Boudoir

Picking at the remnants of my Salad Nicoise, I watch Christophe sip his beer, and he tries not to grimace.?Maman does not let me drink alcohol.?I grin, ?I am not your mother. Besides, you are seventeen. That is old enough.?He needs the social lubrication, or it will be a very long day. My cold Bellini is a simple pleasure as we sit al fresco. Around us, life continues as the bubbly chit-chat and the clatter of crockery inside the café. For months, I am a husk and feel nothing. Today, with the sunshine, the alcohol, and this vision of beauty in front of me, my libido rumbles like a malevolent volcano and threatens to erupt.There is a taciturn quality to the country boy that works on the family farm. He inherited his mother?s genes as a handsome man and his father?s for his build. He is here for a wedding at the weekend, and his parents thought it would be good for him to see the capital city. Staying with relatives, they are working today, and I was at a loose end.?How are you finding Paris?? I ask.?Compared to our village in Brittany, there are so many people.??You like it, though??He shrugs, ?I would like to see Stade des France.?Christophe plays Rugby and wants to see the national stadium, and there is our first clash of cultures. Smiling sweetly, I imagine him muddy and determined, his muscles bulging with exertion. There is something deep and brooding in his eyes, yet he remains guarded and polite without fault. All that sport, fresh air and hearty food have made him into a strapping young man. In a new polo shirt, faded jeans, and so fresh-faced, he has a pristine quality that attracts plenty of female attention.He might be blinded by his naivete, but I understand the look they give him. Maybe it is my second Bellini, and I choose a faked expression of sexual contentment. My rueful grin in Parisian Red says, ?Yes, he is fucking me?. He is not, yet from one woman, it draws a silent appreciation of my good fortune, perhaps a little jealousy.I have my reasons, pretending he is my lover. My life is a staid existence of work, eat, sleep, and repeat. A pang of foolishness tempers my mood. Forty-one years old, still lithe, but why would Christophe have eyes for me? Whilst I made an effort, plenty of younger women were ready to distract him with their wiles.My figure is captured in a tight bodice and a light summer jacket; I can be alluring or nonplussed. The breeze can easily open it, providing a glimpse that Christophe fails to ignore. With straight-leg jeans hugging my slender legs, they are kept taut in high heels.Today, I am his chaperone, the responsible adult, and old enough to be his mother. Oh well. I have disappointed many people in my life, and two more will make very little difference ? if they find out. What am I supposed to do, lie to myself?Doing that made my divorce inevitable.-=-Walking off our lunch along the Boulevard de Clichy, it is busy for a weekday. There are plenty of overt window shoppers, unashamed of what they are looking for. We remain in the shade under a canopy of sycamores, and this could be in upmarket Konyaaltı Escort Madeleine. It is not; this district has a reputation.I am the picture of innocence. My route to Stade des France is deliberate; sex shops, peep shows, and neon-lit strip clubs. They distract Christophe, and I enjoy watching him struggle. I want his mind to churn, his blood hot, and his body raging.?This is Pigalle,? I mutter.?Oh.?Looking across the road, he is transfixed at some mannequins in a shop window. From a sheer red dress on one through to the last, modelling a bondage harness, collared, with wrist and ankle restraints.?Yes, it is a very adult playground. I do like that sheer dress, though.?Darting his eyes forward, I pretend to ignore Christophe?s blushes. His hands plunge into his pockets, trying to hide the manifestation of his wayward thoughts.?The ground is a little uneven,? I chuckle, ?I should have worn more practical shoes.?Sliding my arm inside his, I hold it.?There, that is better. I hope you do not mind.?He is caught off guard. ?No,? he splutters, ?not at all.?This coupling is symbolic. I am an independent woman, providing for myself, capable of holding my own opinions. Fierce like a tigress when I want, soft as a kitten when I choose, yet no one is an island. Christophe needs to know what I crave, but my plea requires those bright neon-pink letters to get his attention.?Women adore a gallant man, and you are doing well, Christophe. I have noticed you walk closest to the road, too.??Thank you.??I imagine your girlfriend thinks so as well.??I?? he stutters, ?I do not have a girlfriend.?It is a shaky delivery as he pretends not to notice Pagalle?s most prominent sex shop.?Christophe? Really?? My surprise is a feint. ?You are a very handsome man. I imagine they are falling at your feet.??No. And what about you???Me? Oh, I do not have a girlfriend.? I am giggling coquettishly. ?Apologies, it is just my little joke. I am divorced and too recently to consider a boyfriend. I am happiest living in the moment for now.??I am sorry about that.??No need.? I squeeze his arm. ?Do not give it another thought.?I know he will, walking so close together.We veer left, towards Abbesses Metro Station, and I stumble. Suddenly gripping his arm, I bring my heel down hard. The crack is a delight to hear.?Shit! My shoe!?Christophe crouches immediately, inspecting it.?The heel is broken.??Damn it! I will have to go home and change them. I am so sorry.??No problem. I am glad you did not fall over.?Holding his shoulder, he looks up, uncertain what to do.?Take them off for me, please. We can get a taxi.?Venturing a doe-eyed look, Christophe clasps my ankle. As a connivance, I am at my most overt. My apartment, us alone, what could possibly happen?He knew what, and by his flushed expression, it was written all over his face.