En France - Anne-Pierre, Chloe Or Elodie free porn video

I should have kept it to myself.

Walking on fallen blossom leaves, the tree-lined boulevard carried the scent of hope. In a brief interlude of sunlight, we basked in the first warmth of spring. Fingers entwined, her expression pensive and doleful, we stopped for a moment under a weathered statue; it must have looked glorious once.

I used to enjoy the silences, now it felt awkward. Tugging my hand, she embraced me, her head against my chest. The citrus tone of her perfume evoked last summer, that summer.

I had to know, “Did you think about what I said?”

I felt her nod and she clutched me a little tighter, “Oui.”

The textures of fabric denied me the softness of her skin. Clothes flattened out the curves where her touch inspired passion and longing.

“What do you think?”

“Je ne connais pas, c'est impossible.”

She eased away and showed me the melancholia in her eyes. Caressing her cheek with the back of my hand, she turned into it with closed eyes. I felt it, the cruel blow of irony; I did not know then, I knew now, and it felt possible too.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

This is a true story and it happened twenty years ago. The passage of time smoothed the rough edges and left nostalgia in its place. The events and sentiments feel as vivid as last week, when I struggle to recall a nondescript yesterday. A lot of the dialogue is lost to time and memories conjure the sentiment. Some of it is as high fidelity as it gets, vivid recollections never forgotten, as private thoughts triggered by a sight or smell.

In my early twenties, being clumsy with people’s feelings was a hazard easily tripped over. It was not deliberate and I never sought to hurt. Truthfully, I did not understand affairs of the heart or relationships very well. Nature abhors a vacuum and fear took its place, getting my fingers burned the year before did not help.

With this angst came its antagonist, my libido, and animal lust bested any sentimentalism. As a simple head versus heart consideration, my brains resided in my genitals. I sought out liaisons that turned fantasies into experiences. Thinking back, I enjoyed them all, however, they were another hazard easily tripped over.

I existed as a contradiction between the frivolous and finding ‘that special someone’. Idealistically, I believed that commitment was the right thing to do. As an optimist and hedonistic freewheeler, I hoped to be inspired one day and break the cycle. Procrastination is always something you can do tomorrow; I was young and there were plenty of tomorrows to come.

Neither did I expect to confront this dilemma here of all places: Paris, the City of Light.

I knew something of its people, a different story for a different time.  That was on home turf, a mutual pact of lust, companionship and our unique personalities.  Their requirements were clear; I did not need to consider this perennial question.

To that question, Anne-Pierre, Chloe, or Elodie might agree or they might not; nostalgia does weird things to a person.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The door slammed, its noise belied her strength. In one lunge, she pounced and pressed her lips to mine. Our kiss deepened as frantic hands pulled at garments and their fastenings. Eschewing clothes at a feverish pace, air hissed, and lips smacked. Lust that simmered for hours boiled over; at the party, the goading caresses, and that spectacle in the bedroom, it brought us to this point. 

The first caress of our naked torsos churned at my insides, and it ached. We did not kiss like this at the party, intense and carnal. Deep and longing, her hands wandered over my body, clothed, and unclothed.  In retaliation, I mauled her breasts, two springy handfuls with erect nipples that seemed hardwired to her loins. Impatient fingers unlocked my belt, the button, and zip of my chinos.

Prizing herself away from my clinch, she took my wrists and lofted them over my head. Grinding against my thigh, I felt her heat. Determined eyes bored into mine and the cushion of her breasts squashed against me. Her head tilted, she waited, and I felt her challenge.  Leaning forward to kiss her, she dived in and escalated it; tongues deep and drained the fight from me.

Her amused smile held me captivated, “Keep your hands up there, English.”

Opening my trousers, cool fingers defeated the elastic of my briefs; she enjoyed how I flinched.

Seizing my erection, I groaned.

“Fuck!” It was a half-hearted protest.

“You have something I want,” and nuzzled my earlobe, “Stand still…” and she giggled, “if you can.”

Stroking my constrained cock, her hands followed her lips; on my shoulder, she bit it playfully; down to a nipple, she sucked and flicked at it. At my abdomen, the tip of her tongue blazed a trail; two thumbs taunted my nipples. Paralysed by anticipation, she took to her knees and pulled my trousers down hard.

Meeting my eyes, she clearly enjoyed the suspense. Easing my underwear down, it sprang free. Her fingers and their crimson nails barely wrapped around it. I gasped as she stopped; through narrowed eyes, I watched how she examined her handiwork: foreskin fully withdrawn, head corpulent and fat, and every meaty vein bulged. Fascinated, she held it, moved it from side to side, squeezed it, and fixed me with a stare.  Looping a loose trestle of hair behind her ear, her expression leered back at me. She stroked it and watched my reaction.

Air rushed out clumsily, I swallowed and groaned, “Fuck!”

Her grin bared her teeth, “Mmm, this looks good.”

“Th… Thanks.”

