En France - Bastille Day free porn video

Wandering saxophone noodled with a shrill cornet, Jazz music: no rhythm.

On her knees, back curled, Anne-Pierre complained for more.  Unable to bargain, her wrists in my hands, arms drawn back, I plundered her wet hole.  Each hard thrust shook her milky white body adorned with the dew of frenzied lust.  My weary muscles burned; drops of sweat thrown from me as we clattered together.  Quivering breasts reflected in the mirror, another lunge smacked against her rump. 

Cries of pleasure rose in the fetid air, heavy with the musk of sex.  Drowning out the aural torture, the decrepit fan rattled, and bedsprings creaked.  The contortions of her stricken body under my control, wild hair flailed with the rising clamour for her orgasm. 

Addicted to sticky heat of her sex, I drove on, a slave to my need for relief.  The wiry tension and grasp of her muscular walls, she tensed, and prised the pressure free.  A sudden wail, strong convulsions rippled along my erection.  Demanding my release, I wanted to deny myself.  Saturated by guilt, this was infidelity but I could not hold back.  Hollow mocking laughter tore through my soul, I am trapped, a prisoner to her needs.

With a jolt, I recoiled, my bearings uncertain.  Bleary eyed, I blinked; zero, seven, one, six reassured me.  Warm, my soporific mind like treacle; forced to think, unsure today was Tuesday. 

The photo-realism of the disturbing dream faded away, so did my state of arousal.

Switching on the kettle, it rattled loudly, and I sighed.  Wiping sleep from my eyes, I could not influence this.  Monday night, Elodie went to yoga and within those walls, her nemesis lurked.  Anne-Pierre’s parting gift to me: skewered by circumstance.  I feared a confrontation between them.  If I warned Elodie, I risked losing her.  If I did not, and that confrontation happened, I risked losing her.

This morning, first thing in the office, my salutation would reveal what happened.

A sip of coffee, the smoky acrid flavours worked their magic.  For two weeks, my threat held Anne-Pierre back.  I bargained we were all free agents, c'est comme ça: it is like that and move on.  Then the forfeit, I risked losing Elodie.

If something happened, it would have happened by now.

My gamble and I stuck to it.   

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

Stood at the threshold of my apartment, I stared back like a savant idiot.

“Bonjour English!” bright and airy, it floored me.

“Wow.”

Her smile suggested that it was enough.

In that Mondrian print dress, ruler straight, the same one from the Palais Garnier.  It symbolised the day with blocks of red, white, and blue.  Bright naked blue eyes, bold scarlet painted on her bow-shaped lips, a little colour on those high cheekbones.  Nude legs, red high heels, hair loose in luscious curls, side-parted. 

Red, she never wore red makeup, we exchanged a double-kissed greeting.

“Elodie, you look incredible.”

Demure, modest, with a faint curl eased onto her lips, “Thank you and I am hungry English, I skipped breakfast.”

“Me too, I get hint, shall we?”

“Of course,” her eyes, a hint of excitement in them, “I have been looking forward to this all week.”

“So have I.”

I doubted her reasons were the same as mine: my stomach tied in knots with nerves.  All week, I rode this rollercoaster of introverted contemplation and fizzy excitement.  We met for lunch on Monday as always and again midweek.  As my guest to my sister’s wedding, and Bastille Day together; we had plenty to talk about.  We spoke as if the other things going on around us were a distraction. 

The day was here, lunch on Rue Montorgueil and the recital at L'église de la Madeleine, they sustained our bodies and souls.  A compendium of emotions, some bold, others nuanced, all set to sublime food and music.  Every boulevard adorned with Tricolores; the bars and cafes busy, an atmosphere that soaked through my skin and deep into my heart. 

From the serenity of the church, we walked out into the bright day; Elodie took my arm.

“They saved the best until last, Debussy, la Suite Bergamasque,” she purred, “it was wonderful.”

Famous for ‘Claire De Lune’, at that precise moment, it could not be more symbolic.  Swept away by its beauty, I reached out for Elodie’s hand and she held it gently. 

“I loved it.”

Squeezing my arm, “I am glad you like such things, it is something that should be shared.”

There were no more nerves, just an easy feeling of calm.  We dawdled through the Jardin du Tuileries, her loose curls bounced as we walked.  Engaged in the to-and-fro of easy conversation; it devoured time.  We stopped for a moment on the tree-lined path, an impish grin on her face.

“What is it Elodie?”

“Well, as you are so good at surprises, I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” I smiled wryly, “Not sure how I feel about being surprised.”

“It is a fabulous place to loaf, not far away, my favourite place in all of Paris.”

“Your favourite place?”

“Oui,” she seemed to fidget with excitement, “Usually, I only go there alone but I think you will like it there so much.  I have a table reserved at six.”

Gazing at the azure sparkle in her eyes, I acquiesced happily, “Then we shall loaf like we have never loafed before.”

A brasserie on a side street off Boulevard des Capucines; we took our table outside.  Stylish with old Parisian charm, dignified in polished black marble, smoked glass, and gold script.  Warm in the sun, I peered up the street, the location perfect for later.  We grazed on Fruits de la Mer, chilled white wine, Crêpes Suzette, and drank Armagnac with our coffee.   It is a strange thing to say but of all the things we shared in common; this was our favourite pastime.  Elodie was an incredible people watcher.  I had a surprise too; mine would follow later. 