-=-All the way to my apartment, Christophe remained silent.From the kitchenette, with the fizz of gas and the clink of the bottle tops, I walk back into the lounge with a bottle of beer each.He is looking at it, Escort Konyaaltı hanging on a wall, and it makes the perfect statement. A naked woman languishes amidst the cushions of her boudoir. Trying to overlook it, Christophe diverts his gaze towards the ephemera on the bookcases and shelves. From the frying pan into the fire, averting his eyes from my volumes of Anais Nin.I hand over his drink. ?Cin cin.? And they clink together.?Thanks, nice place you have.??Thank you.? I gesture to the picture. ?That is a Louis Icart.?His cheeks are prickled with heat.?Do you like it??He nods as his face blooms with embarrassment. Amplifying his plight, I remove my jacket. The bodice reveals the ovaline curves of my breasts, and I primp my hair to fall over my shoulders. Smouldering, this requires finesse, not too much to scare, just a hint to fire his imagination.I place my hand on his forearm. ?I adore how contented she looks. I imagine she has a skilful lover.?He burns for me now. Bending forwards, I place my beer on the coffee table, providing a view of my cleavage.?I need to wash my dirty feet.? I walk towards the bathroom. ?Sit, make yourself at home.?Wriggling from my jeans, I throw them into the hallway, beaming as the belt clatters on the wooden floor.?I want to know your thoughts about that picture when I return.? It echoes off the tiles.Towelled dry, the cool floor meets my silent footsteps. The jackrabbit alarm of quickened blood dries my mouth. With stealth, reduced to my panties, I creep closer towards Christophe. Kneeling, I slide my hands over his eyes, he is startled, but my giggling calms him.?Well? Describe her for me.??Giselle.? It is a hopeless protest.?Indulge me, Christophe. To impress a woman, you must be able to appreciate art. It is the very soul of romance.??There is no art amongst cowshit.??Christophe,? I tut, ?describe her.?Peering down, I can see the outline of his trapped erection. I am ablaze and cannot ignore the compulsion to have him inside me.?She is beautiful.??Aw? try harder. What do you like about her???She looks so?.?I resist the urge to finish his sentence. ?Go on. You cannot shock me.??Happy.??She is fulfilled? sexually,? I purr. ?What do you like about how she looks???Giselle?.??Christophe. Humour me.?The magnetic pull of his erection taunts me. I ease closer; he will feel the heat of my breath on his cheek and the scent of my perfume.?Tell me,? I whisper, ?What do you like about her???Her body???Her breasts, Christophe. Do you like those???Yes,? he gasps.I remove my hands, ?You can open your eyes, look at them.??Do you like breasts like those or something a little more???A little more.?I can feel how he trembles as my hands slide down his torso. He is so muscular, hewn from oak.?How about mine? Do you like mine??Christophe hesitates, ?Yes.?Pressing my lips to his cheek, my fingertips glide over his arms, soft as feathers.?Giselle? we? we should not.??We should,? kissing his neck, ?because I know you want to. Would you like to see my breasts? Would you like to touch them??The Konyaaltı Escort Bayan pause is too much. I am walking a tightrope, and I might fall.?Yes.?Craning his neck, he tracks my seductive gait as I glide around the sofa. His eyes roam everywhere except meeting mine. Ogling them, they sit just right and flare slightly from my body, and my sensitive nipples are erect from so much temptation.?So, you like these??Swallowing to clear his mouth, he nods with a nervous twitch.Kneeling between his legs, I take his hand; it trembles. Guiding it, I show him how I like to have them caressed and request the delicate pinch of my nipple between his fingers. It is a charge of lightning through me. Christophe?s breathing hitches as I bring his second hand to them.?Yes, do not be shy. Enjoy them.??Giselle? I??His probity tires me, so he sees my tigress eyes. My hands travel along his thighs, almost to the thick outline resting at an oblique angle. Watching how he crumbles, I skirt around it, close but not touching. He is gentle, brushing my hardened nipples with his thumbs.Looking at his lips, the distance between us narrows. The moment of truth and my fragile heart can not take any more rejection. I enjoy their tactile pressure against mine; he is either coy or nervous. I press, and he responds. I ease back, and he surges forwards. Opening his mouth, my tongue slides against his. A stifled whimper should allay his concerns. It is a moment of approval that I hope emboldens him.?Yes???Yes,? he mumbles.He is a good kisser, and perhaps this is the limit of his experience. Leering into his eyes, he has the paralysis of intense arousal. The buckle yields easily, his belt relents, and I open his jeans. Pulling at the denim, he lifts his hips. Tugging at his briefs, they rest around his ankles.I have him in my hand, and our kiss stifles his muted groan. Hot in my grasp, and its unyielding strength is already too much. It is something to treasure, and the craving to fuck runs on an endless loop in my mind. I am the cat with the cream and purr in appreciation. He looks like a rabbit caught in open country. Admiring his erection, placating him with my delighted eyes; it is beautifully curved, with plenty of girth and a pleasing length.From the flames that flickered for hours, an inferno takes hold. Christophe is agitated by nerves and arousal. The seconds will feel like minutes as I hold it, my sultry eyes burning into his as I kiss along its length. The tip of my tongue licks around its swollen head, savouring how it twitches for me.Nuzzling it, I press it to my cheek, ?Do you want me to continue???Oh God, yes.?*-=-I am a pornstar, his only point of reference, so I will give him an unforgettable performance. Slurping on his length and swirling my tongue around it, he has not blinked.Shiny in my hand, I lick around the head. ?Mmm, this is a very nice cock. You like this??Did he have any choice? No. Plunged into my mouth, Christophe grips the armrest and gasps with conviction. Bobbing up and down, my hand provides a corkscrew caress. Only seventeen and inexperienced, his shaking hands run through my hair, and I expect him to push me down on it. He should be careful; I would deep-throat this easily and provide an immediate release. Teasing his ass would be too much, too far, but he would spray his seed like a fountain.