A Parisian Holiday: Beautiful Consent

We ascended the glass elevator to my hotel room, hand in hand, my pulse racing with excitement. Now it was my turn to set the mood, so I selected some sultry jazz tunes from my phone’s playlists. Moscow and I sat on the couch and discussed what was about to happen. • Warning: Contains explicit language and graphic sexual references. Only for readers 18+.

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A Taste at the Table

Our table sat in a dimly lit corner of a side alcove off the main dining room in an aging Italian restaurant. We were fairly isolated from the rest of the diners, just the way Sir likes it. I pressed a glass of cool prosecco to my lips and drank in the smooth sparkling wine. As I swallowed, I felt the coolness in my throat followed by a heat rising to my cheeks. I could feel his eyes on me. I returned the glass to the table and slowly raised my eyes to meet his steel-gray stare. His gaze was amiable but intense. He was studying me. I felt my lips drying up from the drink, and ran my tongue over them to bring back some moisture. I smiled, he did not.