Sitting alongside me, she lounged in a relaxed pose, arms on its rests, elegant legs crossed at the knee.  A buzz from the wine, my smile felt permanent, she always returned it.

“English, you know, I think you have it.”

“Merci, and you definitely have it Mademoiselle Duprix.”

A genial smile followed, “Oui, we are loafing like Parisians now.”

A tune from an accordion accompanied by a singer wafted on a long breeze; it fluttered through her hair.  Looking up the street, it looked as if they played from one establishment to another.  I knew immediately what I had to do.

As they passed, I made a request to the singer: ‘La Vie en Rose’ for Elodie.  Two-hundred francs persuaded them to ignore her playful protest.  It is a smash-and-grab tune that will seize your heartstrings and never let them go; for many, me included, it is the distillation of the Parisian spirit.   

It was the distillation of this moment too.  It started with a slow sweeping arrangement and a mellifluous serenade.  No doubt, asked for that song countless times, you would not tell, they sounded wonderful.  Bashful, Elodie hid beneath that wavy curtain of tresses.  As it built from the first refrain, the accordion and the defiant alto voice grew in strength.  Elodie met my gaze, I would not take mine away, and her lips curled.  Then, before me, the flowering of the most beautiful smile, her eyes filled with happiness. 

A few people came out of the brasserie to watch; it carried so well in the narrow side street.  At the climax of the second refrain, I felt the tingle of goosebumps.  Elodie’s eyes were a little misty perhaps; they shone like precious gems.  Drawing out the accordion to close the song, a ripple of applause rang out, ours included.

It is one of my most treasured memories.

I reached forward, “Did you like that?” it was rhetorical; I could not help it.

“Oui,” breathless in its delivery, she placed her hand on top of mine, “that was a beautiful gesture.”

As dusk tightened its grip, I suggested we watched the fireworks at eleven, my surprise revealed.

“Up there,” I pointed, “the best view of the city.”

At the end of the avenue, Montmarte looked down upon us.  Up there, you could see for miles.

Taken aback, Elodie beamed, the Fireman’s Ball could wait; it would not finish until three in the morning.

Amidst a sea of people, the taxi shuttled us as far as Square Louise-Michel.  Halfway up the hill, Montmartre at the top, steep steps and Elodie’s high heels would not play nicely together.  We queued for the funicular.  Chatting animatedly, the long line disappeared quickly enough.  Night closed in, laughter, music, and fireworks spiced the excitement. 

The doors opened and we boarded. 

“C'est tout à la fois le ciel et l’enver,” whispered slowly, Elodie squeezed my hand.

“Pardon?”

“It is from a film English:  It is all at once heaven and hell.”

The funicular gave a jolt and began its ascent.

Down the hill, Pigalle in red neon, the Moulin Rouge, sex shops, and strip clubs.  It jarred more than one memory of Anne-Pierre, a sanguine moment.

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

My apartment door closed with a click of its latch.  The evening sticky with hot humidity, I threw my jacket onto the sofa and flapped at my shirt.  Staying behind for a couple of drinks with some colleagues, a groan of hunger rumbled through me.

It glowered back, the red light on the answering machine.  Taking two steps forward, I backed off.  Suddenly hot, I opened two more shirt buttons.  I rationalised it: this was silly.

“Fuck it…” and pressed the button.

“Vous avez deux messages.”

Beep.

A gasping sound greeted me.

“Hello English, you know who this is, non?”

Anne-Pierre, and a chill of anxiety soaked through me.  There was some giggling in unison; another voice intermingled with her.

“I am missing you and my friend would like to meet you too.”

There was some muttering in French, hard to understand, I caught dire quelque chose: say something.

“Bonjour, Anne-Pierre et moi, erm, want you, erm, erm, maintenant.”

“Come and see me English,” clipped words delivered abruptly, Anne-Pierre eased out a faint moan, “I am sorry and I miss you.  We will make it up to you.”

“A bientôt English,” and the message ended with the stranger’s coquettish laughter. 

My heart in my mouth, I watched the tape slowly turn.

Beep.

The telephone receiver banged and thumped.

“English… you must come and see…,” Anne-Pierre eased out a long moan, “see what she is…. putain… doing to me.”

There was faint giggling and heavy breathing.

“Putain…”

It was unbearable to hear; clearly the two of them were at it hammer and tongs.

“Do… do you know where she has her tongue…,” she gasped, “right now?”

I pressed stop and rewound the tape. 

Slumped onto the sofa, I chided myself for the tight feeling in my trousers.

“C'est comme ça,” I muttered.

So much for nothing happened.

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

Through the trees, Sacré-Cœur emerged bathed in light, the funicular came to rest. 

I squeezed Elodie’s hand, “C'est tout à la fois le ciel et l’enver.”

“Oui,” she whispered back.

Arm-in-arm out onto the cobbled avenue, amongst a mass of revellers, I had to stop to admire its majesty: proud and beautiful Sacré-Cœur.

“Elodie, if I forget to say it later, I have had a fantastic time today.”

“Moi aussi.”

We got lucky and took a vacated gap against the stone balustrade.  The view overlooked Square Louise-Michel and stretched out across the entire city.  The magnificent Eiffel Tower in silhouette rose into the night sky.  Holding hands in silence, we gazed out over the city. 

The air, a little chilled up here; I took off my linen jacket, and helped her put it on.