“Now, watch me, English.”

Slow seductive kisses grazed its head and inundated my loins with hot lava. Gratuitously, she held it up and kissed the length of its curve. Her lewd stare did not waver when she licked up and down my rigid shaft. Meeting my helpless eyes, she closed her mouth around it. The hot vacuum and soft warmth made my chest stutter with a fevered groan.

She did it again and took more, its potency made me throb.

My head banged against the hollow wall with a thud, “Oh Christ!”

Her hands climbed my smooth torso and took residence on my nipples. Provoking savage moans, the sensation of hot velvet worked up and down my length. Taking as much as she dared, I witnessed her sunken cheeks and wide-eyed servile gaze. That knot of pressure, hours old, pulsated and swelled harder.

Easing it from her mouth, she stroked it, the combination of her soft grasp and saliva created an insane lack of friction. It was late-May, not Christmas, it might be her birthday; her expression had that kind of glee.

“Putain, c'est une belle queue.”

Breathless, I frowned, “Wh... what?”

She smiled, “You have a nice penis.”

“Th… Thanks.”

“Keeping watching English.”

Her relentless application reduced me to half-moans and half-whimpers. Legs weakening, I reached out to hold her, and she pressed on my automatic hips to hold me still.

Looking up, she licked around the head, it throbbed, and that amused her. My chest heaved to expel more airy groans, mind gone, eyes pleading; she did it again. The twisting corkscrew motion of her grasp matched how her tongue swirled. Taken into her mouth, this unholy trinity of sensations reduced me to a light-headed muddle and random moans.

“Fuck… please… don’t stop.”

Her confident self-assured grin did nothing to placate me. The cadence of her hand and mouth built; that knot of pressure surged to a mass of absurd dimensions. My vehement erection felt numb, something had to give yet I had no idea when. The heat in my loins kept building, the intense need for relief reduced once sturdy bones to rubber.

Enveloped in wet silk, a tender caress of my balls and her deft fingers rubbed my perineum. I felt it, distant but growing stronger. Our eyes met, and I mumbled some disjointed words to warn her. Her expression, expectant, I tried to warn her again and she pressed on with relentless determination.

The helter-skelter twist on my shaft and elegant sweeping stroke edged me closer. My last vain effort barely audible as solitary words carried on random breaths. The seething mass tightened to the point I could no longer control myself. My legs trembled and her encouraging eyes met the alarm in mine.

Only her mouth now, deep and rapid, she gripped the back of my thighs and took it deep. I snatched deeper and deeper breaths until the dam broke. The alacrity of how it uncoiled made me roar; long spasms of release pulsed as white heat through my core. Each noisy gulp eviscerated me and the fury of my ejaculation would not stop. Rich pulses of muscular convulsions made me shudder as my penis twitched around her lips.

The pulses softened into echoes of deep spasms that reverberated through me weakly. Tranquilised by a post-orgasmic warmth, I felt so feeble. Easing it from her mouth, it still twitched with aftershocks as she licked its length and flicked at its tip. I flinched, so sensitive, and still so vehement and angry.

“Bon.”

Nonchalantly, she wiped the edges of her lips as if she polished off dessert.

“Better now English? You looked so tense and serious all night, like you were in pain?”

“Wh… what?”

She giggled at my incredulity, “I knew you needed a drink but when I felt that pressed against me? No one should have that much frustration inside. You gave me so much. When was the last time someone did that for you?”

“Like that?” I gasped, “Never. That was incredible.”

I think she took it as a compliment.

“And fucking, English? When was the last time you fucked?”

“Oh… that? Months ago.”

“Mon Dieu,” she muttered, “You poor thing.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The walk home through Gallerie Vivienne always felt symbolic; work existed at one end and home at the other. Its distractions and beauty shook off my work persona and transformed me back to my normal self.

Today, peevish and conflicted, my work and personal life felt so tangled; the problem: an innocent remark.  I asked Elodie about her weekend and found myself with an invitation to a flat-warming party. We would go out at the weekend for the first time, alone.

Out of the Gallerie, I made my way towards the statue of Louis XIV around the small circus of buildings. The traffic heavy, an overexcited moped broke my train of thought.

Thanks to Veronique, I understood what I blundered into: the exact opposite of what I wanted to achieve; I only wanted to be friendly.

Elodie Duprix, the office manager was all froth and happiness. Before I arrived, she helped me with the practicalities of this assignment and we talked at length over the phone many times. If I had known what she looked like, rather than be effusive with charm, I would be tongue-tied.

Around my age, flirty by default, it was difficult not to reciprocate. She was smart, effervescent, and had a svelte body built for sin; pretty face, a flawless honey complexion, wavy flaxen hair, and azure eyes. Always dressed immaculately, not overtly sexual, it accentuated the power of her femininity: an elegant and beautiful creature. She occupied a no-mans-land in my thoughts, a colleague, a friend, yet I admired her from my desk. 

