En France - A Tale Of Two Saturdays free porn video

“What are you doing dressed?”  My tone conveyed a sense of surprise. 

Painted with eyeliner, eye shadow, and scarlet lips, Anne-Pierre flounced through the lounge.  That hair, more wild than usual, it bounced with her stride.  The hem of her short dress swayed to reveal too much thigh – again.

“Come, we are going to the cinema.”

“The cinema?” 

She gave me that look, covetous and full of want, ”Oui.” 

“That cinema?  Now?” I huffed, “Anne-Pierre, come on…” 

It explained her appearance.

 “Oui!”  Delivered with conviction, it echoed from another room and through the corridor.

So much for fucking until dawn, “It is almost dark out there.”

“So?” It echoed through the hallway.

I could not dismiss it as another one of her flights of fantasy.  My mouth dry, chest pounding, I drained the last of my wine glass.

Bowling back in, the loud thud of bare feet gave her a sense of purpose.

“Here, catch!”

She threw well, whatever it was had no weight.  Lunging quickly, I saved it from the floor.  Folding it out, black and lacy, Anne-Pierre sniggered.

“Christ!” 

She enjoyed my predicament and leant against the wall.  Quick fingers made simple work of tiny buttons; her wanton expression battered away at my reticence.  The flimsy material yielded and revealed naked flesh.  No bra, she tantalised me with the curves of her full breasts.  Off the shoulder, two erect nipples held the dress from parting.  Painted lips curled in triumph, with a shrug, the dress fell.  Standing in a puddle of fabric, amused by my surprise, she looked down and then at me. 

“Pas de culotte…,” she purred, “et pas de cheveux.”

“Fuck!”  Hissed, not exclaimed.

“You wanted me to do it.”

“Fuck!”

Fidgeting to make room for my burgeoning erection, hot blood surged into my face and loins.  She approached for the kill, attired only in black suspenders and stockings with a seductive swish of her hips.  Staring at the naked cleft of her sex, those determined eyes captured mine.  A quick leg straddled me, her caress made me gasp.

“Does my smooth cunt make you hard English?”

That word with that accent, I gasped again.  Squeezing my cock, it became a rhetorical question.

I growled, “You know it does.”

Her warm breath on my face, she pressed her cloying lips against mine.

“You want me now?” the soft lilt of her accent aggravated me into a state of full arousal.

“You know I do.”

“Cinema.”

Extracting herself, laughing, she walked to the occasional table.  She clasped its edge, legs slightly apart, calves taut, and presented that peachy rump.  Melded perfectly to her body, the suspender straps hooked into each of the stockings.  Smouldering eyes looked back, loaded with provocation, and half-open lips laced with mischief.

“I want to be fucked like this, I want everyone to see.” So matter of fact, it sounded filthier.

She clasped a cheek of her behind, pulled it aside, and revealed the cushion of her sex.  Splitting its fine lips with a finger, fresh dew glistened in the light.  Impaling herself, she played on its effect.  With a slow stabbing motion, her lewd expression taunted me. 

Easing them out, amused at my reaction, she held them to her mouth and sucked.

“Mmm, I am very wet.”

I rose so quickly, the old leather sofa groaned.

“Right, you’re going to get it.”

Still laughing, she pirouetted.  I took her in my arms and pulled her to me.  Hands braced against my chest, her eyes blazed into mine. 

“Cinema.”

Delivered so breathlessly, it was the final straw. 

“Okay.”

A tender kiss and the tip of her velvet tongue promised more.  Persistent fingers wrestled with my loose fit Dockers and prised open the button and fly.  Taking to her knees, a sharp tug, my rampant erection sprang free.  Unable to move, bound by my own clothes, she enjoyed my helplessness.  Grasping the hot muscle, her doey eyes met my gaze, and gave it her first lick.

“Fuck!”

She sniggered, “You trimmed it like I asked, it looks good.”

“T... thanks.”

Cupping my tight balls, she purred, “Nice and smooth too, much better.”

Enveloped in silky heat, a deep moan rose involuntarily.  A tight grip of the table countered my weakened knees.  Always looking up, her tongue swirled around the engorged head.  The speed and strength of her application left a scarlet tidemark.  Fingers massaged my swollen perineum and reduced the vitriol of my moans into sighs. 

“Anne-Pierre…”

Holding it, pressed to her cheek, this evocative taunt fused my body and mind together.  Licking the pronounced ridge, those eyes never wavered.

“You need this now, oui?”

“I do.”

“Yes, you do, and I need to slow you down.”

With a slippery twisting grasp eased, her wide eyes mocked me.  Her mouth returned, a kiss on its head, and hot velvety heat followed.

“Jesus!”

Anne-Pierre at her most persuasive won every time.  Mouth and hand worked in harmony.  Slurping noises and muffled moans of approval mixed with my urgent snorts for air.  Shiny wet, she smiled how it twitched for her, malevolent, fully curved, and fat.  The corpulent head, purple and swollen, and every vein bulged.  She returned my stare with a grin.

Stroking me, “I know you like the idea.  You like it too much, so you must cum now.”

I had no time to agree, the relentless silky vacuum conspired with spiralling friction.  Its tempo immolated my senses and boiled the lava at my core.

