The Belle of Coeur D AlenePart 2 Willow Weep For Me
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En Plein Coeur De La NuitPart 5 free porn video
It was already the dawn when I woke at about 6.30. Laurence was still asleep, her hair tousled on the pillow. I couldn't get to the bathroom without waking her and I got a quiet 'Bonjour cheri. Dormes-tu bien?', as I tried to creep back to bed without waking her.
As we crept down stairs in search of orange juice and croissant, she spotted her holdall that her thoughtful parents must have brought over after we had gone to bed. Inside were clean clothes for the day, toiletries and her running kit. Every day for months Laurence had started the day running through rain or shine to start and her parents had obviously thought that today would be no different.
So after a light breakfast, we changed into our kit, warmed up and jogged off into one of the network of single track paved roads that seem to crisscross the vineyards in this part of the world. For the most part they are car free and hidden from view of the casual traveller. The air was fresh with a slight dew on the plants. The smell of the garrigue was beginning to fill the summer air with its characteristic aroma of thyme and marjoram as well as a multitude of other less well-known herbs. As we passed a ripening fig tree its heady sweet somewhat cloying smell, added to the ambiance.
Laurence was wearing a short wraparound skirt and tee-shirt leaving her tanned arms and legs with their lightly contoured muscles free for me to look at. I dropped back a couple of metres to see her better and she stopped and turned round with a smile. "I will give you a little something to look at" she said, "This is just for you" and slipped off the white panties that I had been watching as she ran. She pushed the panties into the pocket of my shorts and ran on laughing.
As her skirt lifted at every footfall, I was mesmerised by the glimpses of buttocks and labia as she ran. After some 5km we stopped at one my favourite spots for a drink of water. The spot overlooked a small, seemingly hidden valley with a trickle of a stream fed by a spring somewhere, it was a torrent in the winter, but was now quiescent.
We kissed gently at first then with more ardour; our hands exploring the bodies we knew so well from dancing together; but now the touching had the urgency of arousal. The smell of the crushed herbs lying under us was tempered by the reek of unrequited passion. We lay on the red earth of the region, intimate with the soil had seen so much blood spilt to conquer and tame it.
Foreplay was superfluous; we were being consumed in the flames of our love and our appetites of the present. Our needs were undeniable. A harsh, uncompromising vocabulary can only accommodate those few minutes. In the same time as it took to complete our dances the night before, dances that forced a common purpose both erotic and ephemeral, our carnal selves, our biologies joined absolutely and leaving nothing in emotional reserves. Gutteral sounds came unbidden to our lips and I was oblivious at the time of the grazes Laurence gouged in my back. The tearing aside of Laurence's maidenhead and the deep growl, (almost), that emerged from somewhere near Laurence's stomach. That noise was a primordial sound from a time out of time, a sound of completion. It had more in common with the drawing aside of a veil of discovery, than an act of savage passion. Her passage through a portal into womanhood left us on a threshold. We experienced a shuddering mutual climax as the sun rose blood red from the horizon. The sun began its path once more across an azure sky and we were being pushed imperceptibly but inexorably along a new road and together.
Perhaps there was a zephyr that jostled the vine leaves that morning, but it seemed to me to be more of a sigh. As a few small drops of Laurence's blood soaked slowly into the red earth of the Languedoc and I sensed that our libation to Mother Earth had been received with gratefulness. For a few moments at least, we radiated in her pleasure. A whispered comment to Laurence brought a smile that transcended words, as if from Gaia herself. I basked in that smile.
As our passion receded we dressed slowly, interspersed with kisses, a passion temporarily sated. We walked back to the house slowly, tousled, even dishevelled, but resplendent in our love, arm in arm to face the day.
If anything was noticed by the rest of my family as to our appearance on return, nothing was said. We were kissed and went off to have a shower separately. Clean, and dressed in normal daywear of shorts, shirt and sandals we went down for a second breakfast and found that smiles were infective!
