I am honoured that Emma J. Styles comes to my blog this week, to talk
about her latest book; First Tango in Paris, the Conclusion. Here’s Emma to
tell you all about it.
Exactly as the title says, “The Conclusion” picks up where Pt.1 left off,
2003 and approaching my big four zero, which was celebrated in style with a
considerable amount of food, wine and totally depraved sexual shenanigans (all
explicitly described in the book). I have included in the book a cross section
many of my finer sexual dalliances right up to 2016. They are very diverse in
nature, whether it be in elegant sophisticated surroundings, or alone amongst a
group of strangers in a sleazy Parisian cinema, experiencing the black
“Mandingo” group in Miami or being used by a Portuguese bull and his gorgeous
transgendered friend with the enormous fully functional appendage, to highlight
just a few. However, one of my all time stand-out evenings had to be when
unexpectedly chaperoning a very famous Hollywood movie star through a
thoroughly debauched evening at a Parisian Swingers club, where the men
outnumber the ladies by around four to one, for obvious reasons I don’t name
her but it will be most clear as to who it was by my description (no, she
didn’t have any panties on during this night either!). All graphically written
and exquisitely detailed. The scenarios are numerous.
Due to feedback from reviews and emails resulting from the first book
Paul my every supportive and most understanding husband gets to contribute a
few thousand words, expressing how my sexual awakening and subsequent journey
has been from his point of view. He also describes what he calls one of his
finer moments, where he and two male friends of ours entertain a very needy
American Lady in her quest for a depraved evening in a top London Hotel. In her
words she wanted a night that would make “Emma Styles” proud! Upon reading his
version of events I am more than certain the lady got her wish!
This time I go into detail of how, when, and why the London Swinging
finally got up and running, after lagging so far behind its European
counterparts, this is also reflected across the entire U.K. The year 2011 was
in fact a key date in the real explosion in Britain and all is explained as to
why. In fact, I have included a comprehensive guide at the end of the book of
all the best and most relevant Swingers venues and online resources.
The book is a roller coaster ride of my sexual adventures but also is
most informative guide as all the places mentioned are all fully “Googleable”.
After the success of Pt. 1 and its topping the Amazon book charts the
feedback from readers was amazing, with many using the book as a guide to their
own personal weekend of swinging adventure. Several readers have recently
become close friends and feature in a few of the more salacious chapters. Look
out for the chapter “Mentoring Karen” where after an email exchange and a
coffee in London we meet up in Southern Spain where I introduce her to the many
delights of “Beach Dogging” – amongst a few other decadent things!
Finally, after spending much time writing and editing both books I feel
that they comprehensively describe in explicit detail my journey from “Shy Kitten to Full Blown Cougar”. One that is always on the lookout for fresh prey
(written with smiley face)
Emma xx
And as if that were not enough, Emma is giving you a free read; Chapter 32 of Last Tango in Paris; the conclusion.
During the following month, I arranged one of my
regular solo excursions to Paris; this one, in particular, was dedicated to the
memory of Yves. It was one of the more unusual and quite frankly most depraved
and debauched afternoons that I’d so far celebrated in his honour, one of which
I’m sure he’d have applauded wildly, and thoroughly approved of.
As per normal, I hopped on the
Eurostar delivering me swiftly to the Gare du Nord, where Marc was waiting to
drive me to the apartment. I’d called him the previous week just to let him
know I’d be in town for a couple of days. We had our customary catch up over a
drink, and being ever thoughtful he told me he’d been to the apartment and had
gotten a few essentials in for me. He would never take any payment, each time
simply telling me that “it had been taken care off”, I can only assume Yves had
made some arrangement with him, it is something that is never discussed.
However, he did accept my goody bag of gifts that I’d brought for him, he was
particularly fond of a mature Cheddar cheese and Jacobs cream crackers,
complimented by some Branston pickle, most strange for a Parisian. They will
often like such things, but heaven forbid them ever admitting to it, in this
respect they are “les tossers” (written with a big grin).
I’d often wondered what had become of
the magnificent home in the South of France that Yves had owned and entertained
Paul and I at all those years ago. Marc informed me that he’d bequeathed it to
his beloved “Military” and as was his wish it was being used as a place for
servicemen recuperating from life changing injuries sustained during active
duty. This was typical of the man we knew, always thinking of others less
fortunate than him, and so very patriotic.
My tribute to Yves began the
following morning after breakfast with a trip to the lingerie department of Les
Galeries Lafayette where I indulged myself in a stunning pair of Wolford – Silk
crystal Hold-ups, always such fun and a great precursor to some naughtiness is
a little shopping trip to this amazing store.
After a small light lunch, I returned
to the apartment, where I booked a taxi before luxuriating in the bath for a
while with a glass of wine, getting slowly turned on as I allowed my mind to
wander, imagining every scenario that could happen in the execution of my
“tribute”. I liberally coated my body with my favourite Chanel Body Velvet and
encased my legs in my new hold-ups, accentuating the look further with a pair
of high black patent platform heels. Feeling a warm glow of anticipation I went
to the wardrobe and retrieved the “fur coat” from its protective cover and
slipped into it with an overwhelmingly decadent feeling engulfing me. I had
just enough time to demolish a nice large Jack Daniels before the taxi arrived.