“There, I do not want you to feel cold.”

“English, you are always gallan-t.”

Her smile, eyes wide, and those dimples; I lingered for a moment, “De rien.”

The first few fireworks were difficult to see.  Then fusillades of bright explosions, huge streaks of red, white, and blue drew gasps from us all.  Mixed with blaring car horns, the booms followed, and bright twinkling lights adorned the tower.

It was not a contrast between now and this morning, it was now and months ago.  I put my faith in Elodie and this city; it inspired me and taught me so much.  Cast off like a shroud, unencumbered in soul and spirit; truly, this was the City of Light.

I felt it, a shiver ran through me; I was who I wanted to be.

Elodie always knew when I was looking at her.  Turning to face me, I gazed at her lips.  A curious expression on her face; she said nothing.  Then I saw it, anticipation, and took comfort in her reassuring smile.  She looked to my lips without a hint of reticence.  My first caress of her hip to waist, her warm eyes greeted me. 

“Elodie, may I kiss you?”

She gasped suddenly, “Oui.”

It was very best I could summon, everything I felt for her, every hope I dared to hold, all symbolised in that kiss.  Amidst the cacophony of fireworks and flashes of light in the dark, we embraced.  The perfect fit of her contours against mine, the heat and scent of her body.  Every choice we made, every painful mistake, every piece of good fortune; it brought us here.

Around us chaos, we looked at each other for a moment and did not say a word.  Held by her arms upon my shoulders, she kissed me, pliant soft lips, a tender vacuum; it lingered and deepened.  Intoxicating, it seized all of me, awestruck at how magical it felt.

I broke; I needed to, overwhelmed and light-headed.  Elodie caressed my cheek; her thumb wiped the lipstick from my lips. 

“English?”

“Uh huh.”

“I wanted you do that for a long time.”

“I wanted to as well.  I…  I… needed to be sure I could live up to it.”

She smiled, “You will, I know that.”

Placing a kiss on my lips, we embraced.

A kiss to my cheek, she whispered, “Take me home.”

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

My suitcase had a squeaky wheel; its contents, all I needed for my new life here.  Ignoring its protest, I needed to find her.  Gare Du Nord was a menagerie of humanity in a hurry.  Like in an old black-and-white film, we agreed a motif: Elodie would wear a red jacket.  I saw her first, a compulsion gripped me, and I darted behind a large steel upright.  A hot feeling rose from within, it stole my breath.  I peered around it gingerly, long blonde hair swayed as she turned her head, a heart-shaped face of high cheekbones and a delicate nose.  Around my height, the jacket tailored to her wondrous figure, in tight jeans and a snug cream top. 

Obscured occasionally, I waited patiently; revealed again, that fluttering sensation rose again.

It took many phone calls to arrange my secondment and her accent got me first.  Its expressive musicality, the way it flourished, the abrupt drop in tone to empathise a point.  A picture of her personality illustrated only by the intonation of her voice. 

I found it easy to be charming and riff off her natural curiosity.  Soon, our conversation flowed as easily as a meadow brook.  We were similar ages; she thought I wanted to know about the nightlife, I wanted to know more about art and culture.  We discovered we liked the same things; of course, I wondered what she looked like.

She had an arresting beauty that reduced everything I knew to nothing.

These emotions made me afraid; I had my reasons to be here.  A failed relationship that proved divisive to the homogenous lump of friends we shared.  They carped and sniped; they took sides.  Impossible to forgive her actions and the sudden heart-breaking finality of it; I escaped under a cloud of despair and bitterness.

My situation jarred me and I walked out from my hiding place.

“Bonjour.”  I knew it sounded reticent as soon as I said it.

Her radiant smile and two-kissed greeting was my first experience of culture shock; the crackles of energy from her hand on my arm, the second shock.

We queued for a taxi and I found it difficult to look at her.  Her air of confidence, that smile, and her endless questions melted away my reserve.  In the back of the car, we turned to face each other; soon my nerves a forgotten memory, it was an easy conversation.  My third shock, those vivid blue eyes filled with happiness, and their magnetic pull on mine.  My fourth shock, I was very attracted to her.

Sat next to me, the only friend I had in Paris, and an intense desire I denied as soon as I saw her.

Elodie stood at the door to my new apartment and handed me the keys with a beaming smile.

The same smile before me now at her front door.

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

Scanning my features, soft fingertips caressed my cheek, “You are very handsome.”

“You are very beautiful,” hushed, reverential in tone; finally, I did her justice.

Long clinches ascended from tentative caresses to a deeper passion.  My hand grazed her breast for the aural pleasure of her whimper.  Teasing a nipple through my shirt, she took delight in my moaned response.  Her fingers skirted my loins and mine eased under the hem of her dress.  Only Elodie knew the answer to my unspoken question. 

Lights low, reclined on the broad and deep sofa, Elodie laid in my arms.  We told our stories, the two perceptions that became one reality.  Fleetwood Mac on the stereo, distant raucous singing in the street leeched through the open window. 

A sip from my glass of Armagnac, we kissed again, and shared its spice.

She rose, swirled the liquid in her glass, and knocked it back.  Hand on hip, leg out straight, and her hair blowsy, seductive.  Once, her sensuality remained an enigmatic mystery, now, it smouldered into my eyes.  Uncorking the bottle, with a glug from its narrow neck, she recharged both glasses.