I was not unattractive; they told me I had nice eyes. Everything was in proportion with one above-average exception and I never had a complaint there. Athletic in build, I kept up with my enjoyment of swimming and running; I made an effort in my appearance and demeanour. Good manners cost nothing and neither did good conversation.

Crossing the road, the weight of traffic lightened, people milled around shops, and the sedentary relaxed in bars and cafes.  The longer warm evenings brought them to the tables and chairs outside.

Once in Paris, Elodie took me under her wing and invited me to join in with her circle of friends: men and women. Nothing major, lunch and after work drinks – she helped to alleviate my homesickness.  They wanted to practice their English; I tried to practice my French.  That is how my moniker stuck - ‘English’.  I accepted it with good grace and soon eased back into my old self.

Passing the Church, I rounded the corner at the bottom of Rue Montorgueil, my home for the year. These are the enclaves where the locals live and play. Close to the office, what it saved in commuting, I paid in high rent. My budget only ran to this bijou accommodation, an apartment of two above-average sized rooms and a small bathroom.

Walking the stairs to the first floor, my footsteps lumbered and I felt a growing dread. Of course, I had the most unsavoury thoughts about what I would like to do to her.  Yet, Elodie and I worked in the same quirky office.  I needed friends like her more and promised myself to build on our friendship despite the flirtatiousness.

All I had to do was not kiss her.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The dim bedside lamp threw long shadows over her slender frame. No deed went unpunished, she writhed at the hips, and I held her flanks tight.

“Putain…” repeatedly, soft, and barely audible.

Tutored by her soft gasps, she wriggled and moaned.  I exposed her clit, pursed my lips, and took it. Enjoying her taste, attenuated to every whimper and flex of her lithe body, I knew what to do.  Easing two fingers inside, I felt how she grasped at them.  Sucking softly with a delicate flick of my tongue, her gasps matched the rhythm of her hips. Clutching my head, she steered me until she stiffened, yelped, and shuddered hard.

She laid on the bed, arms above her head as a wanton invitation; hair luscious and scattered, eyes inviting, and her instruction simple – fuck me.

She took me, guided me in, and I watched her eyes widen and her lips pout.  The rich, snug envelopment around my girth soaked it with heat. Each time, the delicate travel each thrust gave her more until we pressed against each other.

She squeezed at my behind; those expressive hands needed no accompanying words.  Legs splayed; she let me have her on her back. Neither of us gave ground, each of us assertive to have our say and push the envelope of our mutual understanding. Limbs wrapped tightly around me forced me to slow, or exert my strength, every time a test, all of it as a delectable experience of trial and error.

I prized her from me, fingers entwined, my arms locked to hold her in place. Feeding the yearning at my core with the slow measured thrusts, she curved her spine, rocked her hips, and gave me the angle I craved.

She bucked and twisted, I relented, and our roles reversed.  She let me admire her body, from her brittle collarbone and slim arms, I lingered on the ripe cups of her breasts. Eyelids heavy, she eased me in again and when she took it all - ground her sex against mine. Her hands, always moved, their caress enticed and roamed free over my body.  I gave her what she wanted, her poise a visual feast of athleticism and sublime pleasure.  She showed me everything, leant back, legs opened, and revealed how I breached her.  Upright, back curled, a measured grinding movement that held me trapped entirely.

“Just like this, huh, English?”

I groaned.

“Tell me you would fuck her like this too.”

I groaned again.

“Tell me,” and she quickened her hips.

I groaned louder, “Fuck, yes, yes I would.”

She purred contently, “Mmmm, English, I would like to see that.”

It was not an appeal to my vanity; it was the deviancy of our shared experiences.  She knew and I knew, my response was immediate and I thrust back.  Not to be outdone, she upped the ante, a wet soft kiss on my lips and my neck. She took my hands, lifted my arms over my head and the collision of our bodies filled the air with our staccato rhythm.  Sucking on her nipple, she pressed down hard, swirled her hips and gasped loudly.

“Mmm, English, this what I would do to you and she would watch.”

Easing off me, down she travelled, kissed my stomach, my thigh. Gripping the thin cotton sheet in anticipation, she kissed my wet erection, looked up, and gave me a lascivious grin.

God, I must have looked so helpless, she grinned wider and grasped my girth. She stroked it with that twist of the wrist as her mouth engulfed me, a wilful act to provoke my surrender. Her expression laced with the fascination at how I groaned and writhed for her. The slow bobbing motion, the measured rhythm of her hand - my back arched and my breathing quickened. Taking it in, slowly, that silken feeling reduced my mind to pulp.

Winning that battle, my mind seared the fluidity of her slender body as a treasured memory. Taking an anti-posed position, her slender flanks straddled my face. A tiny triangle of pubic hair decorated her mons. At the cleft of her peachy derriere, the smooth cushion of her vulva and fine labial lips glistened in the soft light; I captured the scene forever.

