“Are you thinking about it?”
Delicate nose cocked, ingénue eyes, the curl on her lips grew. Such playful insolence expected an answer. There was only one ‘it’ in our private lexicon.
I grinned, raised an eyebrow, “I like what you have done with your hair.”
It did not deter her.
Sheltered from the winds of change, we basked in the diminished warmth. Inside, the open kitchen, its copper pans on the wall, hummed with industry. Happy chitchat competed with café music. Imbued with a homely Provençal style, we loafed here for lunch.
Reclining in her chair, her expression unchanged, pinched fingers opened her symbolic red jacket. The tight ivory top squeezed her breasts into enticing ovals. She chose not to wear a bra. My eyes returned and an eyebrow conveyed her impatience.
“You are thinking about ‘it’. You want me now,” every syllable hauled over the lush tones of her accent.
Elodie possessed so many personas, this one: the seductress. Our silent look conveyed a secret message and I undressed her with my eyes.
Her stare did not quit as she sipped some wine.
Placing her glass down, my hand met hers. Light, delicate, brought to my lips, I kissed it.
Her smile grew, “Très romantique,” and settled back into her chair.
“Of course I am thinking about ‘it’ Elodie.”
“Bon,” she purred, “and I am glad you like my hair.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Glimmers of white rippled on the millpond sea, the sun waned to a comfortable mid-afternoon heat. The tide lapped at the beach, the breeze carried the waft of hot sand, ozone and faint tobacco smoke. Staccato words interrupted my daydream, they competed with noisy gulls; an animated couple approached. We both looked; they caught us and we exchanged greetings. Decamped close by, we left them to it.
Elodie raised her book and masked her unrepentant grin.
She read erotic stories on a naturist beach.
The more I got to know her, the less I understood. Thinking back, I was so alive, she kept me on my toes. We surrendered to these powerful emotions of mutual attraction. Our interests and outlooks overlapped. What we did not share, complimented each other.
One thing remained, these secrets, our most private thoughts, they were unknown. Tempting glimpses came and went, like a plea, her plea to ask questions. If I asked these questions, what would her reaction be? What questions could I expect?
The brandy calmed my nerves as I waited for her. Reading their spines on the bookshelf, I sought clues to her personality: Camus, Proust, Nin.
Nin: one, two, three books.
One ‘popular’ book was inconsequential - the book everyone owned. Three books signified a serious interest. Back then, erotic literature was an unknown quantity to me. I knew the famous works of literature with these passages in. I did not know it was a genre of its own. Amusing now, back then, I equated it with pornography.
In my mind, Elodie was not the kind to enjoy pornography but she clearly did.
There were the totemic signposts: her previous relationship, hints of her sexuality, the flat warming party, the wedding, the train.
It all combined and challenged my black and white instinct: wild experiences with no strings attached, or monogamy and commitment.
Make up on the lips or the eyes, never both.
The connotations identical; I put those desires aside for Elodie: never both.
Her caress roused me and I returned her wistful smile. She turned another page, its unread contents diminished. Promising to share it with me, it might reveal her deepest desires.
And she would expect mine as a common currency…
The clock ticked down.
Today was her idea again.
She shared what she wanted; I never did that.
Today, she needed the confidence that I would not object. Today, she offered me a way out.
I spent all afternoon seeking the clues that led us here. Elodie did that before we left Sainte Maxime.
I had this upside-down; this was not about me: she asked Eva for the location of the beach.
Why bother if she thought I would not go along with it? How did she know I might?
In the maze of my thoughts, I arrived at the same dead end.
The night at my apartment and what we did before we met.
My core assumption: we left those desires behind for this. All afternoon, around and around I went in ever decreasing circles.
I took everything at face value, were my assumptions wrong?
Elodie read erotic stories on a naturist beach. She always had these desires, she identified with whatever was in those books. That night at my apartment did not dissuade her, she only sought the truth. Ever since, she challenged my reticence…
Gazing out on the horizon, a spark of knowledge arrived with a sense of immense stupidity.
…because she knew I was nothing of the sort. She wanted that side of me.
It crept over my soul and I shivered at the realisation. The perfect feminine, it felt too fantastical; it could not be true. The excitement and possibilities surged forwards with such force, my body responded.
She made me burn for her: I wanted to be burnt.
Rolling onto my front, my body gave its verdict and my mind, its approval. Her hand grazed over my back, I murmured.
“Are you okay?” her voice light on the breeze.
I smiled, “Yes, I am.”
“You have been very quiet. Do you not like it here?”
I murmured, “No, I like it, it is very liberating.”
I could not see her eyes, just her smile, “I knew you would.”