Pierre disappeared off somewhat suspiciously mid-morning and an hour later Laurence's parents came for her to go to an afternoon stylist's appointment before our celebratory dinner that evening.
It was a bit of a low spot for me as my suit was ready and pressed, and with a corsage ordered that we were assured would match Laurence's dress, all was ready.
So it was, that the reason for Pierre's secrecy was revealed. He had picked Tina up at Carcassonne airport and brought her to stay for a long weekend. He had also collected two copies of a video made by the school of the dance performance.
After lunch, Tina and I snuggled up together, watched the video and told her about my 'most beautiful girl in the World.'
After a short siesta and snack, the time was approaching for preparations to begin. Each bathroom was in constant use. Sylvie, Michelle and Tina taking an hour each closeted with the mysteries of the cosmetics cabinet. Sophie moved from one daughter to the other making sure all was as it should be, but in fact, didn't take a great deal less time with her praparations. Pierre sat with me in the garden for a while talking about all my activities and how to fit everything in now that regional and national dance competitions were a possibility. I wasn't able to make a decision as to the future except that that future could not be without Laurence.
I had been without a father for as long as I could remember. He had died in my infancy and I had never felt the need for a father figure, but in this quiet time I felt that it was so right that I asked him if he would allow me the honour of calling him, papa. "You have become everything that I would have hoped a son of mine would become", he said. "It is you that do me the honour of asking", and I shall go and tell Sophie immediately because if I leave it longer she will have put on her makeup and will have to start again after she has a little cry! "I shall be delighted to call you 'son' as well; if that is alright." It was, of course and his hug almost squeezed the air out of lungs before he strode off the tell Sophie.
At 7.40pm everyone reappeared. Sylvie is a silk dress in the washed out blue that sculpted her figure and matched her eyes to perfection. Michelle supported a cerise satin dress that rippled in the late evening sunlight. Tina's ensemble was in a light pink that enhanced her paler English colouring, and maman had an emerald sheath dress that matched the emeralds in her engagement ring. It seemed to flow as she walked. All had dressed with great care, but the choices seemed restrained in some respects and I was not quite sure why I felt this to be the case being quite ignorant of these matters.
A short drive in two limousines with liveried chauffeurs brought us to a well-known restaurant with one Michelin star. Pierre, had taken over the whole of this small restaurant for the night. There must have been some conversation during the drive over a radio link because as we arrived at the restaurant, Laurence's parents' limousine arrived from the opposite direction.
All eyes were on Laurence when she emerged from the car after her parents. The corsage of freesias I had adorned the shoulder strap of a stunning white dress that almost appeared to defy gravity in remaining on her. This was a garment of the catwalk, a one-off, an example of the best haute couture France had to offer. Its apparent simplicity, combined with a little make-up and quite austere gold necklace and bracelet, acted synergistically to enhance her loveliness, without masking her delicate features and essential vulnerability.
I loved her at that moment with an intensity I could barely hide. In the end I just whispered "Tu es trés trés belle." and kissed her hand. I saw now why the other women had dressed in a more restrained fashion. This was Laurence's night and no one was going to upstage her. Her hair shone. Gone was the pageboy cut I had known since our meeting. Somehow the coiffeur had created a new style. It was appropriate to her age and love of activity, but in a style that emphasised the sophistication and elegance of the archetypal cultivated French woman.
I took her arm as we went into dinner to the sounds of our dance scores. Her unencumbered breasts and erect nipples made the dress move sensuously and all eyes shared her moment. Laurence and I had pride of place at the head of the table and Madam Fabre, her husband and Henri, my male dance teacher had been able to join us. We embraced both teachers as we greeted them
A photographer was in attendance for some minutes recording for posterity and one of the pictures eventually appeared with a short report in Midi Soir, the newspaper of the region.
The meal had been fixed earlier in the day and each dish was exquisite, a model of nouvelle cuisine. A tiny cup of chilled soup, was followed by foie gras on Melba toast, then a Champagne ice cream to clear that palate. The fish course of Langouste, lead on to tiny slivers of succulent beef in a sauce that defied description.