The heat of her sex mere inches away, I blew softly and made her giggle. Holding her firm, I impaled her with my tongue and made her groan long and airy. The shrill-tone of her stifled yelps became a reprise to my deeper moans. A leisurely soixante-neuf, we lingered, nibbled, licked, and sucked. Learning by her whimpers, I tongued her sex; its taste consumed me, bittersweet, delicious, it flowed so easily.

Enflamed to my core, I had to do it; the tip of tongue traced a line along its lips. Along the taint, I pushed her down and she pitched up; the tip of my tongue traced around the crunched knot of her anus. I flicked at it once and she yelped. Circling it, I did it again; now, she flexed to meet it and groaned softly with every application of my tongue.  Chest pounding with excitement, I knew then, Anne-Pierre was no ordinary lover.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, “you are full of surprises.”

Holding her cheeks apart, I enjoyed how sharply she took in air, yelped and murmured soft words of encouragement.

Returning to my length, her solitary digit toyed with that tight knot of muscle. I groaned hard, poleaxed as her fingers teased my anus too. A match for my predilections, I pressed and impaled her up to my first knuckle; she penetrated me too. Groaning with encouragement, she kept going.

“Oooh, English! You like that don’t you?”

“Fuck yes!”

The tip of that finger only fuelled my eagerness; she knew what it did to me. I pulsed hard, her tongue swirled over the head, and she eased me into her mouth. It was a superlative sensation, something that left me rigid, swollen to the maximum. Chasing her swollen clit with the tip of my tongue, I pursed my lips, captured it, and lashed at it. Wriggling more, she muttered soft words, expletives, and then attended to my girth again.  The draft of her mouth and skilful grasp numbed me; taunted until my overloaded body trembled.

Resolute but light-headed, single-minded with intent, I watched how she extracted herself. Moving down the bed in reverse, she knelt into position, giggled, and held me. Leant forwards, I got the whole view, the plump cushion on her sex all glossy and swollen, pert bottom and tight anus.

Hovering over my stout erection, she pressed down, impaled herself, and stole my breath. Caught in the reflection of the bedroom mirror, it captured her fluid movements and feverish amusement.  Slowly, she gave an exhibition of her slender body, her lips half-open, eyes intense, and the rhythm of her swaying breasts. 

Clenching at the sheet with two handfuls of linen, I felt the enveloping heat.  She turned to look back, lustrous long hair draped as a curtain over one eye, and fixed her stare into my eyes.

“Oh, God!”

“Oui,” she purred with a half-smile, “Watch how I fuck you.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Distracted, my coffee cup clattered on its saucer. Peering down onto the street below, a very French game played out before me: a man and a woman talked outside a shop.

When I did not know, I did not see it. It amused me how this game hid in plain sight.

Massacring some French as I tried to order lunch, I fell back to English. Rory, an ex-pat and Veronique commiserated on my valiant effort and we chatted whilst they waited for the bill. It was Veronique who noticed the cute blonde that kept looking at me. Mentioning she looked a little bit like Elodie, I shared my quandary about her flirtatiousness. My bafflement made them laugh and the next ten minutes became a revelation.

In France, men and women flirt, it is the normal everyday discourse, a playful battle of the sexes. They flirt in the street, in a shop, at the office, a café, a bar, anywhere. Admiring looks, a compliment, strike up a conversation, it is possible to make ‘Bonjour’ or ‘Bonsoir’ sound flirtatious.

I took another sip of coffee and across the street, he seemed to be doing well; confident, smiling, and she was playing with her hair.

This is how men and women are; if you liked someone, you asked if you might meet again. My concern at the situation with Elodie made Rory laugh.  There were no ‘dates’, you met, you listened, you entertained, no fixed list of venues, and all very disorganised. Veronique nodded and said she put Rory through hell; Parisian women are tough operators. I imagined that the ‘three dates and get laid’ rule was too crass for this game too; I did not ask.  Besides, the bill arrived, I thanked them and they wished me luck.

The purpose of this game is simple, a kiss, a Prince Charming and Sleeping Beauty kiss. This is romance, you are now girlfriend and boyfriend, and they expect fidelity. There is no ‘talk’, that is it, boyfriend and girlfriend. I could only imagine the fun and games required to get them to have sex.

Of course, I tried: two polite but flat refusals, one had a boyfriend, three did not speak English, and one accepted an offer to meet again. Chloe, demure, brunette, attractive, and spoke good English.

When she took me to a café to meet some of her friends, it came as no surprise.  I played to her air of mystique with well-natured charm. As our fourth ‘rendezvous’, I caught some of her signals, the lingering smile, and a chance glance at my lips - twice. I knew the endgame approached: kiss her.

Taking another sip of coffee, it still felt exhausting just thinking about it.

At the end of my ‘date’ with Chloe, we walked from the café for a while. I thought about inviting her to the flat warming party, yet I was Elodie’s guest. Our brief walk to the Metro station was pleasant, she was pleasant, and when it came to part, I did not kiss her. My mind jumbled, I folded, and chose to postpone such a big step.

