L amour de deux femmes
- 2 years ago
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Hommes Et Femmes free porn video
Dane is a young man and Paris is an old place. It is a city built of skeletons and ghosts and memories, and so is Dane. He’s come here to listen for the ghosts, to pace their haunts, to rattle their bones. A voyeuristic student, he’s come to look behind the curtain, to catch a glimpse of the secret lessons that can only be taught here, and what a lot of wisdom there is to be found along the Boulevard De Rochechouart at four o’clock in the morning.
The whores are all out in force tonight and doing well at their trade. The unusually hot summer has everyone mad and restless. It is too hot to remain indoors. Paris is awake and wandering the streets, blowing off steam. They do it in the dark back streets of Montmartre, up the hill behind the Moulin Rogue. They do it on the benches lining the canal. They do it beneath the great, old bridges along the Seine at the Pont D’Austerlitz and the Pont Royal. The air is filled with smog and ecstasy.
Parisian whores are the most aggressive in the world, and the walk through Pigalle, then Blanche, then Anvers can be costly for a young man with nothing but time and money and a head full of booze. The setting is neon-electric sex, and one gets a sense of passing through the future of sleaze. The signs on all the buildings flash Nude Massage and Private Dances and the puzzlingly ill-punctuated Girl’s Here! The Sex-o-drome towers above all advertising enough forms of debauchery to make the Marquis De Sade blush on his way through the doors. The heat-wave has all of the prostitutes wearing even less than usual. They approach in herds, throwing out cat-calls in a variety of languages. They all speak French, English, Spanish, Italian, Dutch, Russian, Czech. Language skills are a necessity in the international sex-trade. One would swear that the taxi-drivers and prostitutes are the most educated people in the city. Once you are surrounded they are irresistible. Their hands are on your crotch. They tug at your clothes. They lick and nip your earlobes and pinch at your nipples. They promise everything and more. They steal your wallet. They steal your watch. You might lose everything to them. You might fall in love with them.
By the time Dane reached the point where Rochechouart turns into the Boulevard De La Chapelle he is immersed in them, drowning in an ocean of easy sex. He pays attention to his pockets and smiles and repeats ‘Desole’ and ‘No merci’ over and over. Some of the girls know him and like him and they all giggle and make jokes and the mood is very light, very enjoyable. The moon is high and full, illuminating their pale skin, faces glowing like angels. The scent of pussy and semen hang around them like halos. One voice cuts through the others.
‘Bon Soir Monsieur Dane.’ She steps forward through the general chaos and she is gorgeous, perfect, radiant. His eyes want to devour her. His hands weep for her skin. His passion begins to stir. ‘Ca va?’
‘I am good. You look wonderful. I’ve told you not to call me Monsieur,’ he says, knowing he is about to spend a good deal of money. ‘How have you been Camille?’
‘Cheri, then. I am good, Cheri.’
Her dress covers more skin than most of the other girls, but she wears it with more allure and mystery. It is a tight, red number from the thirties, hugging at her hips and spilling out her breasts. She wears no scarf and no hat. Her deep chestnut colored hair is long and full and Dane can not wait to plunge his hands into it. Her legs are without stockings, long, deadly sexy in the tall, high-heeled boots she’s wearing.
She takes his arm and the other girls clear away.
‘You come from Clichy now?’ She asks.
‘I do. I go back to my hostel to sleep. Have to get up early,’ He lies, playing the game, ‘Have to go right to sleep when I get back. No more fun tonight.’
‘No more fun,’ She pouts and nods her head in the direction from which he had just come, back toward Clichy. ‘How is she?’
Camille knows what he’d been up to, knows all about the Dutch girl who had fled to Paris from Holland and had ended up, coincidentally, living in an apartment overlooking Rue Amsterdam. She knows about the girl’s problems and her fancies. She knows how her cunt tastes. Knows how soft her lips are. She also knows that the Dutch girl is very jealous of Dane’s love for whores, and that Dane can be convincing when he’s got something sneaky going on in his head. Camille had loved watching him talk the Dutch out of her clothes and discomfort, easing her into the ménage a trois as if into a very hot bath.