“Fuck…”

Anne-Pierre knew me too well; fully engorged, she accelerated her efforts.  Days of abstinence always left me vulnerable like this; the soft caress of my heavy balls stirred the essence within.  The swell of pressure ballooned rapidly and instinct powered my hips.  Helpless, lost in faint whimpers, slender fingers teased my perineum.  A soft caress of my anus released a heavy groan as the need to release barrelled through me. 

At the zenith of arousal just before climax, she took my whole length until the tip of her nose pressed against me.

“Fuck!  Fuck…” my words trapped between shallow breaths, “I’m going to…”

She spat on it, already soaked with saliva.  Slippery in her grasp, lips tight around my girth, her obedient eyes stared upwards; I tried to tell her.  The pressure rose rapidly, holding back felt so futile and I began to quake.  At the vital moment, my voice cracked, and a deep paralysis halted all movement.  Engulfed in wet heat, the portent of release surged as a massive spasm. 

She sucked firmly and stroked with a merciless intent.  Overwhelmed, it shuddered right through me with explosive groans of defeat, and hot relief convulsed through my loins.  Her head bobbed, her lips formed that perfect vacuum to take it all from me.  I watched it pulse, and I roared.  Amidst the chaos of ragged breaths, she gulped the lot down.

“Shit!”

Amused at my bereft state, she left it still rigid and twitching. 

Rubbing my perineum, she swallowed theatrically, “Bon.”

“Bon?”  Mumbled, it was all I could manage, overcome by the rich soothing warmth.

She rose, turned tail, and made for the door.  Picking up her dress, slung over a shoulder, I watched her peachy behind and hips sway.

Turning to face me, a hand beckoned me forwards, “Allez, now, we clean you up and then go.”

Hurriedly, I pulled up my Dockers and followed, that wry smile of self-congratulation on her face.

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

Days of the week demarcated these parallel lives but they diverged in this tale of two Saturdays.

The whine of the elevator motor approached.  Through its latticed steel door, the floors came and went.  I swallowed and forced down a lump of nerves.  Fiddling with a cufflink, I stopped and straightened my tie for the twentieth time.

This was the cadence of my life for almost a month, Elodie at work, the occasional lunch, and something at the weekend together.  The opera, or that long day and night at the Fête de la Musique; these were the calm moments.  No longer spontaneous, what started out as casual were the ‘rendezvous’ of romance now.  We knew about each other than just our superficial likes and dislikes.  We shared deeper thoughts and moments of vulnerability; these unusual nerves, a token that I cared. 

Tonight was Elodie’s idea and I wondered what might happen.  Like so many things, my confidence jostled on equal terms with the fear of being hurt again. 

Another number lit up, three more to go.  A sudden recollection of last Saturday seared through me; the cinema.  A rising tightness in my loins, I cursed its poor timing as the lift headed upwards. 

Three days a week, I had Anne-Pierre’s attention.  I remained within her orbit, a procession of yoga, sex, and friends.  We played a cat and mouse game of physical and emotional entanglement, the latter more elusive than the former.  A fine line between intense lust and aloof obsession; in the time in-between, my desire for more gnawed at me.

A judder and the lift came to rest.  Taking a deep breath, I pushed those thoughts aside.  I knew this hinterland well, worldly in some respects, unworldly in others.  Tonight, with Elodie, I travelled back in time.

I rapped on her front door and waited for so long I wondered if I had the right Saturday.  It opened and she peered through the gap with a sheepish expression.

“Erm...” Elodie bit her bottom lip.

I laughed easily, “It is okay, I can guess...”

A warm smile followed, “Come on in.”

Stood in a white towelling robe, I knew we would be fashionably late. 

Her arms against me, we greeted each other, a kiss on each cheek, “How are you, English?”

“Good, thanks.”

A solitary eyebrow rose, doubt in her eyes, I did not ignore it.

I sighed, “Okay, this is not my usual Saturday night.”

Her smile widened, “Well, you took me to the opera, now it is your turn.”

“Good point.”

“I’m nearly ready.”

“Take as long as you need.”

“There is a drink for you in the salon, my way of saying sorry for being late.”

“The living room?”

“Oui.”

The brandy smelt good and its heat took me by surprise but I liked it.  Books amassed on neat shelves revealed clues about her personality: Camus, Proust, and Nin.  Family photos in expensive frames, all generations, she spoke of them often, it was good to put faces to names.  It was easy to imagine Elodie as an integral part of it; someone brought her up well.  Browsing the art on the walls, I practised the gravitas needed.  My reflection in the glass captured studious expressions of appraisal. 

A giggle and rich scent interrupted my self-absorption.

“What do you think, English?”

Closing my eyes now, everything blurs at the edges.  She stood there, frozen in time, ethereal, almost like yesterday, maybe only a few minutes ago.

The dark crushed velvet shimmered in the light.  Just above the knee, off the shoulder, the little black dress smoothed her curves.  In a tender fabric embrace, it revealed her hourglass figure for the very first time.  A flawless transition from honey décolletage to raven black; those voluminous breasts tamed into ovaline curves.  Cinched tight at the waist, not a ripple in the material, shoulders and hips in a perfect ratio.

Carefree trestles of hair under control, pinned up, it stole her youth.  Two diamond studs in her earlobes sparkled; they drew my gaze to her jawline, neck, and brittle collarbone. 

