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 Carole in Paris

   Carole relaxed in her hotel in the centre of Paris.  This was going to
be a good assignment.  She had been sent to the French head office to put
some cost cutting measures in place there, and from what she'd seen of
their accounts, there were plenty of cuts to be made - not least in their
entertainment budget.  Lavish meals with wine seemed to be the order of the
day.  What was wrong with McDonalds, there seemed to be plenty of them
about.  They were going to entertain her that night.  Not McDonalds of
course, she had of course to experience their profligate ways first hand,
only that way could she properly understand how they were wasting money. 
So she was being taken out to one of the best restaurants on the left bank.
Yes, that was appropriate for her.

   She rang down to reception and complained about her towels.  They were
always a good thing to complain about, there was nothing wrong with them of
course, but she always felt you got better service if you got your
complaint in first.  She'd already complained to reception about her room,
and to the bar about room service, housekeeping had no reason to miss out.

   Then she started to get ready for her evening out!

   The French office had few concerns about their ability to deal with
Carole's cost cutting mission.  They dispatched their most trusted employee
in dealing with women to take care of the situation.  Philippe Leclerc was
in his late thirties, ruggedly handsome and possessed of that indefinable
Gallic charm that women can't resist.  He had been dispatched into the fray
with one simple instruction.  Get her drunk.  It was the ineluctable belief
of the French that if you got an English woman drunk, she would do
something stupid and then she would be no more trouble.

   Carole looked at Philippe with some disdain as he met her in the hotel
foyer.  They'd sent some fancy Frenchman to charm her.  Well she'd soon see
about that.  She had her own ineluctable belief about French people.  They
were all charm and no substance.  What's more they were stupid and
bureaucratic.  She'd already had a run in with the dragon on reception, all
because she'd complained that her room wasn't south facing.  Stupid French,
didn't they know the meaning of customer service.

   Philippe took her to a delightful little bistro near the Pont Neuf on
the left bank.  It was a typical French restaurant, several courses of
bizarre bits of offal washed down with copious bottles of wine.  Philippe
offered Kir Royale as aperitif, Carole didn't drink, but then Philippe
reassured her that it was only a type of blackcurrant cordial so she
accepted it gladly.  That was followed by pink champagne with the foie
gras, a clean white Sancerre with the gèsiers, a rich red Bordeaux with the
escargots and so on, finishing off with a smooth sweet Sauternes with the
spoonful of chocolate ice cream that pretended to be a dessert.  Carole,
like many middle class English women, did not regard wine with a meal as
drinking, wine she felt contained so little alcohol that it wasn't worth
counting.

   "And for digestif", said Philippe, "can I suggest a glass of calvados.
They do a very, very special vintage here"

   Carole wasn't sure about that.  She already felt she had drunk quite a
lot, and when she stood up the room seemed to swim round and round.  But
she accepted a glass; she had to be civil to the French, time enough to be
nasty at the meeting tomorrow.

   Carole was staggering a bit as they made there way back to the hotel,
and even Philippe found his head swimming a bit.

   "I think I will stay the night here myself", said Philippe and he spoke
to the lady on reception in charming and incomprehensible French, and was
soon given a card key to a room on the first floor.  Carole was on the
fourth floor, the result of having demanded a south facing room.  She said
goodbye to Philippe and made her way unsteadily upstairs.  Arriving at the
door of her room she searched in her handbag for her own card key.  There
was no sign of it.  She cursed.  Bloody French systems.  Why couldn't they
have proper keys?  She must have left hers inside her room.  Still swaying
a bit she made her way back to reception.

   "I'm locked out.  Give me another key", she demanded of the
receptionist.

   The receptionist scowled back.

   "I must see some identity first.  I can't just give a key to anybody"

   "I'm not just anybody", said Carole, "I'm Madame Tompkins and I demand a
new key"

   But the receptionist was not to be swayed.  Eventually Carole, cursing
and swearing at the bureaucratic stupidity of the French, was forced to
search about in her purse for her driving licence to prove who she was.

   "Stupid woman", she shouted back as she left, "I'll report you to the
management in the morning".

   She was feeling distinctly light headed by the time she reached her
room, and had only time enough to get her clothes off before she collapsed
naked on her bed and fell into a deep sleep.  Carole would not normally
have slept naked, but for some reason it seemed like a good idea.

   She woke in the middle of the night with a head like a balloon and a
raging thirst.  My God.  How much had she drunk?  She had to get a drink of
water.  The room was pitch black as all the lights outside seemed to have
gone out.  She switched the light on.  The pain of the bright light struck
the back of her yes like a dagger and she switched it off again
immediately.

   In the dark and with her eyes tight shut she staggered over to the
bathroom door to get a drink of water.  She opened the door.  She stepped
through.  Suddenly through her closed eyes she saw that a bright light had
come on.  She opened her eyes and saw to her horror that she was not in the
bathroom at all.  Disorientated by her change of room, she had stepped out
into the corridor and activated the automatic corridor light.  She turned
back to stop the room door closing automatically behind her, but too late
the door shut with an ominous click and Carole found herself locked out in
the corridor, the nude and a state of total panic..

   Being locked out naked is a situation which would daunt the strongest of
spirits.  The embarrassment of knowing for absolute certainty that you were
going to have to present yourself in the nude to somebody and ask for their
help, knowing that they would be sniggering at your condition was a
humiliation that was almost too hard to bear.

