Getting Pregnant in Paris Read online

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  Getting Pregnant in Paris

  By Stacy Neptune

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  I would never tell anyone, but I didn't actually travel to Paris just so that I could take in the sights. I didn't take the trip to get away from it all, or explore a new part of the world. I spent all that money, took all that time, because there was something I could never do in my home town that I thought I'd be able to do far away.

  It wasn't the actual city that was important. There wasn't anything about Paris that made me think it would be the best city to do this kind of thing in. But it's the one I chose. It's the place I traveled to just so I could expose myself. To strangers.

  The first night I got there, I just sat in the hotel room. I was wearing the very short skirt I'd bought specifically for this trip. When my husband asked about it, I said I just bought it on a whim. I didn't let him see I'd packed it.

  I sat there wearing it with no underwear underneath, just looking out the big window at Paris.. I bent over and looked at myself in the full length mirror. I think I looked good. Shaven. The heels I wore made my legs look slender and long. But that first night I couldn't do it. I ended up just using one of the toy's I'd brought along - a pink vibrator that could always reach just the right spot. I fell asleep promising myself that tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow I would hit the town and show it was I had.

  I slept in, of course, because I was still trying to have a nice vacation. I woke up around 11 and told myself that I'd head out with no underwear, but that it didn't have to mean anything. I didn't have to flash anyone. I could just go and have breakfast, and I only had to do anything more if I felt like it. I also wore a nice flowery button-up shirt with no bra underneath. In case I got the urge.

  The restaurant was a posh place with a breakfast buffet and those fancy waiters. I sat down by myself and this incredibly hot waiter walked up to my table. Exactly what you think of when you think of an attractive french man - he was tall, handsome, with just the right about of stubble.

  With an accent that was to-die-for, he said "Can I get you something to drink, madam?"

  "Just a water," I said. Then I tried my best to say the only French phrase I knew. "S'il vous plait."

  He smiled, and said, "Un moment."

  Then he walked off and returned with a water for me. "So what brings you to Paris?" he asked.

  "I'm just here to take in some of the sights," I said. "Get away from it all." I'd been telling that lie to people for weeks back at home, so it came out naturally.

  "Well," he said, "I hope you find everything you're looking for. The buffet is that way. Please enjoy and let me know if you need anything."

  I filled up my plate. There I sat, eating a delicious breakfast, just watching my waiter. I spread my legs a bit. A little bit more than I normally would. So much that someone standing in just the right position would have been able to see my panties. Had I been wearing any panties. But I didn't catch anyone looking.

  I finished my meal and took off. I was wet just thinking about what I wanted to do. I found the closest underground station and went down to where the people get on their trains. That seemed like the right spot to start out. People would be coming and going. Fleeting. Ephemeral. I didn't need to worry about any of them finding out who I was. I could show them everything I wanted.

  It was a bustling station, with hundreds of people on the platform. They flowed down the wide hallways like a river. I found one spot just off the beaten path where I would be in perfect view of everyone walking by. Then I dropped a pen.

  Facing away from the crowd, I bent down. I could feel the air on my wet pussy as I exposed it to the swaths of French men and women walking by. They all saw me.

  I look threw my legs while grabbing at the pen. The women all took one glance and then looked away. The men all stared at me. Judging me. Imagining themselves ramming into my waiting pussy. Fucking me hard.

  I stood back up. That had been it. That's all there was too it. The world hadn't ended. I might have offended someone, but no one knew my name. I thought it was time to take it a step further.

  Walking across the station, I unbuttoned my shirt one button too many. I folded in one side of it so that my nipple was out. I don't have the biggest boobs ever, but they were big enough that maybe this could've happened by accident. I saw a young man standing behind a help desk, and walked up to him. Tons of cleavage and one nipple exposed.

  "Hello," I said. "I'm trying to get to the Eiffel Tower. How do I get there from here?"

  That pause. Before he could answer, before he could look me in the face. That pause as he just stared at my chest like it was everything he ever wanted. I could feel myself getting wetter. "You need to take train C," he said in a slightly higher accent than the waiter. "They run every fifteen minutes. Disembark at Champ du Mars." Then he glanced down back at my exposed parts. Back to eye contact. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

  "No," I said. "Thank you."

  I walked away. I thought about bending over and giving him the rest of the show, but that seemed like a little too much. I ended up getting on the train to the Eiffel Tower, because everyone would think it was weird if I went to Paris and didn't see it. I sat on the train with my legs spread all the way apart, and just watched the faces of everyone as they saw. No one commented. Everyone tried to be discreet. But I could see them looking. I could tell what they were imagining. Taking me, right then. Bending me over and fucking me on the train. I could tell some of them were hard enough to get the job done.

  I got off at Champ du Mars, walked up the stairs, and there it was. The tower. It really was beautiful, but it wasn't why I was there. I was still coming down off the high of flashing everyone at the station. Showing my boob to the man at the booth. The people who stared at my cooch during their boring commutes. The bulge in their pants while they stood up to get off the train. I was on a roll.