Four simple words, one wavelength, I relaxed to her touch and submitted to the soporific swish of the tide.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
We walked through shades of umber, ochre, and olive green. In the Jardin du Tuileries, her arm inside mine, we enjoyed a moment of quiet contemplation. The hints of summer in her perfume contrasted with the scent of a season’s change.
We stopped and I eased my hands around her waist. To anyone else and the weathered marble statues, this was just another public display of affection.
“English, you are being very mysterious today.”
Silent for a moment against the rustle of weeping willows, “I am?”
“You know something,” she opined.
I looked down for a moment, then back to meet her gaze, “Look into my eyes, tell me what you can see.”
Her demi-waved hair danced on the breeze, head tilted in contemplation.
Soft fingers caressed my cheek, “I can see into your soul English. Mon bel homme.”
I smiled, “But can you read my mind?”
The faded kiss of the Cote d’Azur still blessed her flawless skin. She concentrated and a radiant smile grew. For a moment, I thought she achieved the impossible. Every day felt like we achieved the impossible.
“Non, it is no good, what are you thinking?”
“Je t’aime.”
She gasped. No doubt, or nerves, I hoped she saw my deepest conviction. This morning, I awoke before her and it came as a lucid moment of vivid clarity. My very first thought when I saw her, still asleep, and her angelic face. Another wonderful day beckoned and it seized me: who I was, what I was, she lifted me up to this place.
I could not contemplate a future without her and all those landmarks that defined a life well lived. As stark as day and night, I would be lost without my lodestar.
Gazing into my eyes, I hoped she could see it now. Her gentle touch soothed my temple.
“Mon bel homme,” she whispered, “je connais, je t'aime aussi.”
With jubilant eyes, her fingers eased through my hair. It soaked through me, a lightness of spirit, and a carefree elation.
I beamed back, “Depuis quand?”
“Since when have I known?” She rolled her eyes to the heavens and fixed them onto me wide-eyed, “Toujours…”
“Always?”
“Oui,” that innocent earnestness in her expression, she paused with its natural hesitancy. “Ever since I saw you at Gare du Nord, I thought to myself… this is a man I could love.”
So much for my bold confidence, I crumbled on the surfeit of emotion. Joy sparkled in her glistening eyes; they matched mine.
Now, she could read my thoughts.
She nodded, “Oui, you said you could not do it alone.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You were never alone,” and her caress reassured me, “I watched your courage grow, the thoughtful words, your actions. I hoped so much that this day would come.”
“I kept my promise Elodie, as soon as I knew, I would tell you. I never thought I would meet someone… someone who made me feel this way.”
The vulnerability in her eyes matched mine, “Me too English, me too. What you do to me, it feels like magic.”
We succumbed to the emotion. This time, she placed her lips on mine, a kiss to pacify the intensity, a prelude for my kiss to her. In each other’s arms, it spoke for us: the powerful serenity and zeal of euphoria. Love, the eternal contradiction shared by two spirits.
Placing her head against my shoulder, I held her, safe and warm.
“We have come a long way since springtime,” she surmised.
I kissed her hair, “From that first phone call…”
“Oui, and it will be winter soon. I do not like winter very much.”
“I am sure we will find ways to stay warm and see it through.”
“You promise?”
“Promise.”
She murmured, “Take me home English.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Elodie shook me; I roused. The faraway tide established my place in the world.
“Huh?”
Sunglasses removed and disbelief in her eyes, she gestured to them, “Look behind me.”
I peered over. The animated couple, her back to us, slim and petite, he was prone. Her head bobbed up and down, it was obvious. I watched for longer than required.
All afternoon, I vacillated between vice and virtue. Tested by the situation, challenged by the circular conundrum of my thoughts; now this.
“Wow,” a tentative offering, my last redoubt.
Her forehead furrowed, “English, does that happen here? Does it?”
“Looks like it does.”
Sensibilities made me check our surroundings. It was later in the afternoon, some had drifted away. Those that remained seemed unaware, whether they accepted this behaviour or not.
The couple hid in plain sight.
“English, I do not think they should, it is not allowed I am sure.”
I raised my eyebrows, “Well, it is happening.”
Conflict etched on her features, it mirrored my own dilemma. For all her confidence, it had its limits. She looked at me with apprehension.
“Elodie, what is it?”
“I do not know if I should look,” she whispered.
I sniggered, “They cannot hear you, I think they want us to watch.”
“Putain! Non!” she hissed.
I peered over again; they were more overt now. On her knees between his legs, held up like a lollipop as she attended to him.
“Elodie, if you looked now, you would see a lot more.”
Curiosity, it killed the cat, moments later, she rolled back to face me.
“Mon dieu.”
“Do you want to watch them?”
She hesitated and I watched her thoughts overwhelm her.
