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)
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.