Paralysed by intense feminine sensuality, she stood before me as a woman for the very first time.  I dared not linger at the cool-pink lipstick.  

“Makeup on the lips or the eyes, never both,” so slight in tone, little more than a whisper.

Matt powdered cheeks dimpled with an uncertain smile and those bright azure eyes waited for me.

“Huh?  Sorry?”  I should have said something so much better than that.

“So…” a hint of vulnerability amplified her beauty, “how do I look?” 

“You… you look amazing.” 

My inner feelings left a prickle of heat on my cheeks.  If Elodie noticed it, she was too gracious to point it out.

“Thank you.”  Her hand rested to my arm, it jolted me, “Would you do something for me?”

“Sure.”

She turned, “Zip me up?  Normally I can do this but I forgot that this zip is very difficult.”

A few inches of honeyed skin revealed the lace trim of a black bustier.  Blood surging, my mouth dry; I fumbled the tear-dropped zipper. 

“Give me a second.”

Evocative musky perfume completed the rout, the same scent from that party.  Rousing the devil inside, this was not the time.  Memories exploded like flashbulbs: the canyon of her spine flexed and that luscious behind sat upon him.  At the cleft of her rump, sex breeched, she took him with the measured spring in her thighs.  Mesmerised by the fluidity of her movements and that faint gasp at the moment of deepest penetration.

Tight in the loins, hot around the collar, I needed to suppress these feelings and concentrate.  I needed the last of that brandy. 

I needed to get a grip. 

I did, and pulled the zipper up firmly.

Fastened, I lingered on the swooping curve from broad shoulders down her waist and sublime flare of those hips.  If she were mine, I would hold them and kiss her neck.  I would pour everything I felt into that first caress of my lips against her.

My brittle resolve severely challenged, I had to say something.

“Okay, all done.” 

I hoped she would move away and take the temptation with her.

“And this.”

My clammy hands took it; a silver mesh necklace with fine pearls and tiny diamonds, like stars in the sky.  Draped gently, I stood so close; I could hear her breathing.  The nape of her neck presented to me, the temptation rose again to kiss it.  She would tilt her head for more along her collarbone.  Roaming hands from her waist would capture her breasts for the first time.  Pressed against her, she would feel her effect on me.

Concentrating hard, everything focussed on that clasp.

“There.”

Turning around, she adjusted it gently, “Oui?”

Flustered, I hoped she would make nothing of it, “Elodie, really, you look wonderful.”

Looking into my eyes, she smiled back with an endearing sense of modesty.  The brandy and its spicy heat gave me the kick I needed.

“English, have you bought a new suit? You look very smart.”

“This?  It is for my sister’s wedding in August, I am sure she will not mind if I wear it now.  I just hope I look the part.”

She placed her hand on my arm, “You look great English.  A good aftershave too, it suits you.”

Her hushed tone, as if she shared a confidence, it frothed that gooey feeling inside.

“Thanks.”

Looking at her delicate wristwatch, she gasped, “English, we need to go.”

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

Hot pink letters announced its purpose, their hazy blur reflected on the smooth opposing wall.  At the booth, adorned with evocative pictures of half-dressed women, a faded card in yellowy cellophane summarised our evening: Séance Couples, 400-.  Couples night, and the billing promised ‘l’Age d’Or du X’; the golden age of porn.

Unlike now, pornography was not a commodity item.  The internet existed as a curio; there were sex shops in Pigalle that would sell you plenty of videos to enjoy in private.  Then there was the popular act of communal enjoyment, the porn cinema, or ‘Cinema X’.

A compact venue, a dozen rows of seats placed up a gentle incline.  Bare-bricked down one side, mellifluous chatter bubbled with excitement.  We kept our distance, a two-seat gap from another couple on the same row.  Located near the back, offset from the centre, each row towards the screen repeated a similar pattern.  Couples dotted as small islands, maybe ten pairs, maybe a few more.

These venues held no surprises for me, at university and beyond, the notion of communal sex was an endeavour I experienced often.  I stopped for a reason, and chose to fall for someone with needs a million miles away from this.  I felt it again, pangs of nervous energy fused with the ire of excitement and arousal.

Anne-Pierre, so confident, animated as she looked around.  Brazen, she took my hand, squeezed it.  Pulled it to her confined breast, springy to the touch, the hard nub of her nipple trapped against the fabric.  A slow sultry kiss and an errant hand groped at my crotch.

“Do you still want to fuck me, English?”

“You know I do.”

The ticking sound of the projector silenced the chatter; the white screen illuminated the theatre.  I glanced around, couples of mixed ages, and perhaps we were the youngest.  Loud drums and flecks of grain on the print presented the film studio motif.  The sound crisp and the image fresh for its vintage, the fashions, the cars, signalled an earlier decade or two. 

The lens took in the vista of an airport, the conversation between two men rattled on.  A very attractive honey-blonde listened with a faraway smile.  For all the dialogue, I drew one conclusion; the darker haired man was leaving for somewhere.

My stomach lurched on a rollercoaster of anticipation and nervous trepidation.  I swallowed to wet my mouth, the clipped beating in my chest at odds with the amenable surroundings.  In the low light, the expression on Anne-Pierre’s face needed no words.  Fidgeting in the leatherette chair, her painted lips curled and bared her teeth.  Beckoned, I leant in and turned an ear.