“Oui,” her eyes widened, “Do you trust me?”
An incongruent question, it was an instinctive answer, “Of course.”
“I trust you too.”
Turning her back to me, I looked on over her shoulder. The woman paused for a white-toothed grin and took him again. Languid and slow, her hand swirled over his erection.
This afternoon provided all the ingredients of a powerful elixir. Impulsively, I pressed my arousal against the cleft of her behind, her approval thrummed through me.
I rested my hand on her hip, “You like watching them?”
“Mmm, I do,” she purred and rubbed against me, “I know you do too. Do you think they are going to fuck each other?”
She knew that word incited me, “I think so. Would you like them to?”
“Oui.”
The sensual flourish of my fingertips roamed: a delicate interrogation. Her timid movements against me grew in confidence; I felt her murmur. I traced around the underside of her breast.
“Is she attractive Elodie?”
She purred, “Oui, she has a wonderful body.”
“And him?”
“He is handsome and has a good penis.”
“As good as mine?”
Her hips delivered a tantalising tribute, “Non. Yours is better.”
The woman took to her haunches, stood, and cast a shadow over his body.
“Are you looking at her Elodie?”
I heard it, her first whimper through shallow breaths.
Laid alongside him, facing us, the man curled around her. Her behind pressed to his loins, it mimicked our own arrangement. In a closed-legged spoons position, he thrust with short stealthy movements. Her pert breasts jiggled: the clue to their activity.
“English, they are fucking.”
“They are,” my hand clasped her breast and teased its erect nipple, “now do you like watching?”
“Oui,” gasped between ragged breaths.
“Take my hand, show me where you want it.”
“Putain...”
Whatever stories she read, this would be a new one to write together. The acrid sense of excitement surged as rushing blood. Taken from her breast, led down her front; my hand eased through the soft down on her mons. She curled my fingers over the smooth pillow of her sex, hot to the touch.
I growled, “You want this?”
“Please…” she whimpered, “please…”
The cascade of her juices slipped over my fingers.
She moaned, long and loud, “Putain…”
Circling its hood, I taunted her exposed clit. Occasionally, the undulation of her hips positioned me to breech her. A tease maybe, her need perhaps.
Attended to by her lover, the woman smiled at us.
Elodie gasped, “They have seen us.”
I kissed her shoulder, “You want to stop?”
“Non…” still moving against my aching shaft, “non… ne t'arrête pas…”
Her clit slipped over my fingers.
“I think she is getting that hard cock in her ass. Do you like it in your ass too?”
The writhing motion betrayed her, “Putain…”
My words exploded like bombs on her resolve. I sensed her struggle. A fresh wetness coated my fingers. Her rhythmic undulations hinted how we might fuck. My fingers soaked, she would capitulate soon.
“Elodie, we will do that soon, my hard cock in your ass,” and I enjoyed her abandoned whimpers. “Right now, I am going to put this in your cunt.”
I never called it that in her presence – ever.
The effect was immediate; she reeled with a loud groan, “Putain…”
Knocking my hand away, I feared I had overdone it. Reaching back, she grasped my hard shaft, and presented it to her sex.
“Please…” she pleaded.
“You want this now?”
“Putain, please…”
“Beg…”
“Putain… I’m begging you. Like them English, do it like them.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
I laid where I fell on her bed, sprawled on my front, limbs scattered. My last memory, her delicate fingers cast a spell on my exhausted body, soothing words calmed me to sleep.
“English, do not move.”
“Huh… why?”
“I am drawing you.”
“Drawing?”
“Oui, I wanted to draw you like this. It is a thank you.”
I swallowed, “A thank you?”
“Oui, I have not drawn anything for a long time. Today, I rediscovered how much I enjoy it. You are my muse now. I am inspired by the man I love.”
“I love you.”
She giggled, “I love you too.”
“I will tell you every day.”
“Bon, you always make me feel desired.”
“You always make me want you.”
She purred, “I know, I can still feel you inside me.”
“Elodie!”
She laughed.
I could not see her; instead, the order of her bedroom in chaos, clothes and underwear littered the floor. We did this together, an act of love. Our bargain, we would sleep it off, tonight we celebrated.
‘It’, we played our game, a collision of fantasy and intent. From Sainte Maxime and the heady weeks since, we refined the rules every time.
Our foreplay, she sat propped up against me in bed, naked together. Brandishing a thick pencil, Elodie committed our desires to paper. We created a story, slashes of grey captured the image. Every kiss and caress reduced her to a whimpering state of need. Her hand trembled, the finer detail neglected. Explicit words and their calm articulation overwhelmed us.