  So I found a park bench, and I sat there with my legs fully spread. There was a light breeze that'd lift my skirt enough to show everything now and then. I unbuttoned my shirt enough that I was in full-cleavage mode, but it was still PG-13.

  I sat there for a while. There were so many tourists in the area. Walking by. Sight seeing. I kept watching as husbands would see me, do a double take, and then stare until their wives pulled them away. Boys much younger than me were fascinated by what I was showing them. The idea of a younger man just having his way with me. I put my arms up along the back of the bench and rolled my head back.

  When I eventually stopped fantasizing and got back to noticing things, I saw that a young man, probably twenty five, was sitting on the bench opposite me. No newspaper. No cellphone. Just a slick suit and a stare. He wasn't trying to be subtle. He made occasional eye contact, but his focus was on my chest. When the breeze blew he knew to look down and get a glimpse. Then he close his eyes for a moment and get back to staring.

  I just stared right back at him. I had no idea who he was. He didn't know who I was. It didn't matter that he was seeing me naked. Exposed. I practically got off at just the thought of it, but then he walked over and sat next to me. His arm went over my shoulders, pulling me close. He was at least a foot taller than I was. "You are from out of town?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Which hotel?" he asked. It was the kind of voice that just had to be answered.

  "Adagio," I said.

  "Room number?" he asked.

  I wasn't about to give my number to a strange man. I had no idea what his intentions were. "Why would I tell you that?"

  "So," he said, turning on the bench to face me. "So that tonight I can come to your room and fuck you. Fuck you harder
than you've ever been fucked before."

  "You think I'd just..."

  "Is your husband here on the trip?"

  "No, but I..."

  "So what is your room number?"

  "315." As soon as the words were out of my mouth I couldn't believe I'd said them.

  "I will be there," he said. "No dinner. No movie. 8 o'clock."

  Then he stood up and walked away. I just sat on the bench for a minute. I practically had to catch my breath after talking to him.

  I didn't know what to do. Was I really going to let this stranger have his way with me? Sure, I'd fantasized about it, but did I really want it to happen?

  The rest of the day I spent actually seeing the sights. It was like that conversation had been an incredibly powerful orgasm, leaving me not in the mood for a few hours. Just when it came to flashing. I was still raring to go on the sex part.

  I took myself out to a fancy dinner and ended up in my room at 7 o’clock. If I didn’t want to have sex with the man, if I didn’t want to be unfaithful to my husband, the solution was simple. All I had to do was be out of the hotel room at 8. Or just not answer the door when he knocked. It wasn’t like he had a room key.

  But at quarter to, I found myself getting ready. I pulled the red curtains closed, turned off all the lights but one. I put on the see-through nighty I’d packed. I packed it with something like this in mind. Part of me, even if I didn’t admit it to myself, had come to Paris for exactly this.

  At eight o’clock there was a knock at the door.

  I walked up to the door. I knew what I was doing was wrong. I knew that I shouldn't be letting anyone in. But I did it anyway.

  When the door was only open an inch, his hands pushed it the rest of the way very quickly. He stepped past me into the room, and immediately said, "No no no. You've got it all wrong."

  He started flipping light switches. He looked around the room until he'd found every single one of them. Every light was on. The whole room was well lit. There was nowhere to hide. Everything was clear. Obvious.

  Then he walked to the window. He pulled the red curtains back. The night was dark. You could see hardly anything other than the reflection of the room. But I knew how it worked. A well-lit room at night is like being in a fish bowl. Everyone can see into the window clearly. My room was on the third floor, but that wasn't much assurance.

  I was about to voice a complaint. Sure, I wanted to be able to flash people. They'd catch a glimpse of some private part of my body. That was no big deal. But having sex - cheating on my husband - somewhere that everyone in Paris could see me. That was was kind of pushing it.

  But he didn't give me a chance to complain. He dropped all his clothes while walking towards me. Then he grabbed the bottom of my nighty and pulled it up off me. He didn't ask. He just did it. Then he grabbed me by the hips, pulled me in for a quick kiss, the pushed me up against the window.

  He knelt down behind me and buried his face in my ass. I'd never had my ass licked before, but I'd thought about it. I just knew my husband would never go for it.

  He tongue was wet and smooth. It pressed up against that forbidden part of me. It tickled a bit, but also felt incredible. Like the first time I'd played with my clit. Huge sopping wet lick after lick. Most licks his tongue just went over my hole, pressing it in a bit. But then one lick his tongue would go inside. And that feeling was incredible. Like a whole new type of pleasure.

  I looked into my own reflected eyes, and then refocused so that I could see the city. There were cars driving by. People walking down the streets. And another hotel with more than three stories - hundreds of rooms that could see my window. Everyone could see what was happening to me. What was being done to me.

  He kept at it as my body convulsed with pleasure. I wasn't going to orgasm, but whatever he was doing was making me incredibly wet. I swear I was dripping before he gave up licking my asshole.