Kneeling to me, she took a sip, and gave me a sultry kiss laced with fire. 

“There is somewhere more comfortable than this.  Come, bring your Armagnac.”

Walking from the room, she leant against the doorframe of her bedroom; I followed. 

Placing her hand on my chest, she kissed me, “Everything is going to change now, English.”

“I know.”

Hand over my heart, that tilt to her head, I knew what it meant.

“I am a bit nervous,” I confessed.

It was a reassuring kiss, “I am too.”

Elodie walked in, placed her glass onto her dressing table, and turned her back, “Unzip me.” 

Yellowy light cast by the single art deco lamp threw shadows of light and dark upon her.  In a rush of quick blood, my senses overwhelmed by her evocative scent, I gave in to temptation.  A tentative hand swept around the curve of hip and waist.  Tilting her head, I eased her long hair to one side and I blew softly onto her shoulder.

She purred and I kissed her neck, the zipper pinched by hesitant fingers yielded easily.

More kisses along her shoulder provoked a votive purr; it vibrated through me.  From waist to abdomen, to the underside of her breast, my fingers grazed the bump of her erect nipple.  The zipper stopped, the dress held by my hands upon her breasts.  She reached for me and turned her head.  With a deep kiss full of longing, the dress fell from her body. 

Arms long, hands around my neck, she stepped out it; from couture lines, to slender hourglass curves.  Her deep-cupped breasts embraced perfectly by a scarlet brassiere, scarlet lace panties melded to her hips as a second skin.

I traced the line of her long fragile collarbone, over the tops of her breasts, along the sweep of two alluring arcs fused together: torso to waist to hips.  Irresistible, my kiss spoke for me, and soft fingertips loitered to celebrate every curve.   

“Mmm,” she murmured, “English…”

“Words cannot describe you Elodie.”

A shirt button at a time, her alluring eyes welcomed mine.  Undoing each cuff, she kissed each hand.  Pulled from my body, her touch ranged over my bicep to shoulders; delicate fingers drew patterns on my defined torso.  Her rascal grin encouraged me as two thumbs brushed over my nipples and sent peals of electricity through me.  I flinched as they eased over my loins.

A pursed lip smile, part-lascivious, part-challenge, there was more persuasion to enjoy.  She despatched my belt buckle, button, and fly.  Onto her knees, my trousers eschewed, bare footed, my nerves converted into a fearsome ire.  Sultry eyes looked up and met my gaze, I dared not imagine what might come next, and her hot breath tantalised my body.  Trapped in my boxer briefs, her touch skirted the blatant outline of my erection.  She revelled in my plosive gasp. 

Helping her up, Elodie plunged in for a deep kiss, entwined in her arms.  The touch of her tongue against mine, skin against skin, its energy swept me away.

Taking to the bed on all fours, high-cut panties rested snug against her sex.  She paused, craned her neck, and looked at me.  Her swooping curves arranged for maximum provocation.  No longer the woman at Gare Du Nord station or the colleague I met for lunch.  Temptress eyes bewitched me with another contradiction: best friend, enigma; big personality, demure beauty; veiled femininity, beguiling sensuality. 

To lie together, unselfish, give and take, an ebb and flow that teased, rewarded and instructed.  A litany of kisses, tender or passionate, they signified a lull or a crescendo.  Our touch, fingertips, a hand, soothed or enflamed.  I studied her every reaction, when she chewed her bottom lip, a pouted gasp, or her eyes blazed.

The purr of her moan interrupted with a soft kiss as the clasp of her brassiere opened.  Her teardrop breast in my pensive hand, I toyed with the rigid nub of her nipple.  We communicated with our eyes and the modulation of our breathing.  Moving against each other, we never lost contact, a constant warmth of our bodies in the close heat of a humid evening.  Limb grazed against limb, unconfined kisses; we explored every curve and bestowed on each other our erogenous gifts.    

Pleading with heavy downturned eyes, I kissed her.  Reduced to trembling flesh and over-ventilated on gasps and moans, I lingered. 

“Touch me,” she gasped quietly, “please.”

Taking my hand, she led me to the damp warmth between her thighs.  Rubbing over the thin fabric, she gasped and then swallowed.  A pout, my kiss stifled her urgent whimpers.  Slender fingers eased over my muscular abdomen, and she took me in hand for the first time; I gasped too.

A curt smile greeted me as I opened my eyes, “Ooh English, I like this.”

Perfect levity in a moment of passion, I kissed her, “It is yours.”

“Take off my panties.”

They glided over her smooth legs.  Cast aside, I stared at a thin blonde tuft on her mons and the glossy cleft of her sex.  Knelt over me, mesmerised by her breasts, she removed my underwear.

Looking down, I waited for her eyes to return.  Biting her top lip, she tried to remain coy, she knew it did not fool me and smiled.

Naked together, warm bodies slotted tightly, our clinch accelerated rapidly.  I rested alongside; flawless biscuit-toned skin caught the shadows.  Light and dark, as slow fingers traced the hill and vale of every curve, shoulders, cinched waist, and hips.  They meandered around the exquisite spill of her full breasts to their crunched areolas and teased her hard nipples.  Signposted by slow gasps, the faintest contact eased to the taut flare of her abdomen and tight obliques. 

