Please Me: Passion in Paris
By: Jennifer Willows
This is a disclaimer… pretty standard… this book is not about you or anybody you know, any brands listed are their own and are not being advertised. Please don’t give this book to any other persons… it’s not a cold, don’t share the file please… the FBI looks down on that sort of thing… I wrote this work on my own, this is my intellectual property and it is self-edited. And yes, I am the “cover artist” as well. Please do not use any portion of this novel from the cover to the last page without prior permission from the author unless the quote is in reference to a review of the story. So with that being said, all errors are my own and I can’t blame anyone but myself for any and all mistakes. There are BDSM elements in this story, so please don’t be offended if you choose to read any further than this page. If you are under the age of consent wherever you are, please read something else and not this book. I am not responsible if you try anything I depict in any of my stories this one included. With that said, enjoy and happy reading!
Jennifer Willows
This book is to all the readers out there who are in need of a little extra something special tonight, me included.
Please Me: Passion in Paris
Sharisse “Shari” Jacobs loved her husband, Pierre Jacobs, with everything she had. He was French and extremely passionate in bed. Yet, even with his dutiful attentions to the physical act of love, she felt unfulfilled most nights. Her husband was partial to lovemaking, but that wasn't what Shari truly longed for. She wanted plain and simple to be fucked, for her husband to take his wife with no mercy. But Pierre was a gentle giant, large and rawboned man and a testament to his simple country upbringing.
She and Pierre were just married just shy of two months ago. But since their first night as man and wife, he touched her as if she were spun glass. Shari hated that feeling, as if she were too delicate for him to take her with the strength that he was capable of. Every night, Pierre would cuddle her close and touch every part of her, make her wet for him. His cock was huge, just like the rest of him, and filled every crevice of her sex. That wasn't the problem. He had everything needed to fulfill her, but he used it wrong. Almost like a math problem where he kept adding instead of subtracting, and ended up with the wrong answer.
Her husband kept adding self-control to the mix, and Shari was nearly at her wits end. In hopes could spur his wild side, she had taken a few days off from work. She expected that by the end of the week, Pierre would give in to base animal desire and give her what she craved. Her plan was simple and she hoped that dressing for seduction would release the beast she knew lived inside of her spouse. Shari went shopping on Wednesday morning and drooled over couture night gowns in boutiques across town for most of the day.
That very night Shari wore a sexy La Pearla negligee to entice Pierre. It worked to an extent. He came home starved for a good meal and a glass of wine, both of which waited for him. But his surprise was that Shari skillfully concealed a gown designed to make angels fall to their knees.
She had chosen the delicate peignoir after an hour long deliberation. There were a couple purchases specially tailored for her in the boutique the first of which she was about to wear tonight. She wished he would rip the lace and silk confection off her body and require her to make another trip across town to replace the ruined garment on Thursday morning. Shari took a bath, really more of a lengthy, luxurious soak in soft, vanilla sandalwood scented bubbles, salts and hot water. Every inch save her head and face had been waxed clean of hair that morning, now she was satin smooth and stubble free.
As she watched herself in the mirror, Shari spread lotion over her golden brown skin and reminisced on how Pierre claimed she was the color of caramels half melted by sunlight the night they first made love. Her normally curly hair was painstakingly blow dried into a mass of straightened locks that drifted down her back to kiss her spine mid-way.
For most Frenchmen, Shari was too thick since her hips and butt were a bit bigger than fashionable in a size fourteen pant. But Pierre loved every inch and he showed her that every night. But more than she desired her husband’s love, she wanted his lust. She knew his iron control had to hide a sexual monster and her primary fantasy was to meet that version of him in a dark alley. She never got to see him completely let go and have at her with no pity for her smaller, weaker frame.
She spread the lotion over her double D breasts. Pierre had spent many days and uncountable hours solely on the globes of female flesh. He would suckle them, nibble them, lave and taste her nipples. But she wanted bites and gropes from her mate, wanted bruises to mottle her skin from his hands the next day. Shari craved it so badly, she begged him night after night for more. Just last night as a matter of fact, she threw her body at him and he only took her in hand and slowed her back down to a more leisurely pace.
Shari truly desired him and only him. He made her melt inside on sight. His long hair curled around his neck and ears, the dark mass was slightly shaggy and mixed well with his hawk like features. His eyes were by nature a leaf green, but when he was inside her the color resembled fresh pine needles. His pupils would dilate and the ring of green would mesmerize her. He enticed her with his long legs and thick muscles. Shari never thought she would meet a Frenchman when Pierre fell in her lap. She had come to the elegant country on a visa as an apprentice to a premier clothier and design house when she met him less than a week after she arrived.
Six months ago…
She spent the first days after her red-eye flight from the United States walking the streets of the city of love. Amongst the svelte French brunettes and perfect watercolor blondes Shari felt as if she were a bull in a china shop. The people looked at her queerly, as if she were an oddity, a curiosity that they found freakishly appealing. People loved to touch her hair without permission, it seemed most were interested about the texture. The chairs felt too small here, and in reality everything felt tiny. Especially the cars. The taxi from the airport appeared to be no bigger than a coffin and sounded cavernous like a hearse. But the city was beautiful and the art superb. For a neophyte she had taken to navigating the area well and now she could find her favorite places blindfolded.