“I want you,” she hissed.

Taking my hand, fingers interlaced, she placed them on the armrest. 

Now the other man returned to his apartment, the honey-blonde had a friend, a platinum blonde.  Her bobbed hair flicked up, china white features, and she looked at them hungrily.  Eating dinner together, the women exchanged quick-fire words; it was hard to follow.  Their tone taunted him, and unbelievably, he seemed keener on his meal.  I wondered when it might get started; maybe it was more arthouse film than pornographic.

The platinum blonde stood, lifted the hem of her dress, and stopped him in his tracks.  No panties, the collars and cuffs did not match.  Heat rose rapidly in my loins, the rush transformed all my nervous energy and excitement into a vicious state of arousal.  The shapeless dress on the honey-blonde fell away.  Elegant features delighted in his reaction, she offered a cheeky snook of her upturned nose.

Mesmerised by her slender limbs, heavy breasts, and hourglass figure; it presented the perfect ensemble.  She moved so gracefully, a wiggle to her gait and she turned; toned flanks framed her vee-shaped bush.

Anne-Pierre’s hand, a little hot, left mine.

Looking across, slouched her seat, her blissful expression greeted me.  Dress unbuttoned, her hand between her legs.  The stockings held up by the thin suspender belt.  Engaged in an act of overt masturbation, it drew a pouted gasp.  Her breasts heaved and we kissed; a dance of tongues stifled her moan.  Pushing against me, she introduced a solitary finger and pressed to my lips.  I took in its familiar taste - bittersweet.

“Undo your trousers.”

The armrest provided no impediment as slender fingers grasped my erection.  My groan lost in the soundtrack as she nuzzled my earlobe. 

“Keep watching,” she hissed.

Deliberately slow, it added to the pulsating agony of boiling lust.  On screen, they had him, on a white shagpile rug.  Electric guitar and sax pumped out a funky accompaniment to his struggle.  They hunted him down, removed his trousers, and laid across him.  The camera had it, a stout hard erection fed into the eager mouth of the platinum blonde.  The honey-blonde in lingerie laid alongside and placated him with long searching kisses. 

Stroking me slowly, she gave it a gentle squeeze.  So hard, it felt numb, and the bright images illuminated the auditorium.  My unconstrained loins burned, skin taut, the power of this situation tightened my pounding chest.  Looking across, the adjoining couple watched us avidly, their hands wandered in a state of semi-dress.  Back to the screen, engrossed as the two blondes kissed passionately, the undulations of Anne-Pierre’s hips matched the louche bassline.

Every position for the benefit of the voyeur, the honey-blonde peeled away to the sofa.  Sat on its edge, reclined, and opened her thighs.  In close up, her sex exposed, he rose to impale her.  The occasional gasp in the auditorium competed with those committed to celluloid. 

The screen, the frisson of doing this with others, their moans set to jaunty saxophone; I raged with a searing need.  Capable of anything now and incapable of avoiding it, Anne-Pierre glanced at me.  In an exchange of looks, she knew it too.

The couple in front of us, she stood.  Naked except for hold-ups, I stared helplessly.  She caught my admiration; I could not divert my eyes.  She stood tall, Amazonian in stature, kinked eyebrows, juicy feline cheeks, and Slavic features.  Anne-Pierre exhibited herself and my erection.  Saturated with need, it screeched through me as quickened blood.  I watched the curl develop on the woman’s lips; she lingered on my thick erection. 

Broad in the shoulders and hips, large breasts, a cinched waist and broad hips; I lingered at her pronounced Mons with a tiny vee of black hair.  If Anne-Pierre was a challenge to tame, this woman might devour me whole.  I would let her too and go down fighting.

The woman looked to Anne-Pierre; she opened her thighs wider.  Communicating only with a smile, the woman stared at us when she straddled him.  Lowering herself down, her eyes never wavered when those strong features softened.  Braced against the seatback, it was brazen, the slow rise and fall of her body.  The slight sway of her considerable breasts kept time.

We watched as she took him.  Gripping the seat in front, her long black hair fell as a curtain over one side of her face.  She gave us another welcoming smile, then a pouted sigh that weighed down her eyelids.  A thumb and fingers held my chin and captured my attention.  The soft vacuum of Anne Pierre’s lips enticed me and our kiss deepened rapidly.  Stroking me, I groaned into the kiss.

Pushing me back, her hand caressed the side of my face, “Keep watching.”

A bright jazz trumpet distracted me.  I glanced at the screen, in a bridal shop with a different woman and the honey-blonde and more fucking.  She took it from behind and it blurred as we watched the raven-haired stranger riding her lover, her husband, whoever. 

Released from her grasp, Anne-Pierre reached forward.  The roaming caress of her hand weighed on the woman’s eyes.  Nodding her head, Anne-Pierre caressed the woman’s breast.  Lost in the moment, my mouth dry, the jackhammer in my chest threatened to burst through.  I would not tear my eyes away, paralysed by the intensity of the vision before me.

Squeezing my girth, Anne-Pierre slouched in her seat, thighs apart.  We became exhibitionists, breasts, and smooth sex exposed, she eased two fingers inside.  A simpering pout, Anne-Pierre placed her thighs to the armrests, a brazen act for the black-haired woman to enjoy. 