The finer details continued in the rhythmic tangle of our bodies. We moved like water, two physical instruments took up the narrative. I gave everything, nothing held back. Exhibited with abandon, she did the same, everything available to me.
Yielded with flickering eyelids, her body wracked with votive cries. Love, sex, and fucking, it defied description: the sensual, the tender, the animal. With fiery blood and muscles, we flailed and seized on each other.
Captured in her limbs, we raced in a hot embrace to the finish. Spurred by her heels, clasped tight, feverish kisses propelled her over the edge. Bonded by our common need, heated and wet with exertion until it burst through in tremolo yelps of bliss.
“I love you.”
Her eyes rolled, head back, I kissed her pouted lips. Exorcised in that last tumultuous orgasm, she convulsed with grasping fingers and shaking legs. Fused together at the pinnacle of delirium; I yielded to her demands.
Overwhelmed by relief, I laid where I fell.
Her gentle caress soothed my exhausted body, “I… I love you English.”
Today, we created the last rules that defined ‘it’.
The cast-iron trust provided by love.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The cry of a gull, I looked around the beach, no one cared. The sense of danger added its potency.
Fully rigid, she held me there and I pushed forwards. Immersed in hot slippery velvet, I growled, it did not ease my frustration.
In spoons, her legs closed, we mimicked their movements. The woman smiled at us, she knew. This covert act required more restraint, the torment raged to new heights. Slowly, I sawed into her to the sounds of her whimpers.
Twisting her body, she reached out. We kissed, a moment of intimacy, and in her eyes, a plea for help.
“This is intense.”
“Show them how much you like it,” I growled, “let them watch you.”
Her eyes narrowed and lips pouted, “Oui…”
A sudden wetness broiled my length. Time marched onwards, irrelevant, and we moved as a disparate foursome. The side glances, innuendo and provocation; this was the result. Elodie writhed with me; pleading whimpers signalled her ordeal. Our gift to them, an indelible memory: two strangers joined in with their audacious act. Tested as exhibitionists and voyeurs, I endured the pleasure tinged with anguish.
Like a bang of silent thunder, they jarred as if spooked. Decoupled, they rolled onto their fronts; we stopped too.
Looking behind us, a couple approached, too close for comfort.
My exasperation burst out, “Well, that answers your question, you cannot do that here!”
As fast as a whip crack, Elodie faced me, flustered, her torso blotchy, “I want you.”
“I want you too… badly. Come on, we are going.”
We gathered our things and stuffed them into the beach bag. Collapsing the parasol, it hid my blushes. Glancing to them, the woman gave us a wave; Elodie waved back.
“Adieu!” the woman hollered.
“Adieu!” shouted Elodie, “Vous êtes très sexy.”
“Merci, vous aussi!” came the reply.
I shook my head, “Unbelievable.”
She giggled, “That was amazing, come on hurry up.”
Holding my hand, marched over the heavy sand, we chatted excitedly. Flanked by the wooden stake fences, we strode up the sandy path through the thickets of long grass and dunes. Lousy with need, the prospect of driving back to Sainte Maxine leadened each step with its harsh reality.
A sharp tug pulled me through an opening, “Allons-y!”
She giggled and I almost dropped the parasol. More anticipation boiled the frustration within. Further, the grass up to thigh height, we walked down an already trodden path. We stopped at a small clearing under a tall dune. She threw down the beach towel and I dropped everything. A deep passionate kiss, and taken in hand, I surrendered.
Descending my body, her slender fingers eased around my girth. Her coy eyes met mine and she took me in her mouth. It did not take long. Completely rigid, filled with a savage frustration, I begged.
“Lie down,” she rasped and assertive.
Straddled, she sat upright. Taken in hand, she fed me inside her. To her delight, I groaned and pushed upwards. Hands placed on my chest for leverage, she moved up and down my aching shaft.
Against the backdrop of the aquamarine sky, her determined eyes bored into mine.
“Did you think I would make you wait English?”
“Yes.”
“Non, I am not cruel. I wanted to do this all day.”
“You did?”
“Oui, you have been so quiet, so distant. Now, I know why, you are very hard, you found it very arousing, oui?”
“Yes, yes,” I moaned loudly, “I did... very.”
With a wicked smile, she enjoyed my plight, “Bon, you took me, you took what you wanted.”
“Yes, I could not help it.”
“You know, you know what I want?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
Grinding against me, the fluid undulation of her hips swayed her breasts. I tried to buck back, her strength pressed me back down.
“Non, I am going to take your orgasm, I made you suffer.”
The liquid massage of her sex roused the tension in my core.
She watched me intently, “I wanted to kiss her…”
“Fuck!”
I tried to respond, and she batted my hands away. The muscular grasp and friction overwhelmed me. Her dominion complete, she flexed her body, and mashed her sex against the hilt of my erection.
