Old fashioned French style
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Old Fashioned French Style II: Love In The Afternoon free porn video
My first encounter with Monique had been a sordid little thing. After a lot of wordless flirting in front of her husband, we had met up in a derelict stone building at an old fort and I had fucked her there: crudely, roughly, like cave dwellers, she leaning against the wall and I behind her, just banging her until I came and then it was all over.
Circumstances had dictated that, but I didn’t want it to be the defining moment of our relationship – because we did have a relationship. There was a spark between us and we really liked each other. We had met up in that desolate location purely to get our little show on the road, and Monique had been kind enough and brave enough to allow us that brief, animal action, although I was sure she was a decent, romantic woman at heart.
We hadn’t even kissed and I hadn’t licked her, because that vile meeting place stank and we hadn’t wanted to let that pervade the memory, so we had just kept it to the bare minimum. At least that was my interpretation.
Now I had booked a hotel room at the other end of the island and I planned a day-long romantic/sexy romp. Monique had initially said she could only get away for an hour, but eventually, she had concocted a story that gave her all day.
Check-in was at two pm but we met at twelve for lunch at a nearby restaurant. So far we hadn’t had the chance to talk much, because we had met through my work, interviewing her sculptor husband.
She was French and had lived on this French Caribbean island, Guadeloupe, for twenty years. She spent her days cooped up in a little apartment while her husband worked, which he did obsessively, from early morning to well into the evening. I didn’t know what she did with herself all day. They seemed happy enough in their strange little world, but she was fading away, letting herself go, when I could see that once she had been beautiful and full of life.
Was I going to put some life back into her? That was one way of looking at it. But of course, I wasn’t interested in her in a social worker kind of way – not completely. I found her attractive. In fact, we found each other irresistible, which was why we had taken such chances flirting in their apartment and then in public, at the fort.
Today we just had to hope and pray that no one we knew would see us, because although we were as far away as we could get without leaving the island, it was a small place.
The restaurant we chose was small, dark and old-fashioned: very French, it seemed to me. The sort of place you might find in a side street of a French city, with food so good you wondered why the chef hadn’t made a career somewhere bigger.
I had snails in garlic butter to start and she had carpaccio of beef, sliced so thin it looked like the pattern on the plate rather than food on top of it. We both had coq au vin to follow and we shared a bottle of Julienas, a Beaujolais.
The wine soon relaxed us and we chatted happily. She told me about her childhood in Marseille and how she had done some acting in Paris before meeting Jean-Luc and abandoning her dreams to support him, as he was making a name for himself and traveling a lot. They had had no children because their globe-trotting lifestyle wasn’t suitable for that. And they had lived in their little bubble ever since, happy enough despite watching the years fly past.
As two o’clock approached I began to feel strangely nervous. Even though we had already had sex, it had been oddly non-intimate, just a rough, instinctive coupling. Today I was going to give this woman some love and she was going to… what? I hoped she was going to do the same for me.
And yet nothing could come of it. I didn’t want to damage her marriage and had no intention of starting anything serious. She was going to have to help me with this. And as she smiled at me over her wine glass I sensed that she could and would.
The hotel receptionist seemed to know exactly what we were up to and was careful not to pry. I had decided to stay overnight since the room would be paid for and I owed myself a day off.
The room was bright with sunshine, even with the curtains drawn, but the air conditioning was good.
We shared our first kiss right inside the doorway, having wanted one another so intensely and been deprived, even though my cock had been in her cunt and my hands all over her.
Monique had made an effort, wearing a new-looking white dress with royal blue trim, which was light and loose and easy to remove, which I did immediately, pulling it up over her head. She stood shyly, her small, naked white breasts making her look like a schoolgirl. Her hair was in a bun again and when I unleashed it, it cascaded over her shoulders, arranging itself down her back and chest.
Monique just stood and looked at me as I undressed. I had no idea what was going through her mind but a little bashful smile played on her bare lips.
She was leaving it all up to me, perhaps demonstrating that the brazen woman at the fort was not really her and she had only become that for the occasion.
Her prominent, round eyes looked at me with naïve expectation. I pulled her to me and we kissed some more, less urgently now and with love in our tongues.
My erection had taken over the urgency department, straining upwards, impatiently awaiting its call to action. But that was going to be a while yet, because I wanted to devour this woman before I penetrated her.
I pulled her onto the bed and kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her neck, her breasts. I pulled her left arm up and pinned it beside her head while I licked her armpit. She was the only woman I knew who dared leave her pits alone, unshaven, and the little patch of loose hair thrilled me to the core. It was like a little taster, a teaser for her similarly untouched pubic hair.
As much as I wanted to get down there in her wild forest, I devoted myself to making her squirm with delight at the feeling of having her armpit licked. It smelled faintly of deodorant and also fresh perspiration. If a woman lets you lick her there, she will let you lick her anywhere, and I had big plans for her middle region.
I kissed my way down her belly, plunged my tongue into her navel and bypassed her forest to enjoy the silkiness of her inner thighs, my hand creeping around to her buttocks, the first place I had touched her, slyly, discreetly and fully clothed. My touch conveyed my thought and she sighed my name.
“Veec,” she whispered. “Cherie.”
That was my cue to move into her epicenter, her dark forest that seemed to sing to me with tropical birds as my tongue lapped at her beautiful juices. Monique spread her legs as wide as she could and then raised them to present me with access all areas.
I moved gratefully down to her arse and licked her quickly there. Then I used my hands to make her turn over and her little brown rose was looking at me. I licked Monique’s bottom and breathed her name as I did so. At that moment she was completely mine and I completely hers. I spent several minutes there, lost in lustful adoration. Then, as I sensed she was getting close to orgasm, I turned her over onto her back and plunged my cock into her. She came immediately, a gasping, wailing orgasm as her body clenched at mine.
“Oh, Cherie,” she said lovingly. “Oh, mon Veec.”
Then for the first time that day she became proactive. She arranged me on my back and sat on my face, upside down. I was anticipating a sixty-nine, but she rubbed herself on me first, coating my nose and cheeks and chin with her pussy juice while my tongue helped itself to her arse.
And then she descended and took my cock in her mouth. She sucked me and she wanked me more expertly than I had ever experienced before. Within a minute I was exploding into her mouth. My mature, neglected, faded French lover had come spectacularly to life and made me cum in her mouth.
I had adored her before. Now she had rewarded me with the ultimate gift: the freedom of her body. And just as we had enjoyed and understood the mutual accolade of me rimming and her being rimmed, so this equally intimate exchange had cemented our relationship.
We lay there all afternoon, talking, laughing, dozing, caressing and exploring each other. Would we become an item? No, that would ruin everything that we had both had. Would we get together again and love each other to distraction? There was no doubt we would.
Elle
- 19.03.2020
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Old fashioned French style
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