Watching the man and woman chatting, the notion of fidelity made me baulk. This straitjacket, this cultural conformity would make me choose; I feared it.

I liked Chloe but something held me back. Polite to the point of humility, I thanked her and forgot to ask we could meet again. She saw this as a challenge and told me she had my number; I forgot that too and she would call me in a few days.

Finishing my coffee, the woman on the street handed him a piece of paper, her phone number perhaps. With a flounce of her long auburn hair, she walked away and that fine derriere swished - he admired it.

Walking to the kitchenette, I put the coffee cup in the sink and sighed.  Weary, the flat-warming party was this evening. Tired of over-analysis, I resolved to stick to my simple plan for Elodie, do not flirt, do not have too much to drink and do not kiss her. I would kiss Chloe, wake up Sleeping Beauty, and live happily ever after – or not.

Washing out the cup, I weakened again and pondered if I should kiss Elodie. She was a beautiful kind-hearted woman, yet a spurned advance might cost me a friend – my only friend here. Even if my advance was accepted, the expectation felt insurmountable. It would be tough to date someone from the office too.

I shook my head; this was a mess, so I would remain on my best behaviour.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

That mirror captured us in a three-quarters view and a tawdry provocation of her body. Riding me in reverse, the view of her behind and sex before me.  Clutching my shins, she drove up and down as the snug muscular heat enveloped my girth. The air hot, she flexed and contorted for our pleasure, my hands restless over her damp body. 

At first, I watched, and every time she took me; the compulsion to respond grew stronger. Once, I bucked back, she yelped. Timed to match her tempo, she quickened and we found a new rhythm.

Sat upright, she displayed herself flushed, skin mottled by arousal and exertion. Clasping her breasts, she took it to the hilt, her sex cleaved, and features contorted with endless airy sighs. We grew in purpose and confidence, our gasps mixed with the rising clatter of our bodies.

She leant forward and I met her firmly. Sheened with perspiration, she hammered down harder and its intensity forced the air from me as deep growls. My firm grasp tried to slow her and she refused to relent.  I had to respond and rubbed my thumb against her anus; she gasped and pleaded for it. Pressing harder, I defeated the tight ring of muscle and with a yelp; she reared up and quickened her hips.

“You like that?” I looked at her in the mirror, flushed, her body shone with a sheen of perspiration.

“Oui…” she whimpered, “… don't stop.”

Grinding against me, it conjured a rapid friction that forced the need to buck back. Writhing as one, the loud collision of our bodies rose above our moans. Sinews and muscles tight, neither of us gave ground.

Pulling at my hand to stop, she lowered herself and reached back. My legs bent at the knees and her feet on my raised thighs; she revealed how I impaled her. The tempo relentless our two bodies collided as one. Mauling her breasts, I plucked her nipples and her hips thrashed. Sobbing airily and soaked with exertion, we slipped against each other.  We struggled for purchase as wet hands slipped over soaked skin.

“Putain!”

Struggling, her arms and legs gave out underneath her. Resting on me, her body urgent, she rippled through her abdomen and hips. I met her at the apex and pushed up hard as she bottomed out. Each moan and gasp for air shortened and limbs stiffened.  Locking her in an embrace of arms and legs, there was no chance of escape.

Breathing laboured, her high-pitched yelps grew in their fury, “Oui, oui,”

I could not help myself, one hand provoked her sensitive nipple; the other slid down to her mons.  Her clit, evasive at first, felt so hard as it slipped over my fingers. For a slender woman, she had such strength, her breasts shook, and the toes on each foot curled tight. Her finesse seemed to ebb away, her body more mechanical than fluid.

“Cum,” I hissed.

“Putain!”

She liked that word a lot in the following moments.  Small tremors built in her legs and travelled into her hips and torso. Heels dug into the bed, she tried to arch her back, and I held her tight to my body. Her once strong cries of pleasure, now so weak, completely stopped. Crunched tighter and tighter, her leaden body went stiff and began to shake.

“Putain...! Putain!”

Fully impaled, captured in my embrace, the first rolling seizure rippled through my length.  Thrashing noisily, her back arched and I kept fucking her. Unwinding as a wild shuddering, I pushed my entire length into her and felt how she squeezed it tight.  Strong convulsions became a massaging vice as she tried to flail.

Ambushed, it reduced me to a clattering set of demented lunges. A few curt words of warning only made her squeal with desperate mechanical lunges. Crossing her legs at the ankles, the extreme tightness threw me over the edge.  I grunted hard, deep groans and staccato thrusts that yielded my release.  The mirror captured the last pulses of my perineum that injected my seed into her.

Released from my weak hold, she fell to the bed limp amidst our sobs for air.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was a short walk through the Second Arrondissement to Rue Saint-Denis and Elodie’s apartment.