“I wanted her to touch my breasts and lick my… my cunt!”
The sway of her ponytail and the clash of skin against skin; I groaned as her pace quickened. Fingers teased my nipples and she devoured my reaction.
“I wanted to lick her cunt too English.” Her defiant leer bored into me, “It arouses you, oui?”
“Fuck! Yes… yes it does.”
“Bon, it arouses me intensely.”
The sweeping motion and syrupy friction rewarded my honesty. Narrowed eyes scrutinised me and her pace increased.
“Mon dieu, you are very hard.”
Back and forth, she ground against me. A feverish pace and I looked on helplessly. Through heavy eyes, a sudden groan and quickened exhalations of air, the vice tightened. Pouted lips bitten, she stifled a louder moan.
“Eat her cunt Elodie and I will fuck you from behind at the same time.”
“Putain…”
Arms locked, her head dropped, her animated body trashed against me.
“Make her climax until she begs you to stop. We will do the same to you.”
“Mon dieu…”
She incanted those words repeatedly with stuttered gasps. Beads of perspiration illuminated like jewels in the bright sunlight. Flexing with the animal power of her core, more words inspired her relentless body. As her inquisitor, everything she wanted poured forth. Punchy thoughts that made her thrash, the sticky sounds of her copious juices added to her moans.
Denied any latitude, she stuttered, I felt her grasp.
“Prends ton orgasme Elodie. Do it… she is licking your cunt…”
Clasping her breasts, my fingers scissored her nipples. Each deep lungful of air exhaled with a yelp. Their cadence grew; pleading eyes yearned for release, she flailed now. This time, I would outlast her, my words would be her downfall.
“Do it, cum on her face, her tongue is inside you.”
“Putain…”
In a convulsive grasp of muscle and stuttered plosive air, she seized up. Grabbing her hips, I hauled her back and forth against me. Shaking through her arms, the powerful seizures rippled around my girth. Wide helpless eyes showed me its power.
Prised against me, aftershocks bore down on that tell-tale swell. Her spasms eased, the fluidity returned. Flushed, breathless, her vacant eyes snapped into focus. She nodded silently and her reanimated hips took over.
“Give it to me, I want your sperm.”
Writhing from her hips, her fingers plucked my nipples. Primed, fully swollen, I groaned with every breath.
“Oui, mon amour, fill me up… watch us kiss as I take your orgasm.”
Upright, fascination in her eyes; the point of no return beckoned. Pressing down firmly, my back arched and I shook, the pressure almost too big to expel.
The rise of so much liquid heat in those deep spasms, my groans announced every muscular jolt. An afternoon of angst transformed into intense relief. At a canter, she milked it from me. Her delight clear to see, slow sweeping movements consoled the weak final twitches.
Her eyes shone, “Mmm, très bon…”
Finally at ease, lost in the powerful warmth, “Only… only you can do that to me.”
Such instinctive words, I surprised myself.
Flushed and smiling, she eased down for a tender kiss.
“Mon amour, only you can do this to me too.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Elodie read aloud; Anais Nin chided the mechanical. I empathised with the author. I did not drive us back to Sainte Maxime; we soared on a flight of fancy.
“English, do you have any regrets about today?”
I stole a quick glance. Reclined in her seat, elbow on the door, pleased with herself.
“Me? No, far from it. Do you?”
“Non.”
I liked how suddenly she answered, “You never fail to surprise me.”
“Pourquoi?”
“Why? I made some wrong assumptions about you.”
“Assumptions?” she paused. “Why assumptions? We both know something of our past.”
She giggled, straight to the point, and I mumbled my agreement. I brought the car to a halt for traffic.
“English, do you think about it?”
“About what?”
“The past?”
Looking over, her mischievous smile grew: permission to continue.
“What makes you say that?”
“Intuition, a guess,” she mused, “You have a conscience like me. You did not read your book on the beach, you were thinking a lot.”
Pulling out of a junction, “I do have a conscience,” and changed gear. “I think about the past, not so much about the people, more about the things I did.”
“And you have regrets about them?”
I changed gear again, “No, I worry because I find it easy to get carried away. I do not want to be selfish and hurt your feelings. You call it my reticence.”
“Ah oui, I understand. You are very thoughtful, and you have nothing to be reticent about.”
“No?”
“Non, I am like you, I have a conscience too. I do not want to be selfish and hurt your feelings. And I want to enjoy life and follow my desires.”
I nodded, “Elodie, is that why you asked me if I trusted you?”
“Trust is very important. I need that to share these things with you.”
“I see, I can understand that.” I needed to change gear again, “Can I share something else with you?”