She pouted with heavy eyes, her features loaded with anticipation.  Exhaled as a long quiet moan, the smooth cushion of heat in my hand; my fingers spilled her syrupy juices.  A finger pressed inside, hot and flooded, my thumb chased her clit.  Lost in a blissful expression and quiet whimpers, she pitched like a small boat on a swollen sea.

Our mutual attention upon each other broke free like a runaway train.  Reticence borne from nervousness crumbled under this barrage of pleasure.  Her touch, descended my body too and eased over the curve of my erection.  Testing its strength, a haughty look in her eyes, they burned into mine.  She stoked it slowly; my groans matched hers.  An overt intent in every kiss, I stirred her sex.  Her breasts impossible to ignore, the innuendo obvious; I took it into my mouth and flicked at her nipple. 

“Mon dieu, c’est bon…”

My touch inspired the rapid oscillations of her hips; an embracing hand clasped my shoulder.  Escalating, caught up in the moment, neither of us gave ground.  Sudden moans, as if we succumbed to all the pent-up desire for each other.  A helter-skelter of youthful lust and neither of us could control it.  The quick pace of her grasp on me, intense pulses of pleasure narrowed my eyes.  Panting harder, a fleeting ripple of tension caught her.  A snort of air, tongues entwined, and the heavy pressure tightened at my core.  At its zenith, swollen in her hand, it did not deter her.

“Elodie… I…”

“I know, me too,” her eyes heavy, “both of us, together…” she whimpered, “come with me.”

From demure paramour to vixen, a tremor seized her and those vulnerable eyes implored me.  Overwhelmed by passionate kiss, her dexterity, and craven lust, I could not hold back.  We looked upon each other, excited moans that gathered in urgency, her breasts trembled and once fluid hips shuddered.  The barrelling pressure within me approached its maximum.

“Elodie…”

“Do it… do it…”

Her soft features etched with bliss, her captivating body at the pinnacle of arousal, it pulled the trigger, and I groaned in defeat.  Hard muscular belts of my release echoed through me with louder moans.  Her sharp cries followed, she clenched my shoulder as the rolling shudders writhed against me, each announced with an airy yelp.

A deep warmth soothed where once there were prickly nerves.

Two tranquil eyes opened as windows to her soul, “Mmm, bon…”

“Wow,” I gasped breathless, content in the glow of this refractory warmth. 

“English, look what you have done,” purred words full of playful admonishment.

Pearly slashes of my essence adorned her breasts, I looked to her, she giggled.

“Me!?” I huffed, “Look what I have done!?”

“For someone so nervous, I want to know what you like when you are not!”

Still a little breathless, “Want to find out now?”

A tantalising touch, knee to soft inner thigh, I eased her legs apart.

“Where are you going?” her eyes ablaze hinted she already knew the answer.

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

Saturday night, an excited expression, she kissed me.  I liked these public displays of affection. 

“I see what you mean about Monday,” I pondered, “So come to mine on Tuesday and I will cook for you.”

Elodie squeezed my hand, “Mmm, English, that is very sexy.  A chef for a lover.”

“A candlelit meal pour deux.”

“Hmmm, and a romantic too.  Tomorrow, we have one more day of our weekend, what would you like to do?”

“A lazy day, to loaf and walk, I want to find out so much more about you.”

“Only to walk and loaf?”  The wink was new, it stoked the latent desire; I had to kiss her.

The click-clack of her heels slowed, in a simple black dress trimmed in broad strips of Chantilly lace, we exchanged a knowing smile.  Gripping the thick brass handle, the heavy door yielded.

“Après-tu ma copine.” 

“Merci, mon copain,” and Elodie walked though.

At the table along the back wall, her friends and two seats for us.  Elodie’s impressive timekeeping made us fashionably late.  We squeezed past other diners, relaxed by the easy atmosphere and subdued chatter.  Soft music, the industry of the kitchen mixed with the savoury aroma of food in the air.

Holding my hand, a feeling of pride mixed with prickles of self-consciousness.  Looking at Elodie, she leaned in with her arms on my shoulders, an overt kiss, no words - a statement.

“Ooh-la-la, quel bisou!”  That was Angelique.

Elodie broke from me, “Now, everyone that matters knows.”

They did a double take, me, I shrugged, and then to Elodie, she giggled.  That was that, very French, and Elodie took her seat.

As I turned to find my place, I recognised her immediately.

“Eva!”

“Hello English,” and we kissed on each cheek, “The Gallery is closed for a new installation, so I thought I would tag along.”

“It is great to see you.”

Aloof as always, her cool exterior broke into a warmer smile.

“So you did it then?”

I nodded, “The fireworks, we watched them from Montmarte.”

“Très romantique, there is hope for you yet.  Promise me English, look after her.”

“I promise.”

With that, I got a hug, “Bravo English, bravo.”

Like the many evenings before, in broken English and mangled French, the result the same, so much laughter, and a deeper bond of friendship.  As if we might forget, Elodie and I sat on opposite sides of the table and stole glances at each other. 

The sizzle of elation inside always made us smile.

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

A trail of kisses laid clues to my destination, mouth to neck, shoulder, the tops of her breasts, an erect nipple.  She pressed on my shoulder with tacit approval.  Trailblazer fingers led the way and more kisses descended; fingers knitted into my hair implored me to continue.  A kiss on the smooth pillow of her sex, the undulation of her body presented herself for more. 

The flex in her hips, a whispered affirmative, she pleaded so softly. 