As soon as she opened the door, we gave our customary greeting, a kiss on each cheek. Now I knew what I was doing, it felt awkward. She beamed and complimented me on my appearance. I wore aftershave, a seldom occurrence, she recognised it and complimented me on my taste.

In a couture cream dress, just above the knee, tight fitting and elegant; Elodie looked beautiful. I knew the rules of the game now and it would have been churlish not to reciprocate. She twirled, struck a pose, and giggled.

I kept time with the click-clack from her heels. We strolled through the streets and she attracted many admiring looks. I looked at her, she liked it, and I complimented them on their taste too. So much for self-control, the notion that we were a couple made me feel gooey inside.

Depending on your mood, the party could be chic, moody, and stylish; or arrogant, a pastiche, and dull. I opted for chic. The half-lit rooms, swoopy ambient electronica, and friendly people; it helped ease my reticence.

Nursing a glass of wine, Elodie introduced me to many people and I struggled to remember the whirlwind of names. Little room to move, bubbly chatter rose over the music, spoken at speeds that made it incomprehensible. As people spoke, my eyes wandered.  I stared at the fiery-haired force of nature, all gestures, and an expressive face. Sat on the sofa, she wore a loose strappy printed dress that revealed the embonpoint of her breasts. Whoever she was, did not wear a bra.

She became my point of reference, she moved, I moved, like pieces on a chessboard. No boyfriend here, no rings on her fingers, there were a few admirers and that was understandable. Impossible to ignore, I lingered on her mesmerising eyes, strong jawline, and juicy porcelain cheekbones.  She carried herself with a confident poise, that long hair in loose trestles, a prop to emphasise a point, an extension to her personality.  I appreciated her from afar until she caught me, and smiled. It felt so easy to smile back.

When she patted a scarce spot on the only sofa, she made the first move; no one had done that before.

In France, she should not have done that at all.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Limbs entwined, the cadence of our groans matched the symbiosis of our bodies. Hair damp, faces flushed, the musky scent of sex, aftershave, and light perfume notes mixed in the torpid air. From a prone position, her blunt heels pressed into the back of my thighs. Our earlier enthusiasm gave way to slow and languid pleasure. Her caress lingered up the valley of my spine.

Flexing at the hips at the apex of each thrust, the tight envelopment of her sex massaged my girth. I impaled her fully; she gave out a long groan and clasped my behind. Mollified, for now, I did it again; another deep moan and warm exhaled air caressed my damp body.

“C’est bon… c’est bon…” whimpered under her breath.

Arching her back, I pawed her breast and teased its hard nipple. Rising above her, she opened her thighs to invite everything I had. Pulling at my waist, quick undulations of her hips sent the pleasure rushing through me. Fucking me back, I groaned and her rhythmic massage weakened me to the point I fell into her embrace.

She bucked and I relented; we rolled. She rose, determination in her eyes, an escalation as slow pile driver motions battered me into submission and pummelled the fight from me. Clattering down hard, I clasped her breasts and teased her hard nipples.

She rose onto her haunches and hammered me into the bed. Neither of us would back down, I thrust back to provoke her yelps of pleasure.

Gazing upon me with half-feral eyes, she smiled, “You… you are good.”

“I… I can’t normally hold out this long.”

“I like it. Do you like surprises, English?”

I frowned.

She snorted with a giggle, “It’s okay, I promise you will like it.”

Running her slim fingers through her wet hair, she reached across the bed and took something. Easing me out of her sex, I felt it, cold and slippery.

“What the?” I gasped.

Giggling, she reached behind herself for a moment.

“Dans ma cul,” she mumbled.

“Sorry?”

“In my ass, silly!”

Its shock took no time to register; eyes wide, it was obvious.

“Yes, English?”

I gulped, “Yes.”

“Have you done this before?”

I shook my head, “No.”

“Then let me show you.”

Straddling me, she squatted on her haunches again and pressed my erection to that spot; I froze. The tight ring of muscle was no match for the rigidity of my penis and gravity. She hissed loudly and eased down gingerly. Her mouth made an ‘O’ shape as her eyelids fluttered. Her opening defeated, my turn to groan came as the first couple of inches impaled her.

“Surprise!” she exclaimed.

“Christ! That’s tight.”

We looked into each other’s eyes, I watched hers narrow, she bit on her bottom lip and steered me in deeper. My look of astonishment said it all, she scrutinised me and made small circles with her hips. Amused at my reaction, she pressed down hard and let out a tiny yelp.

“You okay?”  I had to ask.

Exhaling loudly, I felt her clasp at my girth, “Relax, you will not hurt me.”

Overwhelmed by the pleasure, she towered over me and watched. She took it with a long, slow travel; the tightness clasped everything until she rested at its hilt. Her stare never wavered as the tempo built. On her knees, each rocking gesture made us groan, the grinding movements, and up-down bounce of her thighs. The hot warmth and tight friction provoked the full swell of my arousal.