‘She is fine,’ Dane says, ‘She is all tired out.’
‘You stallion you.’
‘Merci beaucoup, mon Cheri,’ he says, then spins her with their joined hands above her head as if they were dancing. She giggles wildly and nestles in close to his side.
They walk on in this fashion for a while, Camille chattering on about this or that person’s humorous existence, Dane listening and speaking little. It is always a thrill to encounter one another, but deep inside their hearts feel sick. They will go back to his room and have sex in that way two people do when they are in love, really, truly in love, then he will pay her and she will go and that will be that. That is always that. Love is glorious but doesn’t pay the bills. C’est la vie…
On past La Chapelle, through the rough area near the Stalingrad metro stop, they walk following the train route toward his hostel at Jaures. They come to Rue La Fayette and stop overlooking the canal. Down below along the water’s edge someone is playing ‘Hey Jude’ on a slightly out of tune guitar. Dane stands behind Camille and encompasses her in his embrace. She feels so soft, so fragile. But Dane knows she is strong.
‘Do you ever wish that things could be different?’ She asks in English, ‘Do you ever think that things will work out, you know, in the end?’
Dane’s heart rises in his throat and for a moment there is no room to breathe, no room to speak.
‘Who says there has to be an end?’
He turns her in his arms and they kiss, gently at first. His hands move up and down her back and he feels the smooth structure of her body and the narrowness of her waist. Both breaths quicken and her full, soft breasts press against his chest. She puts her hands on his face and they are cool in the warm night air. The coolness moves up and her fingers run through his hair. Without warning a single tear rolls down their joined faces. Dane begins to pull away but she pulls him closer and, hugging her arms tight around his neck, she whispers, ‘I wish I never had to kiss another man. Never and for the rest of my life.’
And suddenly she is in his arms and he is carrying her across the street toward the front door of the hostel. They kiss again and again and there are more tears now and he’s not sure where they come from, him or her, and he’s thinking, Goddamn how things are, and he doesn’t know if it’s a con, if she’s conning him, and he doesn’t care. All he knows is that he is going to take her upstairs and she will be his at least once more, and he will be hers, and that in the morning they will break each other’s hearts. Another one-night-stand with love.
Dane puts her down in front of the door and rings the bell impatiently, waiting for the night attendant. Looking tired and a bit wary, Jason lets them in. ‘Um, you’re not supposed to take her up there.’
‘You never saw me come in.’
‘Well,’ Jason does not really care. He winks, saying, ‘just don’t wake up your roommates.’
The climb up the seven flights of stairs seems to take forever, and that may be because they stop every few steps to paw at each other. She walks up ahead of him and Dane reaches up now and again to pinch at her ass. The tears had turned into giggles and the closer they come to his room the faster their hearts race. Eventually they arrive at the seventh floor.
Dane opens the door slowly and peeks in. Each room at the hostel has three occupants. Two
sleep on a bunk-bed right by the door and the third bed is a few feet away by the window which provides the only slight illumination of the room. Dane’s is the lower bunk. His two roommates–a young Australian man in the window bed and a beautiful girl from Serbia in the top bunk–seem to be sleeping deeply. The Australian has a slight snore and the Serb’s breathing is light and relaxed.
Dane takes Camille’s hand and leads her inside. He clicks the door shut as quietly as possible and sits on the bed. She lowers onto his lap and her lips devour his face, his neck, his ears. His hands touch everywhere, and when they come out from beneath her dress they are very wet. He can smell her on him and she can feel something stirring in his lap, pressing against her ass.
After a short while she pushes him back onto the bed and, ducking to avoid striking her head against the upper-bunk, begins pulling at his clothing, first the shirt, then the pants, and soon there is nothing left. Dane reaches down and pulls her dress up over her head and when she presses against him it is as if he can feel his heart pounding, trying to escape from his chest, trying to join hers.
She kisses his lips, his cheeks, his neck, then begins moving down, down, down, pausing at his nipples to give each a nip, continuing on down. He feels her lips touch at his stomach, soft as a butterfly lands, and his groin muscles flutter when the butterfly moves toward them. Her hands are on his hips and she begins rubbing her face against his penis, back and forth. No licking, no kisses, just this back and forth motion. She breathes in the scent of his sweat and cock and thinks, This is the one I want.