A small soufflé of Roquefort, light as thistledown, lead on to a sorbet of citron, and finally a tiny portion of a chocolate gateau that was hugely rich without being cloyingly sweet.
Each course had its own wine that I had begin to appreciate under the tutelage of papa. He was an oenologue and Master of wine during the day, advising restaurants and hotels like this one on their cellars. We were each poured less than half a glass of each wine as an ever-attentive waiting staff brought each bottle round showing the label to knowledgeable and appreciative diners. These were not the vins de pays of day-to-day drinking. These were first vintages from chateaux with serious reputations and vintages that would have raised the eyebrows of wine connoisseurs the World over. Some were vintages from papa's own cellar layed down many years before and reaching their peak now.
Finally a fine vintage Cremant de Limoux was poured and the entire party toasted our health and happiness. Pierre spoke of my arrival in tragic circumstances. My successful absorption into both the Gatti family and French society, and the immense pleasure I was giving to Pierre, Sophie and their two daughters as I fulfilled all their expectations of me. They were proud to call me their son, and the girls had the brother they never expected to have.
The chef and patron of the restaurant was called and praise lauded on him for the wonderful meal. He said it was the first time he had decided to close his restaurant for a private function and it was a pleasure to do so for someone who's advice and guidance had helped to make his restaurant one of the most respected in the area. To applause, he said he was looking forward to getting his second Michelin star with Pierre's help.
Tina spoke in broken French of the circumstances of our fathers' and subsequently, our mother's deaths. She had also been left alone, although an adult. She appreciated the infinite trouble my new parents took to involve her during my time in France and never felt excluded in any way. She was overjoyed at our success, and looked forward to us dancing in England when the time was right.
Laurence's father is not a man given to public speaking, but was full of emotion when he spoke of their joy at his daughter's awakening into the dance and womanhood, and offered their thanks to the Gattis for a wonderful evening. To laughter, he offered those who wanted to join him, a tiny glass of a very old liqueur Calvados, the apple brandy of Laurence's home region. It was the only contribution he had been allowed to make; he concluded ruefully.
A four-piece group had set up quietly over the last few minutes and after Laurence and I lead off the dancing in a smallish open area. A Waltz, Quickstep and Cha-cha-cha followed in quick succession before we both felt the need for some air and privacy.
The restaurant had a balcony that looked out over the rugged mountains of the Pyrenees. They were beautiful in their grandeur by day and topped by fairytale castles of the bloody Cathar period and were now full of mystery by night. No one followed us out. We stood under a crescent moon in a velvety black sky that was punctuated only countless stars and the opalescent swathe of the Milky Way. This was our time to savour the moment that would remain crystal clear in one's memory for a lifetime. It was a defining moment. As Laurence slipped into my arms we made our reaffirmations... "Je t'aime." " Je t'aime."... sealed so so very gently with a kiss.
I will see you tomorrow morning she said - for our run and she arrived on her cycle at a little after 8am. Gathering a water container each, we did some stretching exercises before jogging off through the lanes. As soon as the houses faded away she stopped and removed her knickers. I am sure you can look after these she said with a smile and ran off ahead of me. Within a few hundred metres my shorts were tented and I as I had no intention of trying to catch up; Laurence ran on. It was only when we had reached the same spot as before that she stopped and took a drink, then sidled off into the herbs that crowded into the little valley.
She was already moist with running and anticipation, her labia engorged under a new Brazilian that hadn't been there yesterday. "I had to have it done so my black hair didn't show through the dress." she said, giggling. "I only had an almost transparent thong on under the dress and there was no room for a bra or anything else"; she added. "I couldn't have panty lines with that dress! As she sat on the warm surface of a low dry stone wall I saw the Brazilian as making a halo for her clitoris and I couldn't resist kneeling before her and kissing that nubbin, then drawing it in with my tongue before drawing it across my teeth ever so slowly and gently.
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