The intent in her eyes combined with these sensations reduced me to a groaning state of delirium, “I… I…”

Putting a hand over my mouth, she slowly ground onto me.

“Shush, relax,” she kept her hand there until I eased, “Let me do this for you.”

Manipulating her sex, she propped herself up with her arm on my chest. I felt it, two fingers in her sex, and they pressed at the thin membrane. I groaned hard, my hips rose from the bed and she nailed me back into place.

Her hand, rubbing at her sex, the provocation in her eyes, I tensed hard and then eased back. Toying my nipple, she knew my weakness and exploited it without hesitation. I stretched out and grabbed at the bed sheet.  I tried to thrust back and she pounded me down onto the bed again. Our drenched bodies smacked together, it rose above the fusion of our yelps and groans.

Fleeting at first, I felt it coming and needed to wait for its certainty.  Muscles tightened, the tension pulsed in bigger and bigger waves. I felt so swollen; she could not mistake it in such a tight place. It rose slowly, gathering in pace until I knew it would not subside.  My cries were obvious and how I tightened through my legs would squeeze my release from me.  The clattering noises built, the rhythm of her determination and whimpered with each one.

“Do it,” her voice frantic, she bit her top lip and gasped.

Her hand worked her sex and made her gasp with a pout.  Dropping down faster, so hot and tight around me, she struggled to maintain this tempo. Seized tight, she met the implacable steel of my tense body.  Her eyes flickered and with a long outpouring of air; I felt that first deep shudder from her core. The intense echoes of her orgasmic pulses send my body off the charts.

“Cum…” she yelped loudly, “… cum for me.”

Clenching hot waves of release trapped me against the strength of her convulsions. I shook from my stomach and the first deep spasm made me roar. Sharp juddering movement of her hips held me deep; the sweep of friction goaded me to buck in time with each lusty belt of my climax. Our cries so loud, the neighbours must have heard them.

The intense strength felt as if it would go on forever. Nothing else mattered; I felt nothing but exquisite release. She did not stop until I went limp; lost in a woozy and ethereal haze. Easing me from her, she sniggered at the faint convulsions that twitched through my fading erection.

“English?”

“Uh huh?”

“You lasted very well.”

I mumbled; words felt so difficult. Light and carefree, muscles paralysed in a rich warmth, she laid beside me. Hot, bothered, we remained motionless until our frantic breathing eased.

“English?”

“Huh?”

“I can feel what you left inside me.”

I gasped, “Uh huh.”

Her arm draped across my chest, her hand rested on my still thumping heart.

“Okay, English?”

Slowly, after staring at the ceiling for a while, I felt some strength return, “Yeah… yeah, I’ll live.”

“Come, a cool shower will revive you.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Over the loud chatter and louche electronic breakbeat, she patted the seat on the sofa again. The fiery-haired woman reclined, arms outstretched across its back. Her gaze did not waver from mine. Elodie looked deep in conversation with someone called Gaspar so I slipped away.

Edging towards her, I avoided guests sat on the floor with small crab-like steps.

Arriving, her jade eyes sparkled, “Salut.”

“Bonjour, je m’appelle Martin. Vous parlez Anglais? Mon Français n'est pas bon.” It plodded a bit.

“Yes, you are ‘English’. I am Anne-Pierre.”

“Wow, is my French that bad?”

She giggled, “No, that was very good. I asked my friend who the handsome man was talking to Elodie and everyone calls you ‘English’. Will you join me?”

“Thanks,” I paused a little taken aback, “I’d be delighted to join you.”

“Your glass looks almost empty. I have been watching you, you are not drinking?”

Flashing my eyebrows, I nodded, “Long story. I could use a drink.”

“Here, allow me,” and a lusty helping of white wine followed.

“Salut,” and clinked her glass against mine.

“Salut.”

She drained almost half of her glass as I watched slightly incredulous, so much for aloof women and the flirting game

“Go on, English, drink.”

I did the same.

“Better?”

I eased out a big sigh, “Yes, much better.”

Anne-Pierre provided a link between the hosts and Elodie: as a yoga teacher, she worked at the host’s studio and Elodie was a student. Over more glasses of wine, we shared potted biographies over the airy electronic swishes. We laughed a lot, situations, difficulties with the language barrier, the cultural differences. Her delicate hand rested on my forearm and I reciprocated.

Inky black outside, small groups around the sofa came and went, all keen to talk to ‘English’. A little tipsy now, I felt more confident and always grateful when people switched to English, or Anne-Pierre translated.

Eventually, we found ourselves alone, a few danced, most guests seemed coupled up. Anne-Pierre nudged me halfway through another amusing story and I almost dropped my glass into my lap. She pointed as Elodie kissed Gaspar. I admit I felt a pang of envy mixed with relief; she knew how to kiss too.

“I thought she was yours?” Anne-Pierre’s tone sounded severe over a very persistent bassline.

I shook my head, “No.”

“Why not? She is very attractive.”

I shrugged, “Yes, but she is not my girlfriend, so I would not do that.”