Reaching over, she caressed Anne-Pierre’s knee.  Upwards slowly, maybe tentatively, it crept along her milky inner thigh.  Anne-Pierre bit her top lip and nodded.  Removing her own hand, she clutched her breast.  Toying with an erect nipple, her eyes closed on contact.  The woman rested her hand on her sex and her thumb rubbed up and down Anne-Pierre’s slit.  Unable to blink, everything focussed on the slow motion of her touch.  Slouching further forward, mouth open, Anne-Pierre’s heavy eyes stared back.  Slowly, she writhed at the woman’s touch. 

Clearly overwhelmed, her doey eyes met mine and she beckoned me closer.

Her airy pout caressed my cheek.

“She… she is touching me.”

Against the backdrop of a playful brass section and cinematic fucking, it illuminated the woman’s hand.  The imaginary, the fantasy, and the real blurred altogether.  Looking at the woman, still fucking her man, she looked pleased with Anne-Pierre’s enthusiasm.  Clasping it by the wrist, Anne-Pierre’s fluid hips quickened.  We exchanged a look; written on her face, the notion of how much she enjoyed this. 

I felt it surge, the motive power of primal thoughts and placed my lips to hers.  We kissed feverishly, fingers knitted into my hair refused to let me go as our tongues danced.  Rasping air escaped our nostrils; I plucked her nipple and felt her thrum of her moan.

Pushed back into my seat, I looked to the woman.  She rose and fell carefully, and in that curl of her lips, we knew.  Instinct demanded it, my senses overwhelmed; I rose from my chair.  Jutting out, corpulent and fat, her eyes flitted to it and lingered.  The grip of her other hand, the first stroke slow and measured, she did not look away.  Instinct compelled me, I lowered my Dockers and she gauged the weight of my heavy balls.  Looking through me, mouth half-open; she traced the tip of her tongue over her teeth. 

Driven by impulse, in the cold light of day, I would baulk but not now.  Hot exhaled air caressed my engorged length.  Completely rigid, the head revealed, and fully engorged, I placed it to her mouth.  For a moment, I sensed hesitation.  Glancing to Anne-Pierre, she devoured the vision; her expression part ecstatic, part lost.  Legs open wide, her wooden hips struggled.  A bright image illuminated the auditorium and revealed her naked slit breached by the woman’s fingers.

The sudden warm sensation surprised me and solidified the nebulous pressure within.  She took me at the same pace as the methodical music; too slow for release, perfect to enrage me for anything.  I ran my fingers through her hair and gave Anne-Pierre the perfect view.  Rubbing her clit quickly, Anne-Pierre shuddered.  The tail end of her cries caught the start of a quiet section in the soundtrack. 

The rise and fall of the woman’s body matched this easy tempo of her mouth.  I remained motionless, nothing to dissuade her from stopping.  The ache rose, that unwavering need for action.  There were no inhibitions, not a scrap of doubt, just sheer lust.

Anne-Pierre stood without a care in the world.  Naked except for the lingerie, the images from the screen illuminated her body.  Another hand, a male, from the row behind, squeezed her behind.  She batted it away, I smirked, and it did not return. 

“Does it feel good?” she cupped and caressed my balls.

“Yes.”

“You look so hard, there are three couples watching us.”

I groaned as she took my cock from the woman’s mouth.  She looked up, smiled and the ground harder against her lover.  Anne-Pierre caressed the woman’s breast; its erect nipple scissored between her fingers.

Kissing her again, I nuzzled her ear, “Did you enjoy that?” 

Another deep kiss gave her reply.

“I want to fuck you.”

“You will, English.”

Pointing to her seat, I sat and slouched forward until my knees pressed against the seatback.  Wriggling from my Dockers for more room, I eased open my shirt. 

The couple next to us watched, his hand moved slowly in her panties.  Distracted, strong fingers and the glint of her wedding band squeezed at my girth.  Stroking me now, still moving against her lover, the curl of her lips added to her mystique.  I wondered if I might get the chance to do that with her.  Those confessions, the ones that irked me so much now became my guide.

Straddled, Anne-Pierre blotted out my view. Offset a little; I could see something in front.  Held firmly, we coupled easily as her broiling heat engulfed me.  She used the music to keep time; I used it to drown out my groans.  The cushion of her behind slapped against me.  Leaning back, knees bent, and feet planted either side of the seat, she moved with more urgency.  Reaching to clasp her breasts, another hand competed with mine.  It would not withdraw as it groped and teased Anne-Pierre’s erect nipples.

I could not see it, between gaps in the soundtrack; I heard it - the smack of lips.  The sudden animation of her hips mashed against me with a cascade of fresh wetness on my balls.  Reaching down, I found the woman’s hand; we shared the swollen nub of Anne-Pierre’s clit and taunted it.  Writhing, her cries strengthened. 

On-screen, another woman, petite with salt-and-pepper hair rode the man.  To a sassy bossa-nova accompaniment, the honey-blonde kissed her as they fucked.