Dane is looking down at her in the soft light, watching his penis grow and running his fingers through her hair. Camille looks up at him, smiles a coy little glance, then takes him in her mouth. Her head moves down slowly, taking in his whole length, one hand on his balls, the other holding one cheek of his ass. She pauses for a moment once he is deep inside, her forehead pressed against his lower belly, her nose buried in his pubic hair. Dane can feel the head of his penis bump against the back of her throat. She pulls back very gradually, all the while dragging the soft, broadness of her tongue along the bottom of his shaft, then jabs her head down again, gobbling him up. Her hand is working gently at his testicles, and the other is roaming here, there, and everywhere. He’s doing his best to remain silent, but every once in a while a little gasp or moan escapes him. One of his hands caresses her cheek and he reaches down to hold her breast in the other. He likes to have his legs pulled tight up against her sides, likes feeling her body move in accordance to what her head and tongue are up to.
Watching her head bob up and down in the dark, he suddenly realizes that she is still wearing her boots. Dane takes her head in his hands and gently pulls her up toward him so she is lying on top of him. He takes her in his arms and turns carefully so as not to fall from the narrow bed. Soon Camille is on her back. Dane kisses her and sucks at her nipples. He kisses her stomach, her hips, then, mimicking her earlier motions, begins rubbing his face against her vagina. Her vagina is very open, very pink even in the low light. He feels her hands in his hair and her thighs against his cheeks. Then, using just the tip of his nose, he barely brushes against her clitoris. A slight tremble runs through her legs. Dane does it again, with a little more force this time. Her clit swells up and her breath becomes a soft pant. Then he takes the tiny, soft fruit into his mouth and sucks hungrily. At this a squeal of delight escapes from Camille.
They pause for a moment and listen to the breathing of the two roommates. No change. So Dane dives back in, and in a moment his face is completely covered with wetness, and Camille’s panting has grown in volume considerably. While he eats her, Dane guides her legs up toward her chest and bends her knees. One at a time he unzips her boots, pulling at the zipper just a few teeth at a time. Without ever taking his mouth from her cunt, tongue roaming everywhere, he tugs her boots free. They are tall boots and take some time to remove. She wraps her bare legs around the back of his head, pressing his face deeper into her.
After a long while Dane feels her pulling at his hair and he emerges from the cave. He crawls up over her and begins running the length of his cock between her pussy-lips. She squirms and writhes beneath him, the head of his penis running up over her clit, then down across the opening until it bumps against her asshole. He repeats this cycle a number of times until she puts her lips against his ear and whispers, ‘In now, sil vous ple Cheri.’
Their mouths meet and their tongues lap at one another and he pushes himself inside. His first thrusts are very shallow and quick. These he eventually punctuates with slower, deeper explorations, until eventually his hips move only in the strong, deep rotations. Camille is making noise now, losing her control over the gasps, and squeals, and pants.
Above on the top bunk, Yvonne has the pointer and middle fingers of her right hand buried in her increasingly moist vagina, and her thumb rubs spastically against her clit. She’d been woken when the door was opened and the light from the hall fell on her face. At first she was unaware that Dane had a visitor, but the occasional spring squeaked and so did the occasional person, so she was quick to realize what was going on below. At first she’d been a bit put off, disgusted even. But as the rocking of the bunks increased in pace and the sounds from below grunted out with more frequency, a wet place a formed between her legs.
