Love Lessons at Pleasure Point

This chapter takes place immediately following Ch. 15 so please read that one first. As always, please rate and comment. Merci, Petitmort

"What in the world did youdoto that woman?"

Jessica was standing in her kitchen in Pleasure Point, pouring Paul a cup of coffee, with a bemused smile on her face.

"Emily and I took our weekly walk this morning," she said, handing him the cup. "She could barely walk straight."

Paul smiled and gave a little shrug.

"We had a good time."

"I guess you did," Jessica laughed. "She wouldn't stop raving about it."

"I'm glad she was satisfied."

"Satisfied? She's positively euphoric. You must've blown her mind."

Paul nodded, remembering.

"We were both really into it."

Jessica chuckled again, knowingly.

"So," she asked wryly, "did she pony up?"

"Yep. Last night. 200 shares of Apple stock."

"Twohundred? That's even more than she bid."

Paul shrugged again.

"Like I said," he shrugged again, "she was really satisfied."

"That may've been was the endorphins talkin'," she smiled. "Good idea having her donateafteryour time together."

Paul nodded.

"How's it goin' with Bri, by the way? Are we set for next weekend?"

Jessica sighed.

"Not yet. I'm having a tough time getting a hold of her. I don't know what's going on. I'll go by her place later today. See if I can catch her."

"We need to get her scheduled for next weekend at the latest. Before Jas gets home."

"I'm doing my best."

"I know. And I appreciate it, Jessica."

"I know you do," she smiled, warmly.

"I'm already thinking about my session with Bri. I've got something kinda different in mind for her."

"Yeah? Like what, exactly?"

"Well, you know Bri. She loves her orgasms."

"Oh, yeah. And not just one. Multiple."

"And, preferably, multiple of the screaming variety."

"Or fainting."

"That too. The thing is, she really likes it when I change things up. When I find new ways to get her off. So, I've been doing some research online."

"Yeah? Whaddya find?"

"I found a pretty...shall we say... exotic way of doing it. It's supposed to result in incredibly intense orgasms."

"Oh my," Jessica said, fanning herself. "Lucky girl."

"I was thinking I'd install it in the gazebo this afternoon."

"Installit?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna have to drill into one of the roof beams. I hope that's okay."

"And what do you do with this... installedthing?"

"Well," he said, smiling, "why don't you come by this afternoon and we can test it out."

Jessica gulped.

"Test it out?"

"Yeah. I wanna see just how intense the orgasms are."

Her body gave a little shudder.

"Oh, well," she gasped, "if you insist."

After breakfast, while Paul worked in the gazebo installing his new purchase, Jessica walked next door to Bri's house.

She stood at the front door, rang the doorbell, and knocked a few times for good measure.

A moment later, the door opened. It was Bri, looking a bit disheveled.

"Hi Bri," Jessica said. "Is this a good time?"

"Hi, Jess," she said, breathlessly. "Yeah, sure."

She started to let Jessica inside, then hesitated.

"Actually, do you mind if we walk and talk? I'll grab my shoes."

Without waiting for a reply, she slipped on some trainers and closed the door behind her.

"Everything okay?" Jessica asked, as they walked along the stone walkway.

"I'm just dealing with a lot of stuff right now."

Jessica nodded, walking in silence to let Bri collect herself.

"Are you okay, Bri? You seem a little out of sorts."

"It's been a nightmare," Bri said, shaking her head.

"What's going on?"

"It's Raj. He's gone off the deep end. He wants a divorce."

"Again?"

"Yeah, but this time he's serious. He's hired a lawyer. A real shark."

"Oh dear. Have you got a lawyer?"

"I have my usual guy, but I'm thinking about getting a divorce expert."

"Probably a good idea. I'd do that sooner rather than later."

Bri's eyes darted about, nervously.

"Raj is already talking about how we'll split up the assets. He wants to sell the beach house."

"Why, for heaven's sake?"

"He says it'll be cleaner than way. Though we'd probably take a loss. I think it's because he knows how much I love it."

"Asshole. Does he know about Paul?"

"No, I don't think so."

"That's good."

"What'd you wanna see me about?"

"It's about Paul, actually. He's decided he's going to shut down his handy man business."

Bri stopped in her tracks.

"What?"

"He's retiring," Jessica said, wryly.

"Why?"

"He's met someone."

Bri bent over at the waist, her hands on her knees.