It loomed into my peripheral vision, stout, erect, the profile of Anne-Pierre’s face inched towards it.  Held up to her mouth, her slender fingers gripped it.  When her mouth made contact, she smeared her sex on my hilt with a deliberate rhythm.  It took her mouth with the same pace of her application on me.  Thick fingers knitted into her hair and the stranger’s erection slid in and out.  She resumed that short up-down fucking with more vigour.  Rifling her mouth slowly, it stifled her moans. 

Whether it was mere minutes or longer, Anne-Pierre lived out her confession, her fantasy.  Its effect on me, the same, old memories renewed, the voyeur fused with the exhibitionist.  Whoever our compatriots were, I could not care less.  It was what they gave Anne-Pierre, not what they took.  She stuttered slowly in ever decreasing circles as that familiar paralysis took hold.  Telepathically, they knew what to do.  Clasping her breasts, squeezing her long erect nipples, I knew too.

The seizure in Anne-Pierre body rippled through her in rising waves, the woman’s rapid fingers; the cock in her mouth, her clasping muscular heat squeezed me tight and the convulsions came.  I held her tight, impaled deep as she climaxed.  Amidst this backdrop of this anonymous carnal act, none of us stopped.  Fighting her jagged movements, we reduced her to a meek submission as the echoes of those convulsions eased.

She extracted herself slowly, flustered, those wild eyes bored into mine.  Eased between my legs, I looked to the woman before me.  Her bewitching smile, that easy motion halted, she had what she wanted.

Anne-Pierre held my erection, shiny and wet; we exchanged one look, a familiar silent acknowledgement.  She nodded and took me into her mouth.  The woman watched, her hands ran over Anne-Pierre’s shoulder, along her upper arms, and then clasped her breasts.  Rolling her nipples her fingers, her head over her shoulder, she watched me.  It did not take long, inspired by what we had done, watching others watching us, and the honey-blonde on the screen taking it from behind.

Staring into the woman’s eyes, she nodded.  She reached over and stroked me slowly, it rose so rapidly, and I clenched the armrests.

Shaking with unreleased tension, Anne-Pierre eyes burned into mine.  Taken beyond the point of no return, rich hot waves of relief rushed forwards.  Anne-Pierre’s mouth open, the woman watched the ropes of hot seed escape in short arcs. 

Closing her mouth around my shaft, they watched how I shuddered with a litany of groans.

Anne-Pierre did not spill a drop.

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

The tall glass frontage made it look like an oversized fish tank.  Elodie gave me a quick look, a smile of encouragement as I held the door open for her.  Inside, chatter and laughter mixed with the delicate notes from a grand piano and classical music.  Over lit, an eclectic group gathered at its centre with abstract art neatly set on plinths against stark white walls.

Eva, a stick-thin creature of angular features glided rather than walked.  Wearing a shapeless dress, in obligatory black, her neat black ponytail swished.  Aloof with an air-kissed greeting, she took Elodie’s pashima and beckoned drinks.  Coolly, she thanked us for coming and quickly farmed us off to a small coterie of guests.

Elodie never left my side and gripped my hand occasionally.  I let her keep it there, a little nervous; I needed the reassurance too.  We worked as a team: I kept an eye out for champagne as it floated past and Elodie translated at opportune moments.  My origins made for a good icebreaker.  Plied with champagne, her megawatt smile and dazzling eyes proved infectious; we began to relax.

An older couple stood out and to my relief, spoke very good English.  Him, bespectacled and bookish, a dry wit and engaging; his wife, warm and effortlessly stylish. Remaining with us for some time, they showed us some of the art.  We took their remark of ‘a handsome couple’ with aplomb. Feeling a little awkward, I hoped it did not show; Elodie beamed and did not correct them.

A short speech by the artist, interspersed with laughter; it ended with polite applause. I did not understand much of it but it seemed to go down well. We found ourselves alone and chatted, as another man admired her, she looked at me and smiled.  Just like at the Opera, it was an easy thing to say, she did look incredible.

I caught it, a single rapid glance to my lips.  It stopped me in my tracks, just for a second, I managed to maintain my line of thought and the conversation continued.

“One minute, English. I will return.” 

Elodie excused herself and Eva approached.  Engaged in incongruous chitchat, her intent was obvious: her friend’s welfare.

When she enquired if I was Elodie’s boyfriend, I shook my head and quipped I was not so lucky.  Unprompted, I mentioned Gaspar.

“Oui, so sad,” Eva mused.  “When he left her, it hit her hard.”

I nodded, “Yeah, but time heals.”

Eva looked disinterested, “So they say.” 

I remained unmoved as she sipped from her glass. 

A warmer smile replaced her earlier austerity, “Sorry for my question, I hope you did not feel uncomfortable.”

Happy that the verbal jousting had finished, I reciprocated, “No problem, you are only looking out for your friend, I understand.”

Moving closer, I did not mind the invasion of my personal space, “She has never been without a boyfriend for so long.  I did wonder because you look so natural together.”

The ice broken, I smiled, “You are not the first to say that tonight, the older couple over there did.”

Eva glanced at them, “Ah, Angeline and Henri, married for a long time, they would know.”

“True.”

“Elodie holds your hand too.”

“Well, I am flattered,” I felt a little flustered now.

She frowned, “Why?  Would you not like to be her boyfriend?”

Like Anne-Pierre at the party, this is one of the most endearing qualities of the French, their mischievous impertinence.  It always disarmed me.

“Oh,” I laughed, “I am just a friend.” 