Back on the bottom bunk they can both feel the explosion building. With each thrust Dane feels himself getting closer to the animal he’s after, is gaining and can see it off in the distance. Camille can feel the pool filling to its capacity, can feel the levies quivering and trembling under the pressure. The flood will not be long now. Their movements and positions limited by circumstance, exploration is all accomplished by hand. She feels his fingers probing at her asshole, his hands squeezing her breasts and running over the contours of her body. All of the sudden It is Coming. Her legs draw up against his sides and he feels her vagina tighten around his cock like a fist. That does it, and he explodes with a sharp cry. The quivering of his erupting penis sent Camille over the edge. Her fingernails rake at his back leaving marks and she howls a short exclamation. It is a long, drawn out orgasm and Dane knows that another scream is coming, so he clamps his hand over his mouth. Her tongue laps wildly at his palm, and her eyes are locked on his. For a moment the only sound in the room is her breath, sharp and erratic through her nose. Then from above they hear a short, ‘Uh!’ followed by a series of pants, then, ‘Ooo-la-la.’ Dane and Camille giggle like children. The Australian is still snoring.
They stay like that for a time, he inside her, arms locked around one another. After a while they roll very carefully so that he is on his back and she is curled up against his side. Eventually she slips into sleep, but not Dane. He is awake, wondering if it will be different this time. Wondering what the morning will bring. Wondering how much this would cost. As the sun begins to rise, he falls asleep.
Some time later, he can’t be sure how much, he feels her rise, hears her putting on her clothes. He knows that in a moment she will shake him awake, will smile and whisper a price and that will be that. She will fade away one more time. So he stays in bed without moving, imagining that it isn’t going to happen, pretending that she’s just going to kiss him good-bye and she will go to work and he will lay in bed half-asleep and happy and they will be just like normal people are. He hears her go into the tiny bathroom and listens to her pee. She comes out
and he thinks, This is it, and as she leans over him and he can smell her and feel her warmth and feel his heart coming up into his throat and he keeps on pretending.
Her lips press against his forehead for a moment, cool and soft, and he waits for her to shake him, but it doesn’t happen. Instead her lips move to his ear and she whispers, ‘Je t’aime, mon Cheri.’
He feels the warmth fade as she stands and walks to the door. It doesn’t open right away and he knows she’s standing there, looking at him. He knows he should stop the façade, should stand the hell up, should take her in his arms and be her man and have her for his woman. And he knows he won’t do that. The door opens and her heels click and the door closes. And that is that one more time.
He spends another hour in bed, feeling sick. Hating Paris. Hating the whores. Hating money and love and the school that had sent him there to learn how to write. But eventually he gets over it. He pulls himself out of bed and finds a pair of shorts in his overstuffed suitcase and puts on a clean shirt. It is a little after noon, and he decides to forego a shower for a café crème at the bar downstairs.
Down at the bar he sees all the regulars. They tell him about some gorgeous brunette no one knew who had come down from one of the rooms earlier in the morning. They all make crude comments about giving it to her this way or that way and speculate as to whom she’d been with upstairs, and Dane smiles at the floor and voices no guesses. He just orders his coffee and sits and listens.
After the first he orders a second and while he drinks it the bar empties. He tries to strike up a conversation with the bartender but doesn’t really have anything to say, so the only sound is a soft, female voice crooning over the stereo in French.
At some point he puts his head in his hands and leans against the bar with his eyes closed. He thinks about ordering a real drink and is trying to figure out what to do with his day. Maybe the Sacre Coeur or another trip to the Musee D’Orsay. Or the Jardin Du Luxembourg, perhaps.
His ponderings are interrupted when a confused Irish voice asks, ‘Is there really a hostel above this bar, then?’ Dane opens his eyes. In the doorway stands a girl who Dane would guess to be about twenty-two. She is tall and skinny, with pale, lightly-freckled skin and a mass of vibrant red hair above her captivating green eyes. She is gorgeous.
‘Welcome to the Peace and Love,’ Dane says.
She walks in and sits at the bar next to Dane, setting down her bag and ordering a beer. ‘So,’ she says, Dane watching her lips and tongue, ‘What do you think of this place?’
‘It’s one hell of a party. You’ll want to find another place or residence if you plan on getting any sleep.’
‘I didn’t come to Paris to sleep.’ She takes a big drink then sets the glass down half-empty. ‘To sleep around perhaps…’
Dane laughs and says, ‘Have you ever been to Paris.’
‘First time. Do you have any pointers on where to begin?’
‘I was just thinking of taking a walk to the Luxembourg Gardens, if you’d like to accompany me.’
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