"Noooo!" she cried. "Why is everyone leaving me!"

"It's not justyou. He's saying goodbye toallhis clients."

"It was the one silver lining in getting divorced. At least I could still fuck Paul!"

Her eyes flashed with a mix of pain and anger.

"He's giving his best clients a chance for one last hurrah."

Bri looked at her, scoffing.

"What...like a farewell tour?"

"Something like that. He wanted me to tell you. So you could book a slot."

"Book a slot? What is he, a Michelin star restaurant?"

"He doesn't have a lot of time. He wants to close down his business by the end of the month."

"Oh, and he's managing to squeeze me in?" she asked, sarcastically. "After all I've given him?"

Jessica took a breath.

"Bri, Paul's grateful for everything you've done for him. He's creating a custom experience just for you."

She thought about this for a moment.

"A custom experience?"

"Apparently it's something he's never done with anyone before. I don't know all the particulars."

Bri looked around, thinking.

"God knows I could use a good fuck," she muttered.

"Paul said he wanted to spend an entire afternoon with you. Giving you the greatest orgasms of your life."

Bri blinked a couple of times.

"He said that?"

Jessica nodded.

"He's working on a bespoke experience just for you. Designed to make you cum harder than you've ever cum before."

Bri gasped, with her hand to her mouth.

"When?" she asked, breathlessly,

"Next weekend. 2-8pm. Saturday or Sunday. Whatever works for you."

"Saturday," Bri said, with a dazed look in her eyes. "Saturday works best."

"I'll let him know. There'll be a donation, of course."

"Donation?" she asked, puzzled.

"To Paul's college fund. Meta stock. As per usual."

"On top of all the shares I've already given him? Jesus, Jessica. What if I decide to tip off the IRS about his little under the table payments, huh?"

Jessica took a breath.

"Bri," she said calmly, "receiving stock as a gift isn't considered a taxable event. Itwillbe when he decides tosellthe stock. You, on the other hand,dohave an obligation to pay gift tax. So, I'd be careful about contacting the IRS since you'll just be informing on yourself."

Bri held her in an icy stare. Jessica patted her on the shoulder.

"C'mon, Bri. Paul's planning something really special for you. A custom experience."

Bri thought for a moment.

"And what's the going rate for... a custom experience these days?"

"That's totally up to you. Whatever you think it's worth. Unless, of course, you want to pass. That's entirely your choice."

"No," she said, quickly. "I don't want to pass."

"OK, why don't come up with a number, text it to me, and I'll pass it on to Paul."

"OK, let me think about it."

Jessica nodded and the two women continued walking.

It was just after 7pm, when Jasmine arrived at the Gare Saint-Lazare in central Paris.

Dusk was settling on the city like a warm blanket.

She was meeting Pierre for dinner to talk about the dinner party he was planning the following weekend. He was inviting a some of his friends in the film business so Jasmine could meet them.

She grabbed a cab at the station and gave the driver Pierre's address. Normally, she'd walk. It was about an hour away by foot and walking in Paris was one of her favorite things to do.

But she told Pierre she'd meet him at his place at 7:30pm and she didn't want to be late.

So, she sat in the back of the cab as it hurtled past the Place de La Concorde towards the Left Bank.

They crossed the Seine at the Pont de La Concorde. The National Assembly and the Musée D'Orsay glowed in the evening light.

Driving through Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the streets were bustling with people. It was Saturday night and there was an extra energy in this neighborhood already known for its vibrancy.

They passed luxury shops and boutiques. Armani. Gucci. Alexandra Sojfer. Art galleries and bookshops. The legendary cafés. Les Deux Magots. Café de Flore.

The cab stopped in front of a large luxury apartment building dating back to the 1800s. She paid the fare and got out, gazing up at the limestone edifice.

She approached the doorman, her bag on her shoulder, and gave him Pierre's name. The doorman gave her a look like she wasn't the first young woman to show up asking for him.

She shrugged it off and waited in the lobby for him.

She wondered what the next 12 hours would be like. On the phone, Pierre was in peak form. Charming. Larger than life. Flirtatious.

He'd originally proposed that she stay overnight at his friend's apartment. She was out of town on holiday. But when that fell through at the last minute, it was decided she'd stay at Pierre's apartment instead.

He insisted it was no problem. He had plenty of room. Besides, his wife would be at their beach house for the month.