Clearly unimpressed, Eva’s blank-faced disbelief forced an embarrassed smile.  I looked to the floor for a moment, and then back at Eva.

“Okay, I do like her.”

I had no regrets, she already knew. 

“Bon, I thought so,” her smile lingered.  “I am paid to watch people, I could tell.  And you?  You told the truth.  This is a good start.”

I nodded, “Thanks.”

“I know Elodie very well, she looks at you a certain way too.”

Grateful that the Champagne had smoothed off the edges, I raised an eyebrow, “She does?”

“Oui.  I know,” and took a sip from her glass, “People reveal what they think more than you realise.”

“Clearly.”

Eva gave me another of those indecipherable smiles.

I could not help it; lines of concern creased my forehead, “Eva, please do not say anything to her.  I know she had a rough time with Gaspar.  I had my own bad relationship too.  I do really like her but we both need to be able to trust again.”

She flashed her eyebrows, “Ooof, you have really thought about this, non?  You like her a lot?  Is this serious?”

I sighed, “It might be, and I do not want to mess this up.  I have a habit of doing that.”

Smiling, I liked its reassurance, “Mon chéri, do not worry, your secret is safe.  My advice is simple, wait, and she will let you know.”

“Thank you.”

Placing her hand on my arm, “You are welcome, it is good to see her happy again, I know you have a lot to do with that.”

“You do?”

“Oui, she told me she was bringing a guest, a good man, and I see that now.  Thank you for being her companion tonight, she would not come alone.”

I shrugged, “You are welcome, thank you Eva.”

“De rien,” her gaze transitioned effortlessly towards Elodie as she approached. 

We chatted with Eva for a while and as people began to melt away; one simple gesture from Elodie was all it took.  Collecting her pashmina, I eased it over her shoulders.  We made our way around the remaining guests to say our goodbyes.  Finally, back to Eva, we thanked her for the invite, and this time I got a hug.

Holding the door open, Elodie passed through.  As a final glance towards her, Eva raised her hand.  I acknowledged it with a nod and a smile, silent gratitude for more than a great evening. 

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

Her trembling hand could not place the key in the keyhole.  I took it, felt it turn, pushed, and bundled Anne-Pierre into her apartment.  The click of the latch interrupted our frantic kisses and the eager hands that removed our clothes.  Under the grey light of moonbeams, long shadows illuminated our bodies.  Against the wall, I pinned her there.  My hands under her thighs lifted her, she pleaded for it, and I could not wait.  Too many images and raw emotions to process, the wild animal inside would not quieten.

Taken to the hilt easily, so sodden and available for my thick girth.  A stout thrust knocked the air from her.  More followed as her fevered body wrapped around me.  Sedentary for hours, filled with restless energy and adrenaline, it reduced her to a feather light creature.  We did it all at the cinema, everything she wanted.  I shared her; she shared me, now it was only us.

It was urgent, the slap of skin on skin as snorted air rose into cries.  The clamour of her hands and embracing arms clutched me tight.  How weightless she felt, one shoe slipped from her foot and clattered to the floor.  Another heavy thrust shook off the other shoe.  Deep urgent groans marked time, propelled by hot unquenchable ardour that would not diminish.  More lunges slammed against her, she shook with each one, and our loud cries ricocheted off the painted walls.

“Putain… oui… oui…”

“You want it harder… like this?”

The slap-slap-slap of our bodies and syrup stickiness of her sex fuelled my ire.

“Oui, baisez moi, baisez moi fort!”

“Like this?”

Harder collisions re-invigorated her cries, helpless against me, her body braced between the wall and this uncompromising action.  Reaching out for purchase, a picture frame fell from the wall.  The powerful mechanical rhythm forced such sharp yelps they echoed off the walls.  Breasts mashed against my naked torso, another urgent kiss goaded more piston thrusts that clattered against her. 

Labouring muscles wrestled to constrain her as this exertion took its toll.  Biceps and thighs burned, I lowered her down, held her hips, and spun her around.  Her long curls draped over one side of her face, looking back, back arched, and bottom raised in contempt. 

“Put it back in!” Her tone furious, I would not keep her waiting.

Rubbing up and down her soaked slit, a moment of torment, and she huffed.  I thrust upwards firmly, knocked the air from her; those braced arms no match for its power.  Elbows locked, she looked to me to reveal her bliss-stricken expression.

Her stare melted, the ferocity of each lunge slapped her behind, every single one a statement of what I wanted.  After her numerous public climaxes and a couple of my own, I would take the explosive one I needed.  No hands roamed our bodies, no errant mouths or fingers that teased.  This one was going inside her, not over her breasts or in her mouth.  A statement for everything we did tonight and only she allowed me to do this.

“I… I can feel it. Do it, English.”

“You… you want it?”

“I deserve it.”

I pulled her to me and she cried aloud.  Too rapid to respond, she yelped with the sting of each thrust, just like in the cinema, so static and available.

“Did you like it when her fingers made you orgasm?”

Staccato lunges shook her words from her stricken body.

“Oui, oui…”

Fading into the distance, I would not relent, “That hard cock, when you stroked and sucked him?”

She reeled, a wave of undulations that struggled to adapt to this clatter of urgent thrusts.

“I… I wanted to fuck him, English.”