“Of course, I think you need to. Today you had a, erm, weight on your shoulders?”
“Yes,” I sighed, “I thought because we are in a relationship that these things would not happen.”
“Pourquoi? Things like on the beach?”
“More assumptions, silly really.”
Elodie snorted, “Non, not silly. You did not assume they would happen and that is a good thing… really.”
I smiled and found top gear, “You know, it is amazing, we are different and so alike.”
“Oui, as if we were on two paths and now they are, erm, joined?”
“Intertwined?”
“Oui, bon, intertwined. As if it was meant to be.”
“It?”
“Oui, it.”, she giggled, “This is a good name… ‘it’. A name for our desires.”
“I suppose ‘it’ is.”
“English, some good came from knowing about what happened before us.”
“Yeah, I think I understand that now. You are trying to encourage me.”
Elodie giggled, “Only trying?”
I laughed along.
“English, this is the truth. Imagine if we did not know this and we never found out. We could never really understand each other. That is a terrible crime. We could spend all this time together and we might never discover it. Is that a life to live?”
“That is deep and perceptive.”
“Perceptive?” she queried, “Perspicace? It is also absurd.”
“Perspicace,” and we laughed at an old joke. “Elodie, I would be happy if today happened or if it did not. I want you to be happy.”
She sniggered, “I am very happy and you needed very little encouragement.”
I shrugged, “True, it was incredible.”
She purred in agreement, “So, be yourself English, and what I said does not alarm you?” Her tone changed, more serious, “It was in the heat of the moment again.”
I understood the motif and checked her expression quickly, “No, the very opposite, it is your sexuality, it is who you are.”
She purred again.
“You need to keep your word as well Elodie. I want to understand you, all of you. Not half of you.”
“Really?” Her tone bright, she put her hand on my thigh, “I do not want half of you as well. You were very direct on the beach and I like the words you use, they make me very aroused.”
I laughed, “We need to be careful, you do not need much encouragement, and I do not either.”
“I like that you have this weakness for me,” and sighed. “I know that I must be careful though. I have the same weakness for you.”
“And I will be careful, I promise. So tell me these desires. I promise I would not be alarmed or upset.”
“I know you keep your promises, ” Elodie purred, “you must do the same and tell me.”
“I will.”
“Promise me English?”
“I promise.”
Under the open canopy, the sunshine illuminated what we kept in the shadows. I thought these different worlds were mutually exclusive; I was wrong, Elodie was right. The key was trust and communication.
To anyone else, we returned from the beach. To us, we reached a landmark destination.
Together, we held the key and opened the box.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Amused by a picture of us on holiday next to those books on the shelf, the rich scent of her perfume grew. Something metallic slapped on the glass table, I turned, and they shone like precious metal. Facing her, I paused, struck by her hesitancy.
“Well,” she offered, “we are together every day.”
As stainless steel keys, they were priceless.
I smiled into her hopeful eyes, “You are asking me to move in?”
“Oui,” she whispered.
“Impeccable timing.”
“Impeccable…”
Swept into my arms, interrupted with a gentle kiss, we embraced. Strong hands squeezed her slender waist; another kiss stifled her whimper. I understood the timing of this: her need for security.
She placed her hand on my face, “Say you will English, I need to hear it.”
“Of course I will. Yes, I will live with you.”
She beamed, “An early Christmas present, mon amour.”
I beamed too, “The best present I have ever had, and yours this evening perhaps?”
She purred, “Peut être.”
I felt its warm glow, every day I would awake next to her. We never had cross words or any exasperation. We talked through our problems, each of us had time to listen and share. We were inseparable, very much in love, absolutely committed to each other. A situation I could not imagine a few months ago. I loved being around her, there was this instinct between us: a time to be close, a time to have some space. One look at her, I could feel the strong sense of empathy.
I found her, my match, no compromises, no regret, built on trust, truth, and respect.
In her eyes, there was still something there, “Are you okay Elodie?”
“I was very nervous English, I needed to show you how much you mean to me. You say and do so many wonderful things.”
“I am honoured, I am very lucky to have you.”
“I feel the same way, really I do.”
“So, you are ready for domestic bliss with me then?”
“Do not leave your socks on the floor.”
I laughed at her stern tone, “I am very domesticated.”
She giggled too, “I always wanted a pet.”
She wiped her lipstick from my lips. Subtle makeup accentuated her cheekbones, bright eyed, and her dress taut like a second skin. I admired her for a moment. She bit her lip, an edge to her demure expression, a vulnerable fault line to expose. A simple turn of phrase would open the fissure and we would not be going out tonight.
“How do I look?” asked with genuine modesty. Many times, I wondered if she understood just how beautiful she was.
“Ravishing.”