Jasmine felt a wave of apprehension, like she was about to have an intense experience. Of one sort or another.

A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened and there was Pierre. As handsome and ebullient as ever.

"Jasmine!" he said with a broad smile. "Welcome! It's wonderful to see you!"

He kissed her on both cheeks and took her bag to carry.

"I thought we'd get you settled upstairs and then take a walk around the neighborhood before dinner. If that sounds agreeable?"

"Sounds great."

They stepped into the elevator and he pressed the button for the top floor. He was dressed in a sport coat with a pocket square.

As they rode the tiny elevator, Jasmine wondered if she'd underdressed. She was in slacks with a crisp cotton blouse that showed off just a bit of her décolletage.

"You look stunning, by they way," Pierre said, suavely. "Like you stepped out of a fashion magazine."

"Thanks. You look like a model yourself. You modeled, right?"

"My sister and I modeled for a few years. We were rank amateurs compared to mother."

"Big-time model, was she?"

"Oh yes. On all the magazine covers. Vogue. Elle."

He was talking loudly, animatedly. She wondered if he'd been drinking.

He led her to the end of a long hallway where he unlocked the door.

Inside was a large living room with high ceilings and windows on two sides looking out on Boulevard Saint-Germain. Haussmannian buildings, with their limestone facades and wrought iron balconies, glowed in the afternoon sun.

"Wow, this is beautiful," Jasmine said.

"Come, I'll show you your room."

He led her down a hallway to a bedroom with large arched windows, a canopied bed, a bureau, and vanity.

"This was my sister's room. She was younger than me yet she got the room with the best view. I never understood that logic."

"It's lovely."

"Feel free to unpack, hang up your clothes, make yourself at home. The bathroom is down the hall. Come, I'll show you."

She put her bag on the bed and followed him down the hall. The bathroom was adorned with vintage tile and a tub with clawed feet.

"That was my bedroom as a boy," he said, pointing to another bedroom across the hall. "Now, I use it as an office."

"And where's your bedroom now?" she asked.

"On the other side of the apartment. My mother's old room. The kids were on this side and she was on the other. Separation of church and state. It made it a lot more fun."

"Why's that?"

"We had a lot more freedom! Out of sight, out of mind!"

"Plus, she'd be off doing her modeling shoots, right? Didn't you say you and your sister were often here alone?"

"Absolutely. We had the run of the place. Running around in our underwear. In and out of each other's rooms. When the cat's away..."

Jasmine just nodded, making mental notes.

Part of the reason she'd agreed to stay at Pierre's apartment was she wanted to do some research.

For the past couple of months, she'd been working on a short story based on the adolescent years of Pierre and his sister Nicole.

While on vacation in Big Sur, Pierre had a bit too much to drink and let slip that he and his sister were more than just 'close'. He'd sneak into her room at night and share her bed.

Jasmine suspected this was what fueled his obsession with young women.

After they got back from Big Sur, Jasmine reached out to Pierre's sister, Nicole, who lived in San Francisco and worked as a book editor. She told Pierre it was to 'talk about writing' but Jasmine wanted to learn more about those early years. From Nicole's perspective.

They talked frankly for several hours.

Now, Jasmine wanted to see first-hand what the apartment they grew up in actually looked like. So she could write a convincing and detailed account.

"Come, I'll give you the rest of the tour."

She followed him back out to the living room, through the kitchen, and to the main bedroom.

"This was my mother's bedroom. After my father moved out, we called it the 'Gare Du Nord.'"

She figured that was the way the French describe a very busy place. Like 'Grand Central Station'.

"Un endroit très fréquenté?" she asked.

"Oui, exactement," he said. "I keep forgetting you're fluent in French. Do you prefer we speak in English or French?"

She shrugged.

"English, I guess. I bet your English better than my French."

"Not at all," he said, gallantly. "You speak superbly in both languages."

Pierre looked at his watch and said they'd better start walking to the restaurant. He'd made an 8pm reservation at Le Jardin Saint-Germain a few blocks away.

Walking along the Boulevard Saint-Germain, Pierre played the role of tour guide.

"The 6th is known for its charm and rich history. It's a Mecca for expats."

"A lot of writers have lived and worked here over the years, no?" Jasmine asked, encouraging him.

"Yes, of course. Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir used to hang out right there."

He pointed to Les Deux Magots, a corner café brimming with people.