Sweet to the taste, her shallow moans drifted over the soft music.  The blunt of my tongue eased from south to north.  The gentle touch from my hand overfilled with her breast.  Pursed lips took her clit; she yelped and crumbled into moans.  Still trapped, a flick of my tongue, and she held me there for more.  Attenuated to every movement, I plucked on her nipple and earned the reward of abrupt panted gasps.

“Oui… oh… oui…”

Rested on her elbows, I met her eyes, prickles of her heat on her cheeks.  It did it again, pursed my lips, and took it; she slumped and groaned.

“Ne t'arrête pas…  continuez… continuez…”

I caught the drama of the music, faint in the distance.  Sucking on her clit, loud gasps rose capped with tiny cries.  The undulating movement of her hips no impediment to my attention.  I captured her clit again, flicked at it, and then eased my tongue deep into her folds.  A finger inside met with a loud groan that thrummed through me.  My thumb pressed to her mons, exposed it from its hood, I lapped at the swollen button. 

Out of her breathless cries rose the same repetitive words, “Please… keep going…”

Her hips quickened; I would not deny her.

As an ensemble, fingers, mouth, and tongue combined.  A sudden new wetness and I pressed into her folds.  Steered by her hips, the cadence of her body set the tempo.  Captured by my lips, sudden flicks of my tongue drew out a fevered cry.  As if conflicted within, all her trembling limbs stiffened.  Her bent legs fell, a hand reached out, the silver ring caught the light when she gripped the bedspread.

“Oui, oh, oui, ne t'arrête pas…”

With a curl of her back, elevated from the bed, she gave a rapid gasp, and then silence.  A howl for air, tightened waves hoisted her body.  With a louder cry, the jagged descent collapsed her into the bed.  Yelping, she pitched up and then suddenly down again.  Still lapping at her, she buckled and flailed as her hand pushed at me.  As the aftershocks diminished, I retreated with tender kisses on her inner thighs. 

Prone, her torso rose and fell for hurried breaths.  I prowled over her greeted by fire in her eyes. 

She gasped, “Woo, you are really are not nervous anymore.”

I shook my head, “Neither are you.”

Still, we exchanged a contemplative gaze as spirited music drifted through the quiet air. 

“English?” she whispered, “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Fulfil me and make me feel desired,”

I kissed her softly, “Always.”

“If you do, I will fulfil you too,” and she kissed me back, “beyond your wildest dreams.” 

Rolling me over, kisses lingered on my lips, and then neck.  Her breasts grazed down my torso and peppered my body.  Mischievous eyes held a new meaning, taken in hand, her lips curled into a wicked leer.  Time slowed in short breaths; my thumping heart punctuated the intense excitement.

Kisses on the shaft, she gazed up with a covetous expression.  Her tongue circled the corpulent head.  Enduring with the agony, always watching over me, she devoured my response. 

I could not hold my breath for long.

She introduced it to her mouth.

“Fuck!”

She goaded and teased, a swirl of her tongue, and then down.  Her hand on my torso toyed with a nipple and made me groan.  Blood surged as the warmth eased down; it pulsed in sublime increments.  The vision of those demure lips around my aching shaft, this louche tempo boiled the blood in my loins.  Breathing ragged, she held it, fully engorged, almost numb.

A pout and a smile that brimmed with cunning and mischief, the velvet heat engulfed me again.  Unwavering eyes bore witness to my feverish state.  Slowly up and down, errant locks of hair looped over her ear; I writhed as she taunted my nipples.  Hot lava simmered at my core, blood engorged muscles throbbed with need.

Cool air eased over my tumultuous erection, rising, she kissed my chest, flicked at my nipples and laid beside me. 

She looked upon me as if she imparted a solemn vow.  Soft fingertips eased over my cheek, a solitary digit grazed my lips.

“Make love to me.”

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

The meandering swarm of humanity at Place du Tertre took time to navigate.  We would need to descend the hill to have any chance of a taxi to her place.  She slipped from my hand with a mischievous smile.

“Wait for me here, une minute, okay?”

Ducking into a souvenir shop, she browsed a particular carousel.  Watching, the relaxed look of concentration on her face, in profile, her high cheekbone rose, and lips curled.  She turned to look at me, joy in her eyes.

I could not see what she had chosen and she paid for it.

Holding it behind her, she approached and then took a step forward; I could feel her breath upon me.

“Close your eyes English.”

As I did, she kissed me softly and took my hand.  In it, she placed a small cylindrical box.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

Looking down, it looked like a music box with a small winding mechanism at the side.  It clicked as I gave it a few turns.  Delicately, it played ‘La Vie En Rose.”

She beamed, I did too, “English, when you hear that, you will think of me.”

I nodded, “Yes, I will.  It is wonderful, thank you.”

I still have it to this day.

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

Elodie was my best friend, someone who I thought I lost once to chance, and someone I won without realising it.  The yearning of our emotions brought us here: a statement of feelings felt and those to come.  The words and the physicality took their rightful place now; they nurtured our feelings for one another. 

Delicate fingers brushed over my face as I slotted between her legs.  Our gaze never wavered at moment of penetration.  A sudden gasp, eyes that narrowed then flickered, the slow rhythm of two lovers began.  A deep warmth engulfed me, like honey, and threatened to overwhelm my self-control.