It was during her first week in the city that she literally bumped into Pierre on her way from a bakery. She carried a bag with a croissant in one hand and a coffee in the other, her mid-morning breakfast. She missed grits, but the crepes were to die for here. As she left the shop, Shari didn't pay attention when she opened the door to exit and she nearly whacked a man who attempted to enter in the face. It was concrete proof that she was ungainly. Luckily, the man wasn't hurt. He introduced himself and the handsome male made her ache down below slightly. She was a virgin, but that didn't mean Shari didn't know enough to desire sex. Quite the opposite actually, she gave herself several orgasms daily and needed them to get through the day. Her desires were far from virginal, but she didn't want to give herself to some raggedy fool. Not for her first lover.
She wanted a man that could make her first experience at love amazing, and desired to be swept away with fiery need and obsessive lust. Pierre was so virile and scented with undiluted masculinity that her panties were disgustingly wet on first sight. From the moment she saw him she wanted him. Needed him. Every fantasy pirate and rogue she masturbated to as a fledgling adult was in front of her. Shari unconsciously licked her lips and Pierre visually followed the movement, his green orbs now sensually dark and forest sultry. He apologized in immaculately phrased English. She thought for a moment he may be a fellow American, but he disabused her of that notion almost immediately. When he escorted her over to a small bistro table and chairs outside, he seated her first and s
howed her that he was a perfect gentleman.
"No, I am not American. I am French-Italian."
"Wow me too." Did she really say that? He was going to think she didn't have a brain in her head.
The man opposite her was a cool customer and he didn't even bat an eyelash. But his eyes were filled at mirth at the faux pas.
"No sorry, I mean I'm half Italian too." Her mother was a hard-nosed Jersey girl with an attitude and shoulder chip two miles long, her dad a black southern Bama' boy who was as patient as the day was long.
"Ahh..." He smiled as if he now understood what she meant. That first breakfast was the beginning of something wonderful as the day passed and Pierre refused to leave her side. In fact, she ate all of her meals with him that day, and as that day turned into a week and that week became a month she was in love in the city of love.
Shari lingered over the memories of the first time she met her husband, and watched the sunset cascade the sky in pinks and oranges. Shari took her gown, allowed the fabric to slide over her skin and she felt sensual and soft, pure woman. The chemise style gown was made primarily of black lace patterned in a V shape with green silk. The two paired to create a peek-a-boo effect. Most of her breasts were in plain sight, the V of green silk made a poor shield for her large girls. Even a small crest of areola was visible. The lowest V covered her mound, but just at that and if she leaned forward, part of the slit of her sex would flash into view.
Ready as she was going to be, Shari put on her dark green kimono robe. She set the dinner out prepared earlier. The French tended to love sauces on everything, but she made a southern meal tonight. Chicken fried steak with country gravy and a long bean in lieu of green beans. She made biscuits and a cobbler to finish with. When Pierre walked inside the house a feast awaited him. He ate the food, and smiled with each bite. Shari was too nervous to eat, but she did put a dent in the wine bottle.
When the married couple finished their dinner, the dishes were cleared from the table, and Pierre had a small cigar and a snifter of liquor. Shari wasn't much of a drinker, but the continental residents seemed to thrive on alcohol in all its forms. She popped a second bottle of wine and sipped one last glass. It was alright to get tight, but wasted was another story, especially with the plans she had tonight. After she sipped half the glass, she walked to Pierre and slowly removed the robe that shielded her new garment.
Shari saw his eyes darken, and knew she was half-way there. Next on the agenda was to tempt him until he pounced. She dropped the robe to the floor in a pool of watered hunter green fabric. She saw his fists clench, and she hitched the hem from mid-thigh to cusp of her mound. His eyes were near black and starved as Shari climbed on the table only to let the hem re-frame her sex. She sat directly in front of him and his eyes were glued to the skin the lace highlighted but in no way concealed.
Her nipples were fully visible through the tatted weave, and she rubbed her palms over the erect buds. Pierre appeared hungry. In fact, he appeared to be damn near starved once again. His jaw was clenched tightly, so much so, that she didn't know where his teeth fit in the picture. To send him farther, she used one hand to shield her pussy coquettishly, and rubbed the palm against her mound. She saw his nostrils flare, and saw him greedily ogle the peek-a-boo effect on her wet sex as the silk darkened on contact.
****
Pierre was about to lose control, and he was afraid to scare his wife. He had been holding his needs back for so long now they virtually beat at him day and night. But he loved Shari too much to frighten her with his dark side. He had never known another woman to enthrall him on sight and there was no way he wanted to lose her. But she was a virgin when they met, and there was no way he would debase and abuse a naive femme such as his blushing bride. Even now, after two months of physical love with his wife, she was ignorant to his dark desires and the thrall of dominant lust.
