I think that my slightly morose silence, particularly after my rather less than morose actions earlier, confused Samantha, and we spent a rather odd few hours wandering and shopping before a late coffee and sandwich in a street side café. At that point we perked up a bit and went back to Audrey Hepburn and Sophia Lauren. We returned to our room about sixish without any definite plans for the rest of the evening. I had given up thinking as it was giving me a headache and was not a little frightening, so I was just drifting along and feeling pretty contented, if a little spaced out.

We each used the bathroom, and I lay down on top of my bed fully dressed except for my shoes. I undid the button and first few inches of the zipper on my green velvet trousers and raised my hands above my head in a stretch. Samantha came out of the bathroom with her shirt open and walked around sorting shopping and moving things between bags. Then she walked over and sat on the side of her bed and asked me if pulling down her pants had turned me on.

Big shock. Hadn’t expected it to start again. Thought that the sexy bit was over. I had rather assumed that we had gone a little bit too far and would both be a bit careful and embarrassed over the next couple of days, but it wasn’t looking like that was Sam’s interpretation at all!

I said I wasn’t sure, that it was just fun. Last night I’d told her that I would get her back, and I always follow through on what I say. I was sorry if it had gone too far.

She thought a moment about my shallow response and clearly decided to have one more go.

“You asked me. If it turned me on. If it made me feel sexy. I was honest when I told you yes. And I really didn’t think it would you know. I mean, I wouldn’t have thought that it would. I’d never have dreamed that I’d have felt anything other than anger and shame."

She smiled slightly

"But I don’t feel any anger at all toward you.”

Sam stood up and moved toward my bed, changing her tone to a much lighter, more jokey approach.

"It turned YOU on though, you filthy bitch. To shame me and see all those blokes getting an erection as a result of you flashing MY backside at them instead of your own.”

She hesitated.

“Normally I’d think that I’d be the one in control. I wouldn’t ever dream of being turned on by being the one who is humiliated.”

“I just might do it again as well”

I threatened, as much for something to say. And kind of regretted the stupidity as soon as it came out.

“No, I think that you had better say you’re sorry and that you’ll never do it again.”

“Why?” I challenged.

What on earth is she saying? What am I saying. Where is the exit from this conversation?

“I’ve already told you why. I’m bigger and stronger and might teach you what it is to be embarrassed in public. Give you a real experience of your own medicine.”

Sam was playing the part of a camp pantomime villain but there was an unmistakable undercurrent too of sexual tension.

“No, I don’t think so.

I don’t think that you have the guts and I don’t think that you’d outsmart me.” I taunted.

What is happening to this conversation and why am I fueling it?

I hesitated. She stood there. Somehow I just couldn’t stay shut up.

“Now why don’t you take those trousers off and show everybody your purple knickers again? There’s nobody left in Paris hasn’t seen them and more anyway. You were so horny you flashed your muff at the people at the cubicles.”

“Right you little bitch. That’s it. You need taught a lesson once and for all" she shrieked in laughter.

Samantha leapt on top of me, sitting on my chest facing away so that there was nothing I could do beyond punch her pack. She unzipped my trousers and pushed them down. Not that easy as they were thick and tight. So she grabbed my legs, pulling them up to her shoulders so that she could pull the waist of the trousers down over my bottom which was now raised up off the bed. She slid them all the way up to my ankles but not off, leaving me feeling a bit bound up at the feet by the heavy bunched fabric. Then she jumped off me, pulling me partially off the bed by the legs while twisting me over so that I was face down with only my upper body on the bed and then swivelling me round while I struggled and shouted so that I was lying across the bed. She really was awfully good at this leaving me pretty helpless. I think that I was trying fairly hard to resist. I think I was...

And here I was again. As if removed from my body looking down on myself. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear myself barking. I don’t know how it came about but, I was lying face down on a bed with my trousers round my ankles, my pale pink cotton panties with white lace edges and white flowers and white lacy transparent front panel rolled down my thighs, having my bottom spanked firmly. And as I wailed and squirmed, my primary focus was to avoid the humiliation of a messy cum in front of this woman as she smacked and touched and stroked my bare rear.

Sam stopped and got off me. I didn’t move.

“Don’t move,” she said, walking across the room.

I didn't move.

I couldn’t see her from where I was lying and I didn’t move a muscle. There was some rustling and then she came back and sat on the side of the bed.

“Stand up,” she said.

Sort of comical stern voice but with a wee bit of an edge too, as if she might just get genuinely angry. I stood up. She had taken her shirt off altogether and was sitting on the bed in her black trousers and purple lacy bra with satin side panels. I was standing in my tight short white T-shirt with my pink panties pulled and rolled down my thighs at the back and my trousers around my ankles. And feeling very uncomfortable and nervous and embarrassed. Very very embarrassed for some reason. And a bit sexy.

Pretty sexy.

I made no attempt to pull up my panties or trousers.

“Bend over my knee”.