target” as I’ve been taught.
My raptor claws fell to the ground.
“Pick those up and return them to the blue motorcycle outside the blue door on the street.” I instructed.
“What blue door? What? Where did you get these? What happened to you?” he asked , over and over.
“It’s” I began and then paused as I drew in a very deep breath, “a VERY long story, one that I’m not ever going to talk about” I said.
Well, until now. 🙂
Stay safe everybody.
xx
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