  Then he stood. My hands were sturdy on the handrail against the window. He grabbed my hips and lifted me into the air just enough that our parts aligned. "Wait," I said. "Shouldn't you use a condom?"

  "I had a vasectomy," he said. And then it happened. He pressed his dick against my pussy lips. For a second they resisted, but then he broke through. I could tell right away he was bigger than my husband. He pushed it in slowly, every inch further multiplying the intensity of the feeling. He stretched me open inside. Reached places I'd only ever gotten with dildos. But he was alive. Flesh. I could feel his warmth. His heartbeat.

  Once he was all the way in, he waited for a second. Then he got to it. In and out, faster than I was used to. At first I was caught off guard. It felt so different from when we took it slow at home. But then I got sucked into it, into the feeling, and I was off.

  I couldn't think about anything. I didn't want to think about anything. My breasts pressed against the glass, his abs pressed against my ass. My eyes rolled back in my head. He didn't slow down. He wasn't getting tired. He pounded away until I thought I was about to finish from nothing but that. Just hitting that perfect spot every time. That spot my husband so rarely managed to hit.

  Then he paused, licked his finger, and stuck it in my ass. I let out a huge moan - well, it bordered on a scream - when he did that. And then he got back into the rhythm, now fucking my ass with his finger as he fucked my cunt with his long, rock hard cock.

  I couldn't stand that position for long. There was just too much. The pattern, the rhythm, the direction, he got it all right. I started to cum, but he didn't slow down. As I convulsed and moaned, pressed up against that window for all of France to see, he whispered just two words into my ear. "I'm fertile."

  He hadn't had a vasectomy. He was about to finish in me. His grip on my hips tightened as he plowed deep, keeping my orgasm going and going.

  I felt his manhood begin to swell. It got harder. It throbbed. In an out. All the way in then almost all the way out. When my husband starts to throb, he's finished within a couple of pumps. With this guy, not so much. He kept it going for at least a minute, possibly the best minute of my life. It was like our bodies became one, him swelling and me stretching in unison.

  Until eventually he couldn't hold back. I could feel his cum shooting into me. There was nothing between me and him. No barriers. He emptied his load deep into me, filling me to my limits. My orgasm kept swelling and rolling until his was entirely finished.

  He fell back onto the floor, and I crunched up against the window. Neither of us had anything left. I pressed my hot skin against the cold window. I saw the people outside. The people who could see me naked. Used. I didn't care. We were both breathing heavily.

  Eventually he managed to stand. He pulled his suit back on and then leaned down close to me. "The night you get back, fuck your husband. No protection. He never needs to know."

  I heard the door open and swing shut. He was gone. I felt his cum ooze out of me, and let out a huge breath. I'd needed that. That had been exactly what I needed.

  At some point I managed to drag myself from the floor to the bed. All of my muscles were refusing to cooperate. Everything had been so drenched in pleasure that it hardly worked anymore. I fell asleep the minute I was surrounded by the comfortable duvet and hotel pillows. Didn't even take the time to wipe myself up. I slept like a log.

  I woke up the next morning, looked at the clock, and realized that it wasn't technically still morning. It was five after one. I'd missed the breakfast buffet. I was just happy that I hadn't missed my flight home, which left at seven that evening.

  I lay still for a while, enjoying the comfort. When I moved I noticed a wet spot in between my legs. That's when I remembered what I'd done the night before. The wetness was that man's cum. The cum he'd plowed into me. No protection.

  I lay there for another minute, trying to figure out what I needed to do. Did I have to tell my husband? Was he going to figure it out somehow? What if I was pregnant?

  I didn't need to tell him. There was no way for him to figure out. A
ll I had to do was follow the French man's final instructions. Fuck my husband without protection when I got home. Then if I ended up pregnant, no one would ever know how it had happened. He didn't have any reason to suspect me.

  I got in the shower, and turned it on hot all the way. The water ran over me and I remembered the night I'd had in full detail. He'd rimmed my ass. Probably hundreds of people watched as he took me from behind. Pressed against that window. He came deep inside. I might be pregnant. There was no chance I'd tell my husband.

  As I waited in the line to board my plane, I felt more content than I had in a very long time. So many years of doing what everyone thought was right. Marrying a guy who was marriage material. Stay around the house and getting things done. Starting a family. But now, for once, I'd done something no one would approve of. I knew they'd disapprove, that's why I flew to the other side of the planet to do it. None of them ever had to know - I didn't have to face their disapproval - but it still felt good. Like I was back to really living.

  The plane took off, flying me away from Paris, but I didn't leave everything from the trip behind. I hadn't bought any souvenirs. I didn't have a picture of myself in front of the Eiffel Tower. I hadn't gotten any of the street artists to draw my portrait. But I was a changed woman.

  I knew that I could do whatever I wanted. I could have whoever I wanted. So I was bringing that home with me. And I knew there was a possibility that I was bringing something else home as well. But I wasn't sure of that until a pregnancy test a few months later.

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