This morning, no urge to rise. Lounging on rumpled sheets, I fantasize ditching the scooter rush to the office. Instead, wander Paris aimlessly. Bask in sun rays. Eye the pretty Parisiennes, décolletés agape. My insistent gaze stirs them.
Dream on: a passerby catches me. ‘Nothing planned? Me neither. Terrace breakfast here, or coffee at mine—right upstairs.’
The Privilege
‘Well, I don’t know…’
‘Come on, for me. My day’s dull post-gym. You could liven it.’
I pretend to ponder, devouring her body openly. She hides nothing. Green eyes, long hair seduce. Oversized sweater hints at round, generous breasts. Tight stretchy shorts sculpt toned legs… and camel toe folds. Already swollen with desire?
Seconds stretch deliciously. She watches casually. My cock hardens.
‘Okay, coffee it is.’
‘Great. Quick shower, then ready. Bore you? Just leave.’
‘No rush. People rarely bore me. Love studying them.’
‘I noticed.’
‘No, really—watching them shop, read papers. Especially beauties like you. All assets scanned. Forgive me.’
‘No forgiveness needed. Love the gaze post-swim. Peak form.’
Upstairs, her apartment gleams. Tiny but vast under immense verrière. Exquisite light floods open spaces. Skylight walls bathe everything in golden haze. She bids me sit, grab a paper. Heads to shower.
In the hallway mirror—perfect voyeur angle—she strips. Top off, breasts full and pert. Shorts down, nearly shaved pussy gleams. Breath catches.
‘Eve’s attire stuns. Rare beauty!’
She shields tits and slit briefly. ‘Oh! Mirror’s traitor.’
‘You blushed.’
‘Sorry…’
‘No harm. Modesty’s not my forte. But you saw my pussy.’
‘Gorgeous, inviting.’
‘Thanks. I pamper it. Want a closer look?’
‘Politely asked…’
Célia—name glimpsed—nears, untouchable. Foot on sofa arm, thighs part. Labia pristine, demonic precision. Top tuft elegant.
‘Impeccable work.’
‘Frequent care. Best for sex.’
‘Agreed. Arousing.’
Her toes press my bulge, muscled leg flexed. Cock throbs.
The Excess
‘Stop, or restraint fails.’
‘Worry not.’ Shower calls. ‘Join. Scrub my back with that massage flower.’
Water splashes. I’m soaked.
‘Ditch clothes. Hot enough for cool rinse.’
‘Douche spacious. Luxe teak bench.’
Naked, I enter. Soapy hands seize my rigid cock. Stroke, rinse. She sits, devours it.
Her tits perfect in my palms.
‘Good, but your teases…’
‘Shush. Cum.’
‘Deep throat then. Expert.’
She engulfs, pistons fast. I signal. First spurt down throat. Rest paints face, tits. She massages cum in, glistening under verrière glow.
Kneel for her pussy. Tongue dives.
‘Hold—rinse first. Juice, coffee, then play.’
Out. Relaxed, she’s primed. Primal hunger.
Shoulders draped in silky Japanese kimono shirt. Translucent luxury, whispering against damp skin. Femininity radiates—graceful sway, poised head, playful lips. Fragile facade, steel core.
Legs sheen with droplets. Leaves me nude, grinning. Towel knotted, I follow. Won’t miss her post-blowjob radiance at 10 a.m. sun.
Coffee brews. Her eyes rake my belly.
‘Slack on sports? Beer gut?’
‘That paunch? Unfair attack. Yours is flawless.’
‘Slutty me. Love it—and your belly.’
Collides against me. Caresses everywhere. Coffee forgotten. Cock stirs. I grip ass cheeks, fingers grazing slick slit between thighs.
Her nails rake my back. Pushed to bar stool, barely seated. Tongue laps hardening tits, then hot, parting pussy. Nectar flows. Hands on shoulders, eyes roll back. Thighs splay. I lap every fold, high-low.
She tenses. Floodgates open. I devour. She shudders, cries soft-savage. ‘Don’t stop. Fingers in ass, cunt. Suck more. Again!’
Phone rings. Fifteenth peal. She grabs, voice husky. I pour coffee, fetch jam, honey, creamy yogurts.
Admire the sunlit haven. Verrière shields secrets. Glass walls guard our primal interlude. Calm descends in absolute comfort.