Inhibitions melted away, thrust by measured thrust.  Our rhythmic movements combined, a touch that roamed and clenched with every panted moan.  Around us the sound of faint music, unwavering eyes engrossed in our silent connection.  The mores of her body, every swooping curve, muscles tensed beneath her bewitching figure. 

Skin against skin, an unhurried tempo, and sublime echoes of pleasure; committed by an instinct as old as time.  Her lips upon mine, a gauge of passion, considered, tempting, alive in the moment.  Every second as vivid as the last, I longed for the next. 

Planted lips gave an airy gasp, “Yes, like that,” and clasped me tight, “continuez, oh, continuez...”

A longing kiss deepened at the discovery of how it enflamed her.  Long elegant legs wrapped over mine corrected the latitude needed.  Clasping hands gripped and eased to set the rhythm. 

“Mon dieu, c’est bon, si beau… si beau…”

Suffused with emotion, it transcended body and mind.  Ladened with meaning, beyond animal passions, my demons mastered.  What sounded so trite before felt so real, to make love, to earn the right to share many more unspoken words. 

Rising in confidence, we adapted and improvised, as that connection deepened.  So many variations, a circular movement of my hips, the measured thrusts half-in and out, to the full travel of my length.  We revelled in the gift of a lingering touch, the inspiration of a kiss, or the flex of our bodies.  Another arrangement, onto my knees with her leg pressed to me.  She took possession of my body with her legs and arms tight around me.  I asserted myself with her calves on my shoulders, her back curled to take me.  Bathed in our heat, the spice of my scent fused with the notes of hers. 

Two moved as one, a snort of air, fingers entwined in fingers, we gave and took our pleasure.  A clatter, a sudden moan, the ache inside pacified by ecstasy.  Thigh against thigh, blunt heels commanded more.  Below me, lips pouted, fulfilled with a tender kiss. 

“English…” she gasped.

“Yes?”

“Let me take you, I want you to see me like that.”

Legs straight, unwilling to decouple, young and athletic, we rolled.  She rose like the phoenix from the flames, majestic, impervious.  Feet on the bed, knees bent, and fingers through her hair lifted high.  An exultation of her body, body long, breasts stretched taut.

“Like this English,” she panted.

“God, you look incredible.”

Consumed by her confidence; mesmerised by the flex of her body.  Rocking back and forth, I felt its grasp engulf me with intense liquid heat.  Short hops, half-in and half-out, she took me with a fluid roll of her hips.  Long hair draped down her back as a mane, braced by her slender arms, she snatched gasps of air.

Eyes squeezed close, full lips frozen in a pout, she groaned.  In an instant, she revealed her secret, the curve of my erection squeezed tight at that spot. 

“Oui, c’est  bon… ooh… c’est bon…”

Panted gasps into sudden short moans, Elodie took what she wanted.  Impaled, tight in that velvet heat, the quickened animation drew out a fevered cry.  Swept away by her bold poise, fire burned in her eyes as she sawed at me.

“Oui, oh oui… mon dieu....”

Swaying blonde hair brushed away from her face, she led the way.  Urgent, yet so heartfelt, her gasps rose, no longer faint but strong.  The enveloping heat, so vague and then all consuming, I responded and bucked back.

“Mon dieu, c’est magnifique…”

Her scent carried in the rising heat of her body.  The delicious ferocity made her breasts sway.  She reached out, grabbed my hands, and placed them to her breasts.  In my hands, two thumbs found their mark.  The grasp of her sex faded and then consumed me whole. 

“Oui, c’est parfait, mon dieu… c’est bon… c’est bon…”

Rising above me, braced against my torso, she took it all.  The meticulous order of her boudoir blurred around her magnificent body.  Her driven gaze wracked by pleasure, she writhed faster; eyes heavy. 

Our symbiotic movements clashed, inspired by intense hot friction.  An infusion of new warmth slickened my girth and the first slaps of our bodies grew in strength.  Her expression conveyed her conflict within.  Those hard nubs rolled between my fingers, a rapid shudder staggered her fluid rhythm. 

I knew this moment, “Do it Elodie, come on it…take it.”

“Oui…oh putain...”

“Do it for me… take your orgasm.”

My words exploded within her like firecrackers, panted cries called out the desperate lunges.  Beneath her wild hair, eyes squeezed shut, her face flushed with exertion.  Leaning on shaky arms, my embrace saved her.  Encouraged with more words, she quaked in ever diminishing tremors. 

“Putain!” she exhaled as a cry, “Je jouis… putain… je jouis…”

Her momentum carried her through.  Unlocked, she flailed against me and pulsating orgasmic muscles rippled along my trapped shaft.  Caught up in her rapturous expression, seizures echoed as shocks through her limbs, torso, and hips.  The clasp of her grip, she shuddered with rapid exhaled cries. 

Clasping my face, her shins on the bed, she planted her fevered lips on mine.  A deep no-holds barred kiss roused me, tongue deep, searching.  Hoisting my arms over my head, trapped in her entwined fingers, the first clatter of our bodies drew upon my whole length.  Her fearless undulations brushed licks of her long hair against my chest. 

“Jesus Christ, Elodie!”

“Like that English, there…” she gasped, “like that.”

“There?”

“Oui…” she gasped again, “feel it?”

“Yes.”

Inspired by passion, we bucked and writhed for each other.  The contortions of my body mimicked her overt display, a cat and mouse game extracted her gasps and moans.  Bestowed with this knowledge, she did not need ask again.  Collapsed onto me, her breasts mashed against my torso, we rolled on the bed.  Caught up in it, snorts of air and stronger cries, she gave herself to me.