For a jaded Frenchman, a virgin woman was a rare delight to be savored and always gently initiated. His country was a sexual one, very open to possibility and daring in the right circumstances. He could be too much for most women, who enjoyed play as just that. For the ladies he normally played with his games were something to indulge in occasionally and the few who would enjoy his fetish games on a daily basis were not women he wanted to make a life with. If a fellow French woman found him to be excessive, what would a gentle girl such as Shari think? Plus, he had been described as too controlling, and Shari was too passionate to take well to his dominant streak. He tried to make love to his wife and keep his own perverse needs at bay. But she would receive what she unwittingly asked for if he didn't get himself together and fast.
Pierre looked over his wife propped before him, and the way she was presented made her a platter of pussy freshly picked for his pleasure. He leaned over her steamy wet flesh and dived in. He snagged her clit between his lips and worried the ruby red gem. Shari screamed out and the half groan told him he was on target. He watched his wife squirm and he gained more control of himself with each pass of his tongue over her naked slit.
Pierre thought of something random, escargot to be exact, while he licked and suckled the sex lips of his mate. The blood left his ears, and he could hear clearly again. His cock was still hard as a tire iron, but no longer controlled his functions. He still felt the unnatural lust, but was apart from it, almost as if he observed the desire rather than feeling it. When he gave his wife pleasure he felt more in control of the needs that plagued him every moment.
He knew Shari wanted more, she always did. But he knew that if he showed her what he wanted she would run screaming for the hills. So night after night, they both were left unsatisfied. Or rather, not fully satisfied. Pierre worked hard to ensure that she didn't know about his needs. That her own be sated, even if he were left to ache. Pierre leaned over his wife and again toggled the stiff organ between his lips, even though she had come already.
When he saw she was too sensitive for any further stimuli Pierre stood, cock ready for her. He carried his wife to bed, where they made gentle love for several hours. He was hungrier for the experience when they finished and Pierre was disgusted with himself. He felt that he should be able to enjoy simple vanilla lovemaking with his wife. The desires he hid made him feel like a deviant. Like an unnatural pervert.
Each and every day Pierre came closer to exposure of his closely held secret, and he just wanted to make every moment with his wife last.
If she found out... Pierre was unable to even finish the thought. He couldn't imagine life without Shari. She could run from him back to the U.S., and he would be hard pressed to follow her. Each night, he dreamed of taking his wife in the manner he truly wished to. Each day, he begged God for the fortitude to hold his desires secret from her. He was damn close to losing it. Pierre laid still, pretended to sleep while he listened to his wife touch herself. He would think as many orgasms as he gave her each night that she would sleep like a baby. But even with his full attentions, night after night he listened to her finger herself to an additional peak before she fell asleep. What more could she want from him? And more importantly, what could he do when his carefully hidden secrets were finally exposed to the one person he needed most?
****
Shari lay in bed, after a long night of lovemaking peppered with several gentle orgasms. But she wanted more even after she reduced her husband to a dried husk. As she worked her clit with pinched tugs, Shari let her mind wander and her true desires carry her away. Pierre would probably think she was a whore to crave the dark acts she dreamed of with him.
The next day, Shari pulled out another of her sexy outfits. The one she chose for Thursday was a harem girl top and pants. When she put on the gossamer scarf bra top and baggy pantaloons, she looked in the mirror. She kind of looked like Jeannie from the old sitcom and the thought made her laugh as she needed just one wish. Although three would be alright with her too.
This night the usual pattern followed as she exposed the outfit, danced a retake on the seven
veils and her husband appreciated it, but not enough to get her desires quenched. Their usual pattern of lovemaking left her with many orgasms, but not the la petite morte she sought. Shari wanted that feeling, to be pleased to near death. Would she go out with kicks and screams, or shivers and whimpers?
That night, Shari refused to sleep. She had to come up with a plan he couldn't resist. After much deliberation she decided on a new course of action. But if she wanted to use her plan B she had a bit more shopping to do in the morning.
The following day, Shari combed the streets of Paris, searched high and low for the items necessary to take her husband from mild to wild. As she strolled through Pigatelle Place, in Montmartre, Shari was grateful to be there during the day. Pig alley was a commonly used name for the area since it was a well-known hotbed of activity for randy minded solders during the Second World War.
There was just too much too see and do. If she had the nerve to show her face her at night alone, she probably would have gotten hopelessly lost just from the number of distractions.
Her exploratory walk led her to Passage du Désir and she found a few things, but not what she was quite looking for. She carried the small bag with her as she wandered to Demonica, one of the largest sex shoppes in Paris. The entrance was discreet and only a large gilt letter D framed the square sign above the door. When she entered it was sexual, but not blatant or tacky. There was much to choose from, and she found a few garments she liked, though her choices were mostly leather. She purchased the items and felt good about her new plan. If tonight didn't work then she was wrong about her husband, there was no further depth to their passion and she would just have to accept what they had.
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