“Ravissante?”
I nodded, we smiled, this joke never got old. Her smouldering look, the atmosphere between us crackled with need.
Her hand rested on my chest, on my heart, “Je t’aime English.”
“Je t’aime Elodie.”
It was time to go.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The car stowed in the garage, back in Sainte Maxime. Under the shower, we rinsed away the beach and marinated in profound lust. The glint of the razor blade caught a sunbeam. Dragged over smooth shorn skin, the effect obvious, she teased my full erection.
Each time, a question, a simple affirmative or a longer answer incensed us. Desires told as stories, flesh moulded to reveal our most intimate places. New sensations seared new pleasures into our minds.
Oil used to moisturise became a fluid to enflame. Kisses implored, acquiescent whimpers pleaded, and snatched words begged.
Her playful squeals when I flicked my tongue over that scrunched knot. Yelp-capped moans echoed over the fizzle of water. She swore revenge, cut off in mid-sentence as my finger penetrated that tightest hole. My mouth took her swollen clit captive. The tang of her essence, spine curled, and wet fingers through my hair clamped me in place. She bucked, explosive moans echoed off the tiles and unsteady legs trembled. A sudden climax, hungrily taken, I wriggled free to her playful chagrin.
It was hubris as my nemesis. Manhandled, legs kicked apart, I braced against the steamed opaque glass. Sucking on my ear, I moaned at her words, her fingers ran over the smooth ridge of swollen muscle. Kneeling, the tip of her tongue teased my perineum. Slowly stroking my erection, it flicked at my anus. I groaned with the radiating pulses of overexcited nerve-endings. The alchemy of her touch turned passion into primal need.
Facing her again, doused in soothing droplets, I gazed spellbound into her coquettish eyes. Bewitched by her confidence, she grazed over that smooth skin. A fingertip of pressure, she watched my rigid length twitch. Caressing my balls, she took the thick curve of my erection into her mouth. Outstretched hands steadied my overwhelmed body.
In this game of one-upmanship, I lost. Its myriad of veins bulged, sharp breaths of heady bliss transported me to the edge of delirium. Her nonchalant caress, she made me beg for her oily finger to penetrate me. My desperate moans only incensed her, and I pleaded for more.
Teasing it, she watched my reaction, I begged for relief and she stopped. The water rinsed over our hot passionate kiss.
“Now you are ready,” she purred.
Wickedness personified, nude of makeup, wet hair combed back. Droplets glistened on her naked body. My tigress approached, chin held high, and her eyes burned into mine. Her hand around it, viciously hard, she led me from the shower.
The tiles warm under foot. Dappled sunlight through the windows struck her body in textures of matt and sheen. A towel draped on the chaise longue, I sat, and she straddled me in reverse.
From her vantage point, she exhibited her naked form with the perfect view of mine. An arm around my shoulders, and I suffered the anticipation in silence. More oil glistened on my shaft. Curled against me, a foot rested on my thigh, one on the chaise longue: an arrangement to watch each other.
“This is yours,” delivered with a husky timbre, eyes heavy.
She took me in hand and placed a full kiss onto my expectant lips, a distraction. Gravity challenged its tensile strength. Her narrowed eyes met mine. The shallowest of breaths, I breeched her and her features softened. Cautious movements followed and its fierce grip engulfed me.
“Fuck my ass,” she gave as her command, not a servile request.
Each time, she took a little more with a longer moan. Her gift too bounteous, it challenged my restraint and I groaned too.
She showed me every nuance of its pleasure, “Good?”
I nodded, “Yes, do you want her to see you like this?”
“Oui…”
Her light gasps different, ethereal, and capped with feeble yelps. My fingers found it, rigid to the touch, slippery; I rubbed her clit.
“You want her to touch you like this?”
“Putain…”
She groaned, her eyelashes fluttered, and took it all. Her breast captured in my hand, its nipple teased between my lips. The exchange of our desires inspired us. Making tiny circles with her hips, elegant movements made this tawdry act beautiful.
“Qui se sent si bien… dans ma… dans ma cul,” and the pleasure rolled her last syllable.
More words defined our desires, the world around us blurred, this was our shared fantasies – ‘it’.
“She will watch, watch and play with herself… waiting for you.”
“Oui… Oui…”
She reeled and plunged down to take it all. Her glance through heavy eyelids spoke a thousand words. Pouted lips conveyed pleasure, the power and majesty of her body took me. This maddening grasp of my girth, it inspired my thrusts. We made the ascent together; bolder movements sharpened her languid body.
Faint, the distant promise of release. She quickened, moved up and down my whole length, and reeled. Her abdominals tightened and eased. Moving faster, eyes scrunched shut; her brittle cries louder.