"Hemingway wrote here. Camus. Beckett. Ionesco. And Colette, of course. You have read Colette, yes?"

"No, I never have."

"Oh, you must! The greatest woman novelist in France. She lived and worked right here, in this neighborhood. She explored themes of female sexuality and independence."

"I know she wroteGigi."

"Yes, and theClaudine Series.The Tendrils of the Vine.The Vagabond.Cheri.The Pure and the Impurewas probably her best. Certainly the most autobiographical. It begins in an opium den and then proceeds from one sexual encounter to another. It's considered one of modern literature's finest explorations of the varieties of sexual experience. Needless to say, her work -- and her life -- were quite scandalous."

"Why scandalous?" she asked, wryly. "Did she dare to wear pants in public?"

He gave her a look.

"Her novelCheriwas about a love affair between a young man and a much older woman. Which she was when she wrote it. Then, it turned out, while she was writing it she was fucking her 16-year-old stepson."

Jasmine looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"That is rather scandalous."

"What?" he asked. "You don't approve of incestuous love affairs? Or is it the extreme age difference that gives you pause?"

It felt like a trick question.

"It's not a question of my approval. Sometimes the heart, or human desire, doesn't give a shit about societal rules."

He smiled.

"I couldn't agree more."

He took her to a little restaurant a few blocks away near the Sorbonne. Le Jardin Saint-Germain-des-Prés was a well appointed restaurant with exposed wooden beams, a stone wall on one side and windows facing an interior courtyard on the other.

The server, who obviously knew Pierre and called him by name, provided him with updates to the menu.

Pierre recommended the duck confit which they both ordered. He selected a bottle of Pinot Noir from Burgundy because, as he put it, "the acidity cuts through the duck's richness, while the smooth tannins complement its savory and earthy flavors."

Over dinner, Pierre gave Jasmine a run-down of the people he was planning to invite to the dinner in her honor. They were all colleagues and acquaintances from the film business.

Bertrand was a working assistant director with some impressive indie credits. He was preparing to direct his first film which he co-wrote.

Sylvie was fresh out of La Fémis, the national film school based in the Pathé Studios in Montmartre. Her student film won several awards in regional film festivals.

Léo, like Pierre, was an established film producer who worked primarily in small, independent films.

Anna was an aspiring writer who went from project to project doing whatever was needed. Her goal was to support her writing while learning as much as she could about the business. Her last gig was as a script supervisor.

Antoine was an actor. He'd played a lot of supporting roles in the past and had just wrapped his first starring role. The film was due to be released in the fall.

The more Jasmine heard about the people who'd be attending the dinner party, the more excited she became.

These weren't old timers whose best days were behind them. These were young people like herself, striving to build a career in a notoriously competitive industry.

She felt like she'd be meeting people she could relate to. Comrades-in-arms.

Pierre insisted they get dessert. The pastry chef there was superb. And an after dinner drink, of course.

By the time they were walking home, Jasmine was feeling light-headed.

Pierre was walking next to her, holding forth.

"There's an old cliché about how to make it in the movie business. 'It's notwhatyou know, it'swhoyou know.' More accurately, to my mind anyway, it's who you knowandwhat you know. The quality of your work has to be there, especially as a writer, but contacts can help open the doors to getting your writing read."

"Yeah, I've heard that."

"And that's where I can help. Don't underestimate the value of a good mentor. The film business is extremely complex. You'll need guidance from an older, experienced professional to have any chance at success."

"An older and experienced professional such as yourself?"

He smiled at her.

"I'd be more than happy to do that for you, Jasmine."

"Well... I appreciate it, Pierre."

"My pleasure."

She glanced over at him. He was still looking at her, smiling.

When they got back to the apartment, Pierre insisted on having a brandy before bed.

He handed her a glass, then went to the wall switch to turn down the lights.

"I want you to see Paris at night, in all her glory.La ville lumière.As a film person, you'll appreciate the visual."

He sat on the couch next to her, looking out at the city.

"The Parisian perspective. An appreciation for beauty. A focus on enjoying life's pleasures. Art and food and wine. And sex of course."

He leaned in, as if to kiss her.

She stood up.

"The view is really amazing," she said, moving to the window. "You know, Pierre. I was curious about something you told me in Big Sur."

"And what is that, pray tell?"

"Well, you said your mother had parties here. With famous people. Models. Actors. Artists."