Spontaneous Combustion

Chapter Two-2

She was in the domain of women, a place uniquely familiar, although this French version of a woman’s boutique had its own peculiar appeal. She passed a cabinet of shimmering jewelry, hair clips and tubes of lipstick, then spent some time gazing at bottles of gleaming nail lacquer inside a round display case. There were clothes, racks of them, artfully arranged throughout the shop. None were squashed together, and there were no brightly colored sale tags. Designer clothes. Delicate lingerie. Silk. Satin. Linen. Lace. Fabrics in gold, silver, white, black, vibrant hues and soft pastels.

Women came here to look sexy, to become desirable, to plan seductions, private late night rendezvous with handsome lovers and bisexual females. They came to transform themselves – although for a French woman transformation was no more than an extension of what is natural to her heritage. Jeni thought of it as a peculiar gene for glamour and beguiling bestowed on them at birth and nurtured by a society unashamed of sexuality. This magical property must have had its origin centuries ago, and has now so infused the culture that it permeates the air, the water, the landscape, the food and the physical essence of the people that fall under its spell. It was an atmosphere laden with s****l mystery that Jeni felt the moment she stepped in the door. Not unlike the mystery she found around every corner, in every shop and bistro and along the streets of Rouen.

Thoughts of Jack and kink and the erotic romance of France already had her hot with lust. And now this place…

She moved quietly through the boutique, stopping to finger the delicate lace edging on a cream colored chemise. She marveled at the feel of a butter soft cotton t-shirt; and visibly shivered as she touched silk panties like the ones in the window. If only she had the means to purchase all these pretty things. But at 35 euro – for just a pair of panties, she decided to love them all, but enjoy without having to possess them.

Never had she lived through her senses as she did now, where the experience of the thing, the touch, the taste, the sound, the feel was more important than the desire to buy. She loved this altered state, though she struggled to know how she could possibly become more aroused, feel more erotic than she felt now, and still take in more.

She circled a display of blouses, then stopped abruptly, noting a small tickle of excitement at the back of her neck. She turned around and stood stock still. Something unexpected awaited – and that flash of intuition almost made her weak. She soon knew its source. Emerging through silky drapery at the rear of the boutique was the girl with the white blonde hair from the night before. Jeni stepped back, an involuntary response, as if from ten feet away the girl had the power to knock her down. She caught herself, and had the presence of mind to close her gaping mouth. The sudden shudder of desire hit hard against her fear of being found guilty of undisguised adoration. Of course, she wasn’t stalking this lovely creature – but she had to reign in her desire before it became conspicuous.

Of all the places and designer boutiques in Rouen, all the sexy blondes in this city of beautiful blondes, that Jeni would stumble on this particular woman in the shop across from her hotel seemed strangely eerie. Small coincidences were not uncommon in her world. It wouldn’t be the first time her fantasies materialized in real life. Was it happening again? Had she drawn this woman to her? The idea was completely absurd. This was where the girl worked, she just happened to enter that boutique. A quirk of fate, nothing more.

When the blonde approached her smiling, Jeni’s heart leapt, and her body shivered deeply. Her nerves were already in tatters from anxiety and she wanted to flee out the door and into the street. And yet, there was something in the girl’s aura that gently closed in around her and held her there.

“Puis-je vous aider?”

“Oui.” She struggled to recall the French translation, and when that failed her, she smiled self-consciously. “Excusez-moi, Je ne comprend pas. Anglais?

“Oui, Madame.”

“Ah, merci. I was looking at the mannequin in the window…?” she pointed toward the front of the shop.

“Ah oui, the bra and panties,” the blonde said. She spoke in beautifully fluent English, and like the night before, falling naked into the girl’s embrace became a thought Jeni found difficult to ignore.

“The price, sil vous plait?”

“Ah, I think it would be 75 euro, for them both. Would you like to try them on?”

She shook her head and smiled. “No, merci, I was just admiring…”

“May I help with anything else?”

“No, mademoiselle, merci. I’ll just look around.”

“I am Justine if I can help,” the blonde girl said, smiling warmly, then she moved away. Infatuation, Jeni, that’s all this is. Don’t let it own you.

Jeni moved on browsing leisurely until she suddenly spotted Celia, a woman from the tour, on the opposite side of a rack of sheer black nightgowns. As their eyes met, the redheaded Celia smiled and brushed the hair from her face. The two shared the distinction of being the youngest members on the tour – women having just tiptoed into middle age, traveling alone. Celia was one of those immediately likeable women who seem unencumbered by fantasy and daydreams, unfazed by the new and unique. An easy manner. Uncomplicated style. All of which Jeni loved. But there was more, and that more was something distinctly s****l, which made Celia’s appearance in the boutique an interesting coincidence. She was older and more mature than Justine, exuding a depth of character, a life of love and loss – perhaps much like her own. And, remarkably, she fit the atmosphere of the boutique dressed in a filmy back sundress and turquoise jewelry.

The first time Jeni laid eyes on the woman at the Paris hotel, her attraction to Celia was instantaneous. Her attraction to women was nothing new to her. But she’d learned long ago, that breaching bisexual barriers with women was a tricky business, something she reserved for b**m play parties where s****l lines were indistinct, rules were few, and woman crossed the line with assurance that their open sexuality would be celebrated, not judged. There was an exhilarating freedom in such sexy play. The fragrance of a woman’s body, the delicacy of kisses, the silky feel of female flesh – the whole world seemed to take on a different guise when she was in the company of women who easily crossed that line. But Jeni didn’t instigate, and she certainly wouldn’t now.