   Carole was a confident, domineering woman at work, whose motto was
complain first, act second.  But her confidence came from her clothes, from
her smart suits and her high heels.  Locked out naked like this she felt
timid and vulnerable.  Her mind went back to that dreadful day at school
when the other girls had stolen her clothes when she was in the shower. 
When she had had to go to the headmistress and stand naked in front of her
to ask for help.  She had felt so humiliated then, just like she did now.
She would have to go and ask the headmistress for help now she thought, oh,
not the headmistress, that nice lady on reception.  She'd help her.  But
how to get to reception.  Not in the lift, it would be awful to be trapped
naked in a lift.  She crept along to the main stairs, trembling from head
to foot in case somebody came along.  She crept down the stairs.  Why did
she have to be on such a high floor!  She got down to the first floor when
she heard voices.  All she could do was panic and she ran, fleeing back up
the stairs to the top floor.  How could she get down?  Then she spotted at
the end of the corridor the door leading out on to the external fire
escape. She crept out through the door onto the fire escape.  It had seemed
dark and comforting outside, but as soon as she started to go down the
stairs which led into the hotel courtyard she triggered the security lights
and she was suddenly illuminated as if spotlighted on a stage.  Curtains in
windows opposite twitched and she saw faces peering out at her.  She
shrieked and ran back up to get back in.  But the fire escape door was a
one way door for security purposes.  It couldn't be opened from the
outside. She was trapped outside, parading naked in a bright spotlight. 
She ran down the stairs as fast as she could, aware of the eyes boring into
her naked body.  She rushed to the hotel door.  It was locked.  Oh no!  She
was locked out, still naked, still with the eyes fixed on her.  In a panic
she pressed the intercom button.

   "Oui, yes" came the voice of the nice receptionist form inside.

   The panic caused by her exposure on the fire escape left Carole feeling
as if she really was that naked schoolgirl standing in front of the
headmistress.

   "Please Miss", said Carole, "Please Miss.  The naughty girls have stolen
my....  No that wasn't it.  Please Miss I'm locked out with no clothes on.
Can you help me please Miss?"

   Elodie, on reception, listened to the voice with incredulity.  That
couldn't be that dreadful women, simpering like that, and what on earth was
she doing outside with no clothes on.

   She pressed the button to open the door and Carole ran in and up to the
reception desk, relieved almost to be back in the hotel.

   "Please Miss, Please Miss", she simpered, "can I have another key to my
room, some naughty girls have stolen my clothes "

   Elodie looked at her and smiled.  This was the woman who had complained
about French bureaucracy, who had threatened to report her to the
management.  Well she'd give her bureaucracy.

   "Stand in the middle of the foyer", she said, "where the security camera
can see you clearly.  That's security rules"

   "Yes Miss", said Carole, doing as she was told.

   "Have you any identification", she asked

   "Please Miss, No Miss.  The naughty girls have stolen my clothes Miss",
said Carole.

   "No identity, no key", said Elodie

   "Please Miss, you know me Miss.  You're the nice lady who gave me a new
key earlier this evening".

   "I don't think I recognise you", said Elodie, "I made out a key for an
extremely rude and aggressive woman.  Are you a rude and aggressive woman?"

   "Please Miss, No Miss.  I'm a very nice girl Miss"

   "Do you know anybody who can identify you"?

   "Please Miss there is Monsieur Leclerc Miss, he can identify me Miss"

   Elodie smiled.  That would do nicely, humiliate her naked in front of
her companion.  That would be sweet revenge indeed.  She picked up the
phone and spoke in rapid French.

   "He'll be down shortly"

   "Yes Miss"

   Philippe appeared, not quite prepared for what he saw, Carole standing
naked in the middle of the foyer.

   But she wasn't simpering.  She was now naked in front of a man.  The
only way she could cope with this was by regressing to her days at college.
The days when she had only been able to get friends by acting like a tart,
stripping off for the boys to go skinny dipping and making lewd gestures to
them as she did so.

   "Oh Philippe", she said moistening her lips with her tongue, "how lovely
to see you.  Are you pleased to see me", and she ran her hands over the
curves of her body accentuating its nakedness.

   Philippe gaped.

   "I want to show you everything Philippe so you can tell this lovely lady
who I am", and she rubbed her breasts with her hands, holding them up and
jiggling them about, fingering her nipples so that they stood out erect and
prominent.

   "Yes I know this lady, she's in room 413", said Philippe

   "Oh Philippe, you are such a dear", said Carole, running her hand over
her stomach and rubbing her sex gently so that the lips parted slightly to
reveal the treasures within.

   "I think you'd better make her a card quickly", said Philippe, finding
it difficult to tear his eyes off Carole, who had now turned her back, and
with her hands on her knees was wiggling her bare bottom provocatively at
him.

   Philippe grabbed the card, and took Carole, still provocatively
wiggling, back to her room.

   Carole collapsed on her bed as soon as she got back in and didn't wake
till morning.  Philippe meanwhile was back in reception.  He had a little
request of Elodie, which he knew she'd be only too glad to comply with.

   Carole woke in the morning.  She seemed to remember a strange dream
she'd had that night.  She shook her head.  She really shouldn't have
dreams like that, not if she was to tackle the cost cutting at today's
meeting.  She dressed in her smart, suit, pulled on her black stockings,
tucked her feet in her high heels and set off for the Paris office.

   In the little meeting room where the meeting was to be held the French
staff were having an interesting time.  Projected on the screen was some
footage from a hotel security camera.  Their eyes were open in unalloyed
pleasure at what was displayed before them.  Then they smiled a smile of
self-satisfaction.  Get them drunk.  It always worked.  Somehow they didn't
think there was going to be any cost cutting in France.