Anne-Pierre leaned in, she looked at my lips and then back into my eyes. “So you would not do that to me? I am not your girlfriend either.”

Amused at how she skewered me; I gave thanks for the last inch of wine in my glass, “Are you anyone else’s girlfriend?”

Her eyes lingered on my lips and then came back to my eyes again, “Non.”

That is how it happened and our kiss tasted of summer berries. An evocative scent of whatever she dabbed on her neck amplified its effect. The delicate tip of her tongue against mine became the overwhelming memory. A swell of desire rocketed through me and built so ferociously that it connected with my loins and tightened them in an instant.

It came out of nowhere and I blurted it out, “Wow, you kiss good.”

Her expression coy, coquettish perhaps, “So do you, do it again.”

Her fingers through my hair felt so sensuous. I lost count how many times we kissed like that until we adjusted ourselves and she sat side-saddle on my lap.

There we sat, drank wine and talked, punctuated with tender caresses as provocations to kiss again. The music quieter; I counted eight people where there were once thirty. All of us coupled up, and Elodie was not amongst them.

Now, every kiss hinted at an escalation, each caress edged towards the more salacious. My hand rested half under her hemline, each finger made delicate circles on her milky thigh.

Biting her top-lip, hopeful eyes looked into mine. Her fingers slid across my chest and over my thumping heart; it betrayed me. They slid over the buttons on my shirt, and then back in-between them. My reaction to her touch curled her lips into a smile. A soft caress of a nipple raised a murmur of pleasure she would feel.

She wriggled against my erection and grinned, “Am I being too forward?”

Her fingers did not stop, “No. All I know is how we are supposed to do this and we have done everything in the wrong order.”

She giggled, “This is true and I am very forward.”

I kissed her, “Good, because I am very forward too.”

I took my chance, squeezed her breast, and found her nipple, erect through the fabric. She wriggled against me with a stifled murmur.

“Come with me,” she purred, timed perfectly during a quieter movement in the music.

Everyone else seemed pre-occupied as we left the sofa. I followed her around a bend in the corridor.  Half-lit, she stopped at a door ajar, also unlit, and silent. Turning back, she looked at me, mischievous, sexual I hoped. Dry-mouthed with excitement, I watched her push the door and crept in.

She stopped in the doorway and I peered around. To my surprise, I lingered on the curve of woman’s naked back sat astride someone on the bed. Moving slowly, her fluid gestures made it impossible to misunderstand; long blonde trestles swished in time with her body.

A chill soaked through me, it had to be Elodie. Frozen to the spot, Anne-Pierre took my hand, I could not move now.  Together we watch the ebb and flow of their careful fucking.  Elodie leant forward, revealed her peachy rump, and the stout erection that bucked into her sex.

It did not take long until I felt it; Anne-Pierre massaged my groin. Biting my lip, I stifled any involuntary sounds. Of course, I was aroused, worse than ever, and she groped it to sense by how much – a lot. Heightened by the sense of danger, I threw caution to the wind. Pressing at the confluence of her thighs, between two layers of fabric, I felt her heat.

There we stood, a minute if that, as voyeurs stimulating each other, enjoying the sights and sounds of a slow easy fuck. Elodie’s lithe body ground slowly, she whimpered softly, the long travel of his hips brea,ched her sex and matched her tempo.

My weakness unleashed, it stripped away any sense of decorum; I needed to fuck. Pulling on her hand, Anne-Pierre got the message. Chest thumping, I eased the door back to where I found it.

Pulling her close to me, she grasped the bulge in my trousers, “Did you like seeing your friend fucking English?”

Her expression full of mischief, I kissed her deeply to give my answer. Easing the zip down, she slid her hand in. Staring at me, she rubbed at my erection.

“She is just like us, would you like to fuck her too?” she hissed.

I groaned, my mind fused, no time for the truth or the situation. I blurted it out, “I want to fuck you.”

The images of Elodie fucking still seared into my mind, blood awash with lust and wine, Anne-Pierre backpedalled easily and I pressed her against the wall. Our bodies slotted together, a ying and yang of need. The provocative leer on her face, I pressed my lips to hers, full-blooded, no quarter, and tongues deep. In that moment, I knew. I found the rebel I sought and the animal in me took over.

Easing my hand under the hem of her dress, my hand squeezed her thigh. Looking into her half-closed eyes, she offered no resistance as I cupped her sex, tugged at her panties, and eased my fingers in. Breeching her sex, copious juices spilled forth; rubbing it over her vulva, she soaked readily.

“Putain,” she gasped and clung to me.

Impaling her deeply, she held me tightly as her knees buckled.

“You felt how hard I am?”

“Oui, it feels big.”

“You are very wet.”  Pressing another finger inside, her rich viscous juices made it so easy, and Anne-Pierre whimpered, “Would you like it inside you?”

“Yes, come back to mine,” she whispered breathlessly, “it’s not far.”