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Belle Epoque Part 4
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Belle Epoque Part 4 And so I gave into the passion of my naked lover, returning his kisses measure for measure, echoing his fierce grasp on my rear with my own fingers that stroked the parting between his cheeks, entwining my leg around his hips so that I could feel his hard cock sliding back and forth between my slick labia as we rocked in an embrace, no, a dance that, in our desire to be completely full of each other, moved us, swooped us, up against the art deco display cabinet near the far wall. I'd like to say I forgot entirely about where we were and that we had a peculiarly erotic older French Madame watching us, but I did not and the location - a boutique in Paris - and the audience, seemed to light a fire that raced across each nerve ending under my skin. I wanted to be taken, I had to be taken fully by T, so fully that each of us would truly know each other, would practically fuse skin to skin in the moment that would bring us simultaneously to the complete collapse, literally and figuratively, of an intense, liquefying orgasm. I am sure T must have felt this same, almost mystical, desire to possess and be possessed by me as he shuddered when I nudged his ass apart with my fingers and traced the rim of his 'connard' with less delicacy than usual, and then he lifted me lightly so I was sitting on the polished wood cabinet. Immediately, he had thrust my legs wide open and his face was buried in my lap, his tongue ravaging up and down as he ate into my labia. Hungry, he was, to eat me, to consume me, and I to be consumed by him, I felt like it was physically impossible to spread my legs as wide as I wanted to in order to open myself to him completely, and I arched my head back, my breasts, gleaming mounds in the muted light of the boutique, wanting him to suck every inch of my flesh but he probed deeper with his tongue and I could feel him flicking inside my vagina, drinking noisily from my juices until I was on that impossible brink. And then I heard a small whisper, "Non, non, not yet," from Madame G. And I felt myself, rather than sliding back down from the brink of an orgasm or over the top into a shuddering ecstasy, gather, it seemed, from a deeper well, the momentum to ride to a higher plane and the usual fire that raced through my body bringing me to the peak, exploded with an even greater force. I cried out, a deep shuddering howl that seemed to tear me completely open, to spread my legs farther than they had ever been spread so that the whole of my being was centered intensely in my vagina and on T's face buried there and I opened myself up to him wider than I'd ever been before, and out of me sprayed a nectar that pooled on the counter top and dripped down T's face and off his chin. He did not break stride, as it were, but sucked and licked at me still, till I cried out again from the delicious pain. But still we were not done. I recovered my breath, slipped down from the cabinet, and we kissed mouth to mouth once again, me tasting my sweetly sticky juice on his lips and tongue, reaching down to stroke his rigid cock. And this time it was he who cried out with the pleasurable pain of wanting but barely able to stand more. I knelt in front of him, and I could tell from the leaning arch of his back and the grip of his fingers on my shoulder and head that, like I had been, he must have felt on the very brink of ecstasy as I took his cock into my mouth. He shuddered and I felt it down through the head of his shaft as it quivered in my mouth. I wrapped my tongue around him and began to lick and suck, till it was his turn to cry out, uncontrollably, from the depth of his being. But again, it seemed, Madame G intervened, for I heard her quiet voice saying, "Non, non, not yet," and T's agonizing desire to release his cum in a gut-ripping roar did not diminish or retreat but he, like me, found himself opening up to a new plane of ecstasy and he held back the cum so that the pleasurable pain he experienced was greater than he had ever felt before. I stood and grasped his hips with my legs as he moved so we were pressed up against the display cabinet. And he came into me. His cock burned like a fire in my vagina, so erotically charged were we with sexual energy, and with each thrust I could feel the ridges of his cock driving me to a heightened sense of the melding of our flesh. He shuddered and then thrust harder, and higher. I cried out again with an animal-like howl and grasped him even more tightly with my knees. "Cum in me," I cried out, "Fuck it, cum in me." A groaning roar erupted from T's throat and he threw back his head, arching his cock deep inside me, thrusting harder and faster until at last, both of us, with sobbing breath, reached a pinnacle of orgasm the likes of which neither of us had experienced before. Spasm after spasm shook our bodies and it was all we could do to remain upright, leaning against the boutique's display cabinet. At last we parted, T's cock still solidly erect, my clit pulsing with the intensity of our cums, and looked each other in the eyes. I am sure we both felt that deep, deep intimacy that left us shaken to our very core and it was as if the world outside the space inhabited by our naked bodies had ceased to exist. Some length of time later - it could have been seconds or it could have been minutes for all I knew - the discreet sound of Madame G clearing her throat reminded us we were not alone. And, glancing over T's shoulder, I could see a look of contented satisfaction on her face. Not the rather perverted satisfaction one might get as a voyeur, so to speak, but the satisfaction of a conductor who has just heard the most magnificent symphonic orchestral music led by his baton, or a sculptor, seeing he has truly found a way to uncover, as he predicted, the magnificent veining in a piece of marble that perfectly communicates the image he was creating. She waved her hand slightly, as if to tell us to take as much time as we needed, and remained seated in the wing back chair she had perched on in what felt like a lifetime ago. But now I noticed she had taken up the framed photo of the nude man I had seen on the occasional table upon entry to her boutique, and she was caressing it with her thumb. Somehow I did not feel embarrassed to be standing there in front of Madame G again, naked and thoroughly sated by the intercourse - that seems such a clinically unsatisfying word - T and I had just had in front of her. "Please," she gestured to a dark wicker<b> basket </font></b>back behind the counter, that was filled with brilliant white cotton towels, indicating each of us could use one to clean up, should we feel it necessary, "help yourself. Servez-vous," she repeated in French. And she returned her gaze to the photo she had been caressing. Eventually, T and I finished using the soft towels, discarding them into another wicker basket, and we moved to sit beside Madame G on the other wing back chair, somehow completely at ease with our nakedness: me on the seat, T on the arm, resting with his legs wide and his cock, lolling between them. There was a pause, and then she glanced up at us smiling. "I told you, non, that my dear sister Thibeth taught me so much about sex and what it means to be a sexual being? What is means to be a woman in the fullest sense of the word." I nodded in agreement, yes, she had alluded to this. "Well," she continued, gesturing slightly with the photo she held in her hand, "so did my father. Mon cher Papa." You could have heard a pin drop, as the saying goes. Neither T or I could quite process all the implications of what this dear sweet lady had just said. Madame G's "cher Papa" was the naked man in the photo who gave her the understanding of what it meant to be a woman in the fullest sense of the word? to be continued |
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