The Geneva Convention – An Erotic Story

Jon and I had decided to spend a weekend in Geneva.We had been talking about seducing women, about different techniques; about likely and less likely responses; about the specific characteristics typical of certain cultures and regions. Neither of us had ever been with a Swiss woman and we were both convinced that women from this country would be particularly stuck up.

We had both never visited Geneva and concluded it could be a splendid place to learn more about the female population of Switzerland. To make it more interesting – there was after all always the possibility that the diminutive Alp nation would bore us to tears – we decided to make a bet: the first to score a chic Swiss woman, as classy as possible, would receive all his travel expenses from the other. We both laughed at the unfairness of this proposition and the unlikelihood of its feasibility.

And thus it was that we found ourselves on a windy spring day in a particularly stylish joint on the waterfront. We were drinking – as slow as we could, the drinks cost a fucking fortune – some whiskeys at the bar. Suddenly Jon said:

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"Hey, isn’t that Leonore Bleumont?"

"Who?" I asked.

"Leonore Bleumont, that hot French chick."

"You mean the French minister of finance?"

"Yeah, that’s the one, I’m telling you."

"No way! I must have jerked off to her image – several times."

"Who hasn’t?"

"Haha, but seriously…"

"Nah, look, come on man: look!"

I stared in the direction Jon indicated. A beautiful, serious looking lady was sitting alone at a table. She was deeply immersed in some documents. The glass of wine in front of her seemed untouched.

"That’s indeed a beautiful woman, but it can’t be her," I said.

Jon smirked.

"There’s only one way to find out," he guffawed. Then he said: "I hope you’ve saved enough for this one. Haha! Check me out, just check me! First of all, I will make her smile at you. You will surely recognize her. Then you’ll know you’ve lost."

Jon got up and leisurely walked over to her table. He sat down opposite her. The way in which Jon conducted himself was undeniably convincing. It didn’t take long before she smiled at me. Yes, I recognized her.

I ordered another drink. And another. Leonore Bleumont seemed to have an excellent time. I went to the toilet. When I returned they’d left.

It was a crushing defeat. In the grand scheme of things, Jon would never be able to undo or outdo the humbling he had received from me. A fact of which he was, of course, blissfully unaware. But while I had always operated in the shadows, this right here, this was in my face, out in the open; a strong will exerting a strong force. Perhaps I could someday punish his sister for it.

The next morning I was awoken by a text message from Jon. It read:

Let’s have lunch. You’re buying.

A little later I was sharing a table with him. His smirk had intensified.

"So, this is how it went down," he spoke, "I approached her and said: are you also here for the convention?"

Who are you? She’d answered.

I’m Jean, I said, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

She laughed. Okay, Jean, nice to meet you too. But that’s not really what I meant by my question.

I’m sorry, I said. Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands with me.

She’d raised an eyebrow.

Yes, I continued. I do cyber-security. We’re working around the clock to make sure whatever is agreed at these talks, stays right here, with the right people, where it belongs.

I had noticed a weakness in her eyes, a will to be led astray by forces she could neither control nor understand. Whether or not she fell for it, she was going to fall.

But, you are indeed safe with me, I said. Well… at least your information is – you, personally, that’s a different matter entirely.

I gave her a filthy look, just plain indecent.

She tilted her head slightly and whispered:

are you threatening me?

Just your honor, I answered."

I looked at Jon and laughed. "That’s how you did it?"  I said. "That broke her?!"

Jon simply nodded and continued:

"I told her that you had wanted to seduce her and that I was going to beat you to it. That’s when she smiled at you. I demanded her to take me to her room.

I must be crazy. This is crazy. You’re crazy, she had muttered as we entered her hotel.

I soon found out she was wearing some sort of perverse black bodice under her business suit. She was very eager, either nympho or sex-starved.

You can do everything with me, I will do everything you say, she said and gave me a mock shy but also genuinely submissive look.

Soon I was banging her in all sorts of positions."

"And I am to take your word for all of this?" I intervened.

Jon grinned: "Cher ami, allow me to finish of the grand finale of my exposé with a prestige; a coup de grâce."

"D’accord… "I sighed.

"Well," Jon coughed, "I was at some point fucking her on all fours, she holding the railing of the bed, her ass pointed upwards."

"Get on with it…"

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"When," Jon continued, "suddenly she slipped and grabbed one of the bed knobs, which broke off. She managed to stay on the bed – with me still in her – and she now looked puzzled at the piece of ornament she was holding in her left hand.

Oh merde! she sighed.

It occurred to me that the knob was remarkably dildo-shaped.

You have ruined the bed, I said.

I know!

You must be punished.

Must I?

You will do everything I say, isn’t that so?

Yes, yes iet ies, she answered with that sexy French lilt of hers.

I want you to moisten that knob and stick in you.

As she started to fuck herself more inspiration struck me. I looked whether I could unscrew the other knob. This turned out to be possible; now we had two dildos.

Suck on that one too and then put it in your other hole. Double team yourself.

She looked slightly frightened but complied.

Oh yes, she yelped, oh mon Dieu! You make me crazy!

While she was engaged in these activities I poured wine in her mouth.

You make me do crazy things. Can you make me do more crazy things? She moaned: make me do more…

I ordered her to get up – without removing the ornaments from her orifices. I told her to walk through the room. Meanwhile, I began to dress. Then I told her to stand next to the door. I walked to the door and opened it.

No! Don’t! She hissed.

Listen to me very carefully now, I said, I’m going to walk to the public lavatory, on the 3rd floor. I want you to follow me, half a corridor behind me. When I’m there I want you to suck me off. Do you understand that?

Can I dress? She squeaked.

No, you must stay like this.

With these things?!

Yes.

No!

Yes!

Without further ado I went out. I went to the 3rd floor. It was two floors down. I seated myself on one of the women’s toilets. And well, haha, she actually did appear. Her face was pinkish red. The fear and embarrassment had only aroused her more. And well, there she sucked me dry, like she’d promised…"

"That was it?!" I exclaimed. "How did you get back?!"

"We walked.

With the… uh, knobs?

No, she had taken them out by now."

"Nobody spotted you?"

"No, nobody."

"Why would I believe you?"

Jon procured his phone. His grin was by now diabolic.

"Here," he said, "I secretly took this picture when she was following me."

I stared at it. It was grainy, it was fuzzy, it was too dark, but it was unmistakably the French minister of finance, naked, in a hotel corridor with an object between her legs.

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Written By

Basilio Valentino

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