“Next time.”

I took her to the hilt, the shallow latitude of my hips kept her filled with short stabbing motions. 

“She licked you and made you orgasm, yes?”

Her instant reaction, howls of air and pushed back hard; the zenith of my arousal swelled within her.

“Putain… baise-moi fort, English, fort!”

Grabbing her arms, I pulled her to me, the rising heat boiled within.  I nuzzled on her shoulder, and held her tight with my hands clasped to her breasts.

“I wanted to fuck her too,” I hissed

She closed her legs, and made the tight friction unbearable.  The coiled spring ready to explode, the next few stabs threatened to be my last.  So swollen, I fought a losing battle, hard slaps of her behind mixed with the squelch of her juices. 

“Oui, oui….”

She clung on tight with the last fitful thrusts.  I roared hard, the savagery of my release condensed everything I experienced into hot belts of relief.  The summation of two hours at that cinema shot deep inside her.

“Fuck… fuck…”

My last thrust lifted her to her toes.

Anne-Pierre whimpered as I weakened, I could barely stand and loosened my grip.  On trembling fatigued legs, I reached out to the wall, my noisy heavy breaths rasped through the silence. 

She took to her knees and clasped them with her hands for support, “Mon dieu, c'était si intense.”

Anne-Pierre was right, that was intense.  Through incredulous eyes, her thighs open, my essence dripped onto the parquet floor.

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

Accompanied by the click-clack of high heels, Elodie took my arm.  Walking at a slow pace, we made our way to the taxi rank.  Approaching the small hours, echoes of laughter and chatter carried from the bars and restaurants.  Our long shadows cast over the street lit boulevard, the air warm with a breeze, it amplified the effects of the champagne.  Relaxed, happy, I remember how at ease I felt.

Tonight, I did not expect Eva’s reassurance and its fillip to my confidence.  Yet, with Elodie, there was still a chasm to cross.  I never pretended to be anything less than myself with one major difference.  I did not take what I wanted; instead, I gave Elodie what I thought she needed.  I found it reciprocated too and I liked it.  Still, I remained guarded, especially filled with champagne, it gave me a bravado I might regret tomorrow.

A sudden quickstep and she pulled on my arm, Elodie giggled.

“Are you okay in those shoes?”

She giggled again, “Yes, in spite of the very good Champagne.”

“I know what you mean.”

Random light sources cast upon her; I glanced at the half-silhouette of her soft features.  She had that expression, the one when she knew I was looking at her.  We continued walking and she squeezed my arm tighter.

“English, thank you, I had a wonderful time.”

“Me too, Elodie, me too.  I admit I was a little nervous.  I liked Eva.”

“Yes, she is very, erm… discerning?  She does not suffer fools.”

“I noticed.  How can I put it?  She is very intense.”

She giggled again, “She is and you are fine, English, she liked you too.  She is a good judge of character.”

“I gathered that.”

The cab whisked us though the blur of streetlights and light traffic.  My sister’s forthcoming nuptials and curiosity about an English wedding was the source of many questions.  Pulling up outside her apartment, I helped Elodie from the taxi.  We stood at her apartment block door, and she liberated its key from her clutch bag.

“Thank you again, English.”

“It was my pleasure.” 

I saw it, a glimmer in her eyes and she lingered.  Pushing the door, she wobbled a little.  Quickly, I helped steady her and held it open.

“Elodie, are you sure you will be okay in those shoes?”

She giggled, “Yes, I am fine.”

“I want to make sure you are.”

Walking through, her perfume caught the breeze.  That memory, what she wore underneath, her body cut a sharp silhouette that intensified my recollection.  Inside, the closed blind on concierge window, lights extinguished, and moonlight shone off the chequerboard floor.  She turned in the gloom, an unmistakable look in her eyes.  I felt it too, a crackle that frothed the pit of my stomach. 

Pressing the button to call the elevator, the delicate metallic clatter approached.  A sense of static in the atmosphere, she smiled, it felt expectant.  Still immaculate, completely captivated by her presence, I stole a look at her lips.  I pondered, just for a second, if I should do it.  Elodie did the same, a fleeting glance and then looked down. 

The lift clattered, my heart thumped in my throat as pulled the door open.  I did not imagine I would be here; there was no pre-canned answer, only a mild panic.  I pondered if she might invite to her apartment under the pretence of coffee; the most famous euphemism in the world.

Elodie stepped into the elevator.

Overriding my instinct, I pulled on the lattice door, “Okay, safe and well, my job is done.”

She stifled a little hiccup and we laughed.

“I’ll be off then.  See you Monday.”

It was a wistful expression on her face, a distant smile, “Monday.  You will take me out for lunch?”

“Of course.”

“Bon,” she paused, “I would like that.”

“So would I.”

“Well, bonsoir, English.”

“Bonsoir Elodie.”

We shared a smile; I wondered if mine spoke for my thoughts, I wondered if hers did too.  Eva would know what it meant; deep down I knew it too.  Pulling the elevator door, it clicked shut.

Pressing the elevator button, she gave me that infectious beaming smile.

“A bientôt.”

I had to reciprocate, “A bientôt.”

I did not look back and the heavy door closed quietly behind me.

From the steps down onto the pavement, I gave out a deep sigh.

“You idiot.”