Georges knocks on the heavy metal door. Orianne opens it, her smile welcoming. ‘Evening, Georges, Christianne. Early birds.’ We step in. I feel free in my clinging dress. Orianne’s hand brushes my hips. ‘Stunning.’ ‘You too.’ Her sheath gown slits to the groin, transparent top molding firm breasts, dark areolas teasing through silk. Pierre grills at the outdoor pit, apron low on his hips. ‘You’ve bloomed, Christianne. More radiant, liberated. Jealousy awaits.’ Champagne flutes clink at the polished bar counter. Crisp bubbles burst on my tongue, chilled perfection. Red light flashes. Philippe enters. Tall, dark, green eyes, wavy crop. Effortless stride. Alone? Impossible. I’ll fight to claim him. ‘Christianne?’ His grip engulfs mine, soft yet firm. Exotic accent. Angular face, full lips. Eyes devour me. I pour his flute, pivot stool. Dress hikes, thighs bare. He drinks the view. I cross legs. Soon, armchairs will offer more. Georges joins. Club fills. Hearty plates arrive: succulent grills, Provence rosé, dry and floral. Philippe stays close. Men circle, attentive, cocks straining air. Brushes test. I allow. Troubled, yet craving Philippe’s touch. Is he shy? Dance beckons. I grab his hand. He resists. I grind indecently. He drifts to another. Fine. Youth behind presses hips to mine, kneads breasts clumsily. Hard bar nestles my wet cleft. Georges watches. Philippe eyes me now. Defiance surges. I head upstairs. They follow: Georges, youth, third man. Sealed alcove. I center the mattress. They strip. Ebony youth wins: tall, lean, muscles gleaming under dim light. Curved shaft, impossibly long, from black bush, heavy balls taut. I trace shoulders, pecs. He trembles, arms limp. Georges erect beside. Third man gropes roughly. Fingers trail abs to navel cock-tip. It throbs. Hands veer to hips, grip ass. Georges teases nipples. Finger invades pussy, then two, pumping slow. I arch for mouths on twin cocks. Squeeze youth’s balls, skin back rosy glans. He quakes. Lips engulf. Heat triggers spasm. Salty jet barely contained. Delicious risk. Now Georges: bite, lick, deep throat his girth. Youth’s hand gropes tentatively. Finally. Third licks clit wildly. I pump Georges, breath ragged. Condom snaps. Good cock rams deep. Slaps echo. No joy there. He grips hips, unloads. Free now. I master: devour youth’s length, balls to root. Edge him. Pull off. Ropes blast lips, chin, tits, belly. Potent, briny. Georges lies back. I mount, gland stretches walls perfectly. Slow ride, clenching. Voyeurs peer. Youth watches impale. I guide his finger to clit. ‘Feel the nub. Wet it. Circle gentle.’ Voice hitches. Bass rolls, muscles milk Georges. Finger masters fast. Heart races. Cock pounds cervix. Clit swells. Wave builds slow, endless. Primal roar rips out. New orgasm, lingering bliss. Georges holds. I suck him dry, swallow hot cream. Shower. Naked strut, hands graze. Back at bar. Georges chats Pierre. Orianne pours. Room empties. Host rides woman deep in shadows. Suitors bow out. ‘Ravished us, Madame. Christianne on site?’ ‘Yes.’ Orianne beams. ‘Club philosophy suits you.’ Philippe sits. Youth—Albert—returns. Juice for him. 22, Cameroonian student. Virgin hunt. Orianne leads to sofas. Philippe’s hand climbs calf. I tease shut. Orianne spreads, slit gleams. ‘Touch.’ Albert kneels, fingers thighs, clit recall. Too fast. She guides deep. Slow fuck mimics. Philippe invades me: fingers probe, tongue flicks clit. I buck. Feet on shoulders, ass lifts. Tongue rims anus. ‘Oh yes!’ Orianne copies. Albert lunges there. She moans. They descend. My breath fractures. Finger slips anus—unexpected quake. Orgasm crashes. Philippe apologizes. We join below. Orianne cums on Albert’s tongue, legs pinned. I strip, cuddle her post-bliss. Philippe’s cock: short, thick, iron. Deep throat strains jaws. Succulent sighs. Orianne sheathes Albert, side-fucks. I mirror: girth splits me. ‘Good?’ Orianne gasps. Eyes roll. Tongues tangle. Dual thrusts sync. Cums collide, screams blend. Males withdraw, we milk loads on skin. Kiss soft. Albert scores. Youth’s vigor endless. Philippe dresses. ‘My knight.’ Car hums. Georges strokes thighs. ‘Ready for our circle? Elite Euro soirees. No condoms. Serology test first.’ Honored.