I gave the taxi driver the address of
my destination, which was located about fifteen minutes away in the second
arrondissement. I’d read about it over the years and heard many people discuss
it with great enthusiasm. It was a cinema, not just any cinema, but Paris’s
oldest and only surviving adult porn cinema. It has a great reputation for
being very welcoming and safe, especially so for the much revered single
female. With its huge exposed-brick wall and expansive red-leather-style seats,
it ranks alongside the very best small cinemas in Paris, in terms of both
comfort and its retro chic styling. I’d rang the previous evening and spoke to
the owner Maurice Laroche, a pleasant smiling young seventy something who’d
been running it for well over thirty years. I explained my request in detail to
him and he assured me that it would be no problem whatsoever and that he’d meet
me in the reception at three o’clock, which he explained would be the best time
for a good cross section of clientele that would work perfectly for what I was
looking to experience. True to his word a smiling Maurice was waiting to greet
me and whisked me quickly into his projection room, where he poured me a nerve
calming large glass of white wine and lit us both a cigarette. He was so
charming and put my mind at rest and any last minute reservations were well and
truly replaced by an overwhelming aura of daring. Once ready he showed me to
the entrance of the small narrow theatre with its legendary brick wall and its
twelve rows of seating, he told me he’d reserved three seats on the back row
just for me, and to go and enjoy the experience. The rows of seats had around
seven or eight per row, so I had an unobstructed few steps to my seats.
Discreetly, as I was getting seated many heads turned to look at the new
arrival (having certainly been primed by Maurice). Once accustomed to the dark
atmosphere I quickly saw that the place was about half full, with most
customers in the rows nearing the rear. The film was a high quality stylish
French affair, which added to the elegant yet “sleazy” ambience, which was
exactly what I was looking for. I felt very secure, safe in the knowledge that
Maurice would be keeping an eye on things from his projection booth; this feeling
of security was reassuring and relaxed me very quickly into the moment. Over
the next ten or so minutes I slowly undid the three coat buttons and untied the
belt so that the heavy fur draped loosely over me, just exposing the tops of my
hold-ups and a glimpse of cleavage, several men by this stage had moved to the
row directly in front of me and were busy alternating between watching the film
and checking out what I was up to behind them. Two men came and sat at either
end of my row with just a couple of seats between them and me, I was instantly
on fire, and felt my wetness begin to flow as I reached between my legs to
prepare my vagina for public display, butterflying my labia and unleashing my
engorged clitoris, which was longing to be touched by a few strange, anonymous
hands. Eventually, all eyes were peering back my way; the film had become just
a background enhancement, the audio giving this seedy scenario another kinky
dimension. I could sense as well as see that many of the men were openly
masturbating at this most slutty unfolding situation. It was at this point I
snatched a huge hit of my poppers just before I let my coat fall totally open,
fully exposing my naked body. I opened my legs as wide as possible, placing my
heels on the tops of the seats in front of me, giving full easy access to my
expectant and gaping pussy; it was fully open, ready to be entertained. This
was like lighting a very short fuse, as in seconds numerous hands were coming
at me from all directions, stroking and probing me, many vocally commenting on
my rapidly increasing wetness. It was sleazy in the extreme, with numerous men
politely queuing to take turns in kneeling in between my legs and use their
tongues on me, lapping at my anus and vagina in unadulterated depravity, pure
vaginal worship ensued, which I completely adore. Many skilled fingers and
thumbs masturbated my protruding clitoris into their willing mouths, my
ejaculations began to come thick and fast, each one more violent than the last,
until I was being kept on the crest of one powerful gushing tsunami of female
ejaculate after another. Men were gently jostling for position to drink from me
while many were happy just to watch and pleasure themselves. At one stage there
was a gent tonguing my anus as another nibbled on my clit, I was squirting like
an uncontrollable burst pipe. It just wasn’t subsiding at all, and it felt like
there was an unending fluid producing machine deep inside me, its tap stuck in
the on position. I think it was the pure seediness of the situation and the
novelty of the location that was making everything feel more intense and
depraved. It was like my inner slut had escaped and was showing the audience
how a true “salope” should behave in such sleazy company. It was everything
that filthy wanton sex should be, and I adored every cum filled minute. It was
two hours of pure debauched filth, and one that lives on in my memory, and
hopefully Yves had been looking down on me approvingly, full enjoying the lewd
and vulgar spectacle!
Appreciating a wind-down vino and cigarette with Maurice I
thanked him profusely for his hospitality, and we chatted away until my taxi
came to take me back to reality. Just as a side note he holds couples only
evenings on Thursday and Saturday, well worth a visit, I’m definitely dragging
Paul along soon, as I know he’d relish the decadence of it all. Just go and
have a look at the web site for any relevant information. This establishment
definitely caters to the more outrageous amongst us.
