That afternoon, after a lunch of bread and various salads and cold cuts, we wandered through some of the largest and most exclusive stores Paris had to offer. We had fun trying on dresses and suits and designer wear and pretending to be “it girls” on an outing from Chelsea. I noticed to my delight that Samantha’s eyes were definitely straying to the lingerie counters, she was hesitating slightly in front of shops displaying lingerie in the window and clearly hoping I would again bring up the subject.

I was nervous to push things so soon after the encounter in the bathroom. I think that I was relieved at the restoration of a more normal equilibrium and not sure that I wanted to venture again into dangerous lands so soon. In any event, my expert eye told me we weren’t actually missing anything special in the stores we were passing. All pretty run of the mill stuff.

It was almost 5pm when I spotted a window display that emanated class, sophistication and a sensuality which delighted me. Purple lace pants with a matching bra which had satin panels across the sides of the cups. There was also a cream set with suspenders and toward the back a blue baby doll - usually irredeemably tacky but this was so obviously 100% high quality silk with hand made lace that it looked like Sophia Loren or Audrey Hepburn may appear to claim it at any moment.

I barely said a word before dragging Samantha into the haven of femininity. She was clearly a bit overawed, but that was okay; that’s what I was there for.

The girl in the shop was wonderful and with a bit of effort on both sides we largely overcame any language barrier. Samantha was clearly unfamiliar with, and quite thrown by, the concept of being helped into a bra by an assistant. But actually it’s the same from Marks & Sparks to the Champs Elysee - you just stare straight ahead and lean forward. The lady does the rest. There was moment of panic followed by rather too visible relief when she feared assistance being offered with the bottom half!

We bought the purple set from the window, joked about the baby doll and bought two pairs of black and one white lacy panties which were sort of on sale and an adorable black bra that looked like it went with the panties. She seemed close to buying a suspender belt at one stage and even tried it on and asked me to come see, but I was a bit unsure and felt that she was probably already doing well enough for the first time.

Oh, but I did buy a full set, including suspender belt, for me. Black lace with transparent net panels and ribbon straps. Front fastening.

After that we walked slowly in the sun through a little park and then back along the side of the Seine carrying our assortment of designer carriers. We decided to go back to the room for a rest and then out for dinner rather later. A few times I found myself glancing at the large pink paper carrier with the grey line drawing on the side which Sam was fondly carrying and almost slapped myself for picturing what was inside.

Sam dozed a while in the room with some French TV in the background and, after a leisurely bath, I came out to lie down wrapped in a big towel.

When I awoke, Samantha was in the bath. I listened as she splashed about and I began to chat to her through the door. I pretended that I couldn’t quite hear her replies and opened the door a few inches to hear better. Then I slipped in quietly and surprised her by snapping a flash photo of her lying in the bath.

She screamed and called me a bitch. I responded that if she called me that again I would copy the photo to everyone she knew. If she had thought rationally, she would have realized that the photo was unlikely to be indecent, given the depth of the bath, the soapy water, the reflections and the hurried snap. I am not sure how much of this she thought through.

I chatted as she dried herself on the other side of the door and judging my moment, burst in and snapped another, this time catching her with a towel about waste height and nothing else.

I promised no more.

I hurriedly changed the subject. Sort of! I asked what underwear she was intending to wear for the evening. I pressed her into wearing her new black bra and the lacier of the two pairs of panties. As she was buttoning up her shirt in the bedroom I asked her to open it again and show me the new bra. As she held her shirt open to reveal the spiderweb like wisp of back lace stretched across her perfect tits, I produced the phone and snapped another shot, just catching the reddening of her face.

She leapt onto me on to the bed where I was lying, calling me a bitch.

At first I was giggling too much and too intrigued by the fact that she was trying to rip off my towel to bother putting up any genuine resistance or realize what she was up to. It was only when she had me rolled out of the towel and pinned on the bed that I realized she was getting her own back. I have to admit to pangs of panic and dread as she pinned me down stark naked on the bed.

She snapped three or four of me topless on my back with her phone and then another two or three as she leapt off, pulling the towel further as I rolled and sprawled naked trying to tug the towel or bed clothes to cover my backside and pussy. Despite getting a well deserved taste of my own medicine, I was scarlet with humiliation and could feel tears welling in my eyes.

As she stood laughing, her shirt still open and her breasts heaving from the struggle, me burning with shame and embarrassment, I looked her in the face and told her she would pay for this. Earlier I had told her not to call me a bitch again and that I would get her back.

“How?” she had asked simply.

I was on the spot and had to think quickly.

“I’ll shame you in front of... of the whole of Paris!"

I stood up, stark naked, and walked to the bathroom. I tried to stroll like a model, straight back and head high. Challenging her to go for another picture. Being as cool as possible but keeping a sideways eye on the phone too. I detoured slightly to brush closely past her, holding myself as aloof and erect as I could.

As I passed to walk into the bathroom, feeling my moral victory, she slapped my bare bottom.

Now the thing is, I don’t actually mean a symbolic flick as guys sometimes might if they are really sure of themselves and of you. This was a full on smack with her hand in the middle of my ass and it really stung and gave such a surprise and shock I shouted and ran into the bathroom slamming the door.

I stood there, silently looking at my embarrassed reflection.

“I am more turned on than I almost ever get. What is going on here?”

I asked myself, almost out loud.

I emerged in about three or four minutes wearing a big fluffy bathrobe. I was aware that I had to get this right. If I said nothing then there was the possibility that she had gone too far and that I was uncomfortable and huffing. If I came out and suggested that we adjourn to bed for hot lesbian sex, I was likely to frighten both of us into never speaking again.

I walked across to where she was painting her nails, looked at her closely and said that she would pay even more dearly for “that."

“What, flash my tits too?” she asked.

This was an odd thing for her to say. Tits isn’t really a word that Samantha would normally use and the whole sentence and tone just wasn’t really hers. She was doing the same as me. Trying to ensure that the mood was clearly playful and that I knew she was still with it. I was glad.

“You’ll know when it happens” I said, and as I couldn’t really think of anything else to say, I wandered off to get dressed.