The doorbell chimed at eight sharp in my lavish Montmartre apartment. Nestled high on the Butte, it overlooked Paris’s twinkling sprawl, walls paneled in polished mahogany, Persian rugs sinking underfoot like whispers of wealth. I’d soaked in the clawfoot tub for hours, skin silky from Dior lace lingerie, now hugged by a silk robe. Heart pounding, I opened the door to Georges. Dapper in pinstripe wool, silver hair slicked, cologne sharp as his gaze. He stepped in, top hat tucked under arm, eyes devouring my curves without shame.
We settled in the salon, velvet settee cradling us. Crystal decanter gleamed; I poured cognac, amber liquid burning smooth down throats. His veined hand claimed mine, thumb circling knuckles. ‘Patience, cherie,’ he murmured, voice gravelly from years of secrets. Talk flowed of Gertrude’s wild youth, his fingers tracing my wrist veins, pulse racing under touch. No rush. This was elite play—old money buying time with youth. Outside, German boots echoed faintly; inside, pure entre-soi. He praised my innocence, lips brushing ear, breath hot. I leaned in, robe parting slightly, exposing thigh’s pale gleam.
The Privilege
Lessons began slow. He guided my hand to his lap, fabric tenting faintly. ‘Feel a man’s desire,’ he coached. Unzipped trousers revealed his cock—circumcised, soft, nestled in silvered bush. No steel rod, but velvet weight heavy in palm. I stroked tentatively, skin warm, veins mapping age. He groaned low, eyes hooded. ‘Gentle, like silk on diamonds.’ His mouth found neck, wet kisses trailing collarbone, tongue flicking salt from skin. Fingers slipped inside robe, cupping breasts, thumbs rolling nipples to peaks. I gasped, heat pooling untouched core. He taught reciprocity—my lips on his neck, sucking faint bruises, hands learning grip, twist, tease.
Excess ignited. Robe shed, I knelt naked on rug’s plush weave. His chair throne-like, legs spread. ‘Mouth now, ma rose.’ Theory to practice: lips parted over head, tongue swirling salty pre-cum ghost. Limp but responsive, twitching under sucks, balls drawn tight. He directed: ‘Deeper, swirl, no teeth.’ Fingers tangled my hair, guiding rhythm. His hands roamed free—probing thighs, circling clit without entry, slick folds parting wet. ‘Virgin pearl,’ he rasped, dipping finger shallow, circling hymen’s edge. I bucked, moans muffled on flesh. Intensity built; his breath ragged, hips futile thrust. Climax spilled—thin spurts on tongue, bitter almond taste. I swallowed, empowered. He pulled me up, mouth claiming mine, tongues dueling cum-slick.
The Excess
No penetration. Contract held. But fire kindled.
Calm descended like velvet curtain. He dressed meticulously, straightening tie, kissing cheek chastely. Door clicked shut; silence wrapped luxury. Champagne chilled in silver bucket—I sipped alone, bubbles fizzing on lips, balcony view of occupied Paris indifferent. Secret sealed in thick walls, heavy drapes. Rents wired promptly, virginity intact. Weeks blurred: Mondays, Thursdays—strokes refined, mouth expert, his pleasure my tuition. June brought boches parading below; he fled south, bank fattened with years’ gold. Final kiss: ‘Another claims your bloom.’ Door shut. Penthouse mine—echoes of wet mouths, limp cocks, elite whispers. Discretion absolute, luxury eternal.