“Oui…si bien… I… I want her fingers inside me as you fuck my ass.”
“She will make you orgasm, touching you, kissing you.”
“I want you to fuck her too, I want to… putain… see that.”
I growled, “On her back, she can eat you as you watch me.”
Elodie croaked and trembled. I eased my fingers inside. The first flex of tension gripped my girth. Each kiss escalated, and then another, as the ferocity of her spasms strengthened. She struggled as the reflex of her body propelled her onwards. My latitude limited, I took up the fight.
“Ne t'arrête pas… putain… ne t'arrête pas…”
Determined fingers rubbed her clit, the escalation in tempo scorched through her body. Driving into her, the tight friction dragged against my shaft. The summit approached, the quaking intensified. Her flickering eyes, a gurgle, a swallowed groan, whatever had her, it would not let go.
“Je jouis….” feebly croaked, she pulled my hand from her sex.
“She has her soft tongue there now, as you climax.”
She shook against my tight embrace, her head snapped back, it lolled, and the tremors took her. Focussed into a single point, her sinews tight, I fought against the insane grip.
Rakish breaths, her body a conducting rod, and the lightening struck. It tore through her. Routed by the noise and implacable strength, instinct took charge. Overwhelmed, I pushed up as if this thrust would be my last. She bucked and convulsed against me with howls of ecstasy. The savage sensation, our posture, this act, I could not hold out.
My body quaked, the intense pulses grew, and with my last shove; I put it in deep. Locked in a tight hold, climatic cries punctured the still air. They drowned out birdsong and ricocheted off the stucco walls. My release roared, belts of white heat seared against its unyielding malevolence. So intense, it felt like they would never stop.
Elodie eased up first, the jolting spasms softened, and we ceased to move. Slumped against me, our hot bodies trembled in a close embrace. Beads of perspiration and dishevelled hair, she looked upon me in pink-skinned shock.
Breathless, fatigued, concerned, I swallowed to clear my throat, “Elodie… are you okay?”
It was a weak grin, “Oui.”
“You sure?”
The occasional impulse caught her unawares, “I… I have done that before… with something that takes batteries, never a person.”
I huffed, “Now, that is something I want to see.”
Looking down at me, she snorted for air and gave me a feeble smile, “Oui, peut être.”
We stayed like this for a while; each kiss revived her a little more. Extracting ourselves, I lifted her and carried her in my arms.
“Mmm, English.”
“Come on, a shower will sort you out.”
Laughing, admiration in her eyes, we maintained an uneasy truce. Each kiss, the merest touch, it provoked our impassioned souls.
In the garden, we drank chilled white wine, and picked over cold cuts and crudités. Fresh faced, a natural glow, she read her favourite story from The Delta of Venus. Her capricious tone added colour and tantalised the flickering embers within.
She stared with intent, her hand reached for my loins, and finished the final sentence. Finding its outline, her eyes bored into mine. Incredulous at her wicked smile, after everything, I needed more.
Kneeling, she opened my gown and picked it up. Holding it to her cheek, she smiled with lascivious eyes.
Clasping the armrests with surprise, the velvet heat of her mouth took it without warning. Looking up, her tongue swirled around its head.
“In my mouth this time.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The boulevard illuminated in archways of creamy lights, its centrepiece spelt Joyeux Noël: Happy Christmas.
Our hot breath rose under a new moon, its silver miasma floated away into the cold night. Clutching my arm, she scuffed her heel on the pavement and giggled. Always those impractical shoes, they shone in patent black.
Her arm tight against mine, we walked amidst the ephemera of the street scene. A muffled cheer from a bar, pedestrians chattered, and the tinny rattle of a moped faded away.
“English, do you think they will let us in?”
“They should, you look sensational tonight.”
Black, black as jet stone, everyone looked good in black. She wore a black figure hugging dress and black lingerie. All hidden under a heavy black long coat with a faux fur trim. Myself, a black coat, black shirt, open neck, black suit, and shoes; it looked expensive, it was not, but looked it.
There, under a streetlamp, only a few more steps now: I saw it first.
A nondescript blue door, a shopfront, it looked closed. Inside, a portico, a closed-circuit camera looked down on us. We waited and I swallowed down the faint anxiety; ‘it’ awaited inside. A sudden metallic buzz and I held the door open for her. Greeted warmly, I paid for admission; the doorman gave us a twinkle-eyed smile. Our coats, mobile phones, wallet, her clutch bag handed over; symbolic, our lives stripped back.
“Votre première fois?” he asked with a friendly tone.
It was obvious, our first time, and we nodded in unison.
“Vous aurez besoin de ces masques.”
He placed two masks on the counter top.
Valentina
- 16.04.2022
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