Strong hands instructed her, a myriad of positions, an exposition of desire and lust.  We moved like seasoned lovers, the undulations of each thrust reduced Elodie to a liturgy of moans.  Long searching kisses, my hands never pawed, they caressed and grazed over those awe-inspiring curves.  Hot breath on my skin, the clasp of her grip and surprised gasps as I found more ways to please her.

“Yes Elodie?”

“Putain!  Oui…” she clasped at me with random hands.  “Oui, continuez, mon dieu, continuez!”

The tart clatter of our bodies, the sweet ardour of our efforts sheened our bodies.  Quick hands skidded for purchase, the dishevelled bed joined in with a timid creak.  Faint electric guitars in the distance, we moved to the rhythmic bassline, our groans in accompaniment with the sticky clasp of her sex.  Our tenderness cast aside, a frantic hunger consumed us both.  Helpless eyes stared back and then crumbled as I strained muscle and sinew for her pleasure. 

The liquid friction and taut muscles fed the tension within.  Forthright, inspired by her soft words, I would not halt.  My new obsession, her fulfilment, everything I knew and all of my energies, dedicated to sate her body and mind.

Armagnac spilled on her breasts, sucked from her nipples, and fuelled our passionate kisses.  The clasp of the tight muscles around me, twice, her stricken body climaxed for me.  Outstretched fingers gripped at hot skin and the crumpled bedspread.  Muggy air around us, scented with her perfume and our carnal musk.

Taking her from behind, I could not delay the inevitable, and I wanted to hold out.  She pressed against me and tightened muscles could no longer endure.  I slowed as the mass of tension surged. 

“English…  I can feel it, please tell me… please…”

Groaning, I gasped, “I am close.”

“Let me do this… please…  I want to…”

Her hands pressed against me and I relented.  Overpowered, peppered by kisses, she laid alongside my prone body.  Glossy skin, speckled with tiny rivulets of perspiration, I watched her outstretched hand take it.  Soulful blue eyes tracked mine as she lowered herself down the bed.  The expression on her face, mine incredulous; she took me into her mouth.  The silken immolation of my erection forced a heavy groan.  Sweeping her damp hair back, she took me deeper.

“Oh God.”

So elegantly executed, I panted and groaned as the pressure ratchetted tight.  The spiralling grasp and hot velvet mouth, I did not want this to end, I could not hold back. 

“I’m going to…”

Looking up, she kept stroking it, “Cum for me.”

Her mouth returned and determined fingers plucked at my nipple.  My battle lost, my legs tightened, and the shaking took me.  I had to watch to believe this was happening.  Her azure eyes locked on mine and full lips wrapped around my tumultuous erection. 

“Elodie…” I croaked as a helpless final warning.

The thrum of her moan made me roar.  Heavy rapid pulses smashed through me as long belts of relief.  There was no let-up, the relentless warmth provoked vicious salvos of spasms.  My seed eased from her mouth over her hand. 

Delirious, my body hungry for air; I slumped into the bed.

“Fuck!”

Elodie giggled.

“I… I… I am glad you found that… f…funny.”

“See?  You do like surprises.”

I snorted; I could not laugh.

Laid alongside me, her solitary finger made swirling trails over my body.  Taking a sip of Armagnac, she took another and shared it with me. 

“Hold me in your arms English.”

Hers draped over my chest, my torpid body cooled.  We enjoyed the moment of silence lost in the lightness of being.  The ethereal sound of music, one song after another, we laid together warm and relaxed.  A soft kiss on my chest; my consoling hand stroked her hair.

Propped up on some retrieved pillows, Elodie smiled, contented perhaps.  Handed my glass, they clinked together, I grinned back, and a hit of the rich flavours revived me.

“Elodie, that was amazing.”

It was a lazy purr, “I thought the English were repressed, you are not.”

I huffed, “Not with you,” and shook my head, “never with you.”

“You are mon copain now, my boyfriend,” Elodie mused.  “We have many names, this one will be yours.”

“What is girlfriend in French?”

“Ma copine, do not forget the ‘ma’ or suddenly I am only a friend.”

“You will always be my best friend, ma copine.”

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

The doorbell rattled like an over-excited marble in a can, a horrible sound; it was unexpected.

Monday night, back from lung-bursting run.  Down to a pair of shorts and my hair wet from the shower, it rattled again.

“Okay, okay….”  I manhandled a t-shirt over my body, my bare feet thumped on the floor.

They slowed, as a hideous thought grew from the dark shadows of my mind.  The weekend, as glorious as it was came with a price: hubris.

Opening the door, an icy dread gripped me tight.  Blonde air scraped back, no make-up and her holdall on the floor.  The whites of her eyes pink, her body stooped.

I felt her pain, it was worse than I imagined, worse than silly nightmares from an overactive imagination.

“Elodie!  Oh God.  What… what happened!?”

Crumbling before me, head down, her shoulders quivered, and quiet sobs echoed on the landing.  Still in her yoga pants and halter-top, I shepherded her inside and grabbed the bag.  Panicked, I pushed the door a little too hard, it slammed, and she flinched. 

Gathering her up in my arms, she did not reciprocate; instead, she shook with despair.

“Eng… Eng… English… it was hor… hor… horrible….”