But one never knew what might happen on a trip to France. Maybe it wouldn’t be a man to lure her away from Jack, but a woman. The thought of that could have her head spinning. Wasn’t Jack enough for now?

Celia herself ended Jeni’s inner quarrel moments later, “You know, we really should sit together tonight at dinner.” She moved around the rack of gowns to Jeni’s side and spoke in a hushed voice. “Nice tour, but some of our companions are a little conventional, don’t you think?”

Jeni couldn’t disagree. “I haven’t thought about it much, but I certainly haven’t made any real connections. Dinner, yes. Let’s do that tonight.”

They would be no more than friends, even though she felt some girlish glee at the prospect of sharing the trip with the lovely redhead.

Celia had fascinated her since she first laid eyes on her. Jeni had noted the way she would stare at women, though just as often she would find her staring at men with the same longing gaze. At times, Celia gazed off vacantly into space. At other times there was a glittery look in her eye; and her smile carried inside it whimsy and desire. She was a small woman, almost impish in size, but now that she’d opened a conversation, her essence seemed to expand, a feeling that hit Jeni’s crotch and traveled deep. That was not necessarily good news in Jeni’s vulnerable state of mind. But there was a riddle behind the woman that Jeni had not yet solved.

Celia’s lingerie shop proposal for dinner thrust a woman with apprehensions and a highly volatile libido, into new and not particularly comfortable territory. She was only suggesting dinner, but Jeni had to stop herself from wondering if there was something more behind that invitation.

She could easily imagine Celia as a lover – their arms wrapped around each other in bed, their naked p*****s pushing against the other, clits rock hard, the soft spasming pleasure of their hungry bodies enjoying a long afternoon of roaming hands and passionate kisses. The images were fresh and real, feeling ultimately doable. While the daydream lasted, she tossed thoughts of Jack aside – including an unexpected feeling of guilt. What was that about anyway? He certainly couldn’t command her fidelity under the circumstances, could he? She didn’t owe him that, at least not yet.

“Good then, we have a date.” Celia smiled. “You buying anything?” she asked as she pulled a silky black tee-shirt from the rack.

“Nope, too pricey for me,” Jeni replied.

They shared a laugh then exited the store a few minutes later. Erotic thoughts of the lovely Justine seemed to vanish with a new companion for the trip emerging from the other side of a rack of lingerie.

***

“I’m up early again, the city noises. I’m glad to hear the pics came through, there’s another attached…more of my toys including the ballgag and the deerskin flogger. I’m missing the picture with the chains. I’ll send that when I find it. I’ve been thinking of you on all fours, after a through physical exam and whipping, your cheeks spread wide waiting for my c**k. Where to put it? How about filling both love holes? Maybe a speculum in one and a c**k in the other?”

Jeni’s body quickened, reading that last remark. Double penetration? There’d been a time many years ago when there were two c***s… The memory made her shiver, although she wasn’t thinking dildos or speculum, but two men at once. Two holes, two men with erections pressed in the tight spaces of her crotch. A huge wave of desire rose up through her body, giving it quite a jolt as her imagination took flight. This would be edgy. She wondered how Jack would feel about including another man, or was he the kind of Dom to want her entirely for himself?

“I’m excited for you and the places you’ll be visiting. Perhaps you’ll ‘stumble’ on one of those infamous Paris s*x clubs, a b**m one would be perfect.

I’ll have more pictures to start your day.

Still wearing the n****e ties? I sure hope so. I don’t even like thinking of the alternative.

Sitting back smiling thinking of you.”

Still wearing the n****e ties? She read Jack’s words again. An unsettling feeling surfaced, as if she’d done something terribly wrong, and she was stung with guilt. Perhaps more upsetting was her sudden visceral and very s****l response.

No, she wasn’t wearing the n****e ties, not with her assigned roommate being a 55 year old librarian from Alabama who wore a large silver cross on her chest. Private space was minimal on this tour, at least in their small Rouen hotel room. n****e ties wouldn’t fit in the tiny world she shared with her very religious but otherwise jolly roommate.

I don’t even like thinking of the alternative.

And exactly what did he mean by that – what alternative? Another twinge of guilt, another sharp spasm of desire. If he’d been there, she’d have been falling all over herself with a thousand apologies.

On the other hand, what right did he have to demand her obedience on any matter? They were not Master/slave, certainly, not even Dom/sub – not exactly. They were flying forward into a kink relationship on conjecture, assumptions and hypotheses. She’d allowed his easy command of her to take hold without raising a single objection. Because she wanted it. In the most primitive part of her, she wanted a Dominant man in her life. She yearned for the very kind of authority Jack conveyed so artlessly. And just look at her, wasn’t her physical response to her ‘disobedience’ telling enough? ‘I don’t even like thinking of the alternative’, immediately made her panties wet, with her s****l heat building rapidly. And not the average sort of everyday s****l heat, a passing moment of lust, but a fierce kind of penetrating heat, that dug deep and made her want him more. How deeply submissive she’d become to his authority. This man, playing Dominant to the surrendering female in her had an uncanny knack of raising her s****l hunger with just the simplest comment. As far as she could tell, he didn’t even have to think this up, he came upon his dominance naturally.