Renaissance
by Alex Barton
One
Samantha knew she had to be strong and not break down and cry when her solicitor rang and told her the arrangements following Richard’s death were completed and she had lost the fight to stay in her apartment. There had been times when it seemed the heartache, the pain of Richard’s death, the misery of being confronted by his vengeful wife would overwhelm Samantha as she fought to keep what Richard had said would always be hers. But now the fight was over.
“I’m sorry, Sam, but there was nothing in Richard’s will that gives you ownership. He paid the mortgage but he didn’t leave it to you in his will.”
Sam did her best to be defiant. “I take it no one’s going to mind if I go away for a few days? I mean can anyone change the locks or anything?”
“Oh God, no. You have three months before you’re required to vacate. Legally no one can do anything during that time.” The solicitor paused. Then he asked, “What were you thinking of doing?”
Sam wondered if he really cared. “I’m not sure yet. I just want to get away. Escape from all the memories.”
“That sounds like a good idea. It’ll give you time to think everything over so you can start rebuilding your life when you get back.”
Sam didn’t want to think about rebuilding or even returning. As soon as she said the words she knew she wanted to get as far away from London as she could. And she knew exactly where she was going.
In the space of an hour she had gathered her passport and credit cards, dressed in a cashmere sweater and jeans, packed a suitcase, rung the magazine she worked for as a freelance editor and told them she was going on holiday and would take the manuscripts she was working on with her. She backed her car out of the garage and headed for Portsmouth and the ferry services to the west coast of France.
Sam wanted to go back to the place she remembered from her teenage years, on holiday with her parents and intent on learning about the wonders of other places, other peoples, and other cultures. She longed to recapture some of that innocence, walking the beaches and cliffs of the Côte Sauvage, the windswept southern coast of Brittany that has been battered by the mountainous waves of the eastern Atlantic for thousands of years.
*
Leaning against a rail on the deck outside the passenger lounge, enjoying the feel of the wind in her hair, Sam offered a silent prayer of thanks the sea was smooth; the waves turning a golden orange as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon. She could hear the dull throb of the engines and see the trail of white foam thrown up behind the ship. In only seven hours she would be driving south from St-Malo, every kilometer taking her further away from the sadness that had enveloped her since Richard’s death.
“Your hair looks very beautiful in the setting sun,” a voice said, and Sam turned.
“Oh?” she said to the young man standing behind her with a slight smile on his face.
“Yes. If you don’t mind my saying so.” He spoke English with a strong French accent.
Sam noticed he dropped his gaze unashamedly from her face to her breasts. “I suppose not,” she said and started to walk away.
“Oh, it is purely an artistic impression,” the young man said quickly. “I am an artist so I can’t help noticing feminine beauty.”
Something made Sam stop. She knew she was being rude to the young Frenchman and it suddenly felt nice to be paid a compliment.
“It’s kind of you to say so,” she said, her voice softer.
Sam took in the thick mass of black, wavy hair the young man kept sweeping back from his face with his right hand. His fingers were long and slender, those of an artist. His eyes were blue behind tortoiseshell glasses, his smile natural and unforced. He did not look like someone who made a habit of picking up women with casual compliments.
The young man stepped forward and pulled open the door of the lounge.
“My name is Alain Bazon. Can I buy you a cognac -?”
“Samantha. Sam. Yes, all right, that would be nice.” She went to sit down at a table while he made his way over to the bar.
Alain bought the drinks and said as he joined her, “It is a shame you shorten your name to something so masculine. Samantha is so much nicer than Sam.”
“I was named after an aunt.”
“It is still a beautiful name,” Alain said, raising his glass to her.
“Is everything beautiful for you?” Sam said sharply, regretting immediately it sounded like a criticism. But she went on, “My hair, my name – ”
“Merely as beautiful as the woman who carries them,” Alain said.
Sam was about to laugh when she saw he was being serious. There was no way she would describe herself as beautiful. She knew she was attractive, and her hair was a lustrous golden-blonde, but she thought her breasts were too big for her petite frame, her tummy was rounded and her bottom was plump and curvy. Sam sighed as she remembered Richard telling her how much he adored her body; it seemed like forever since her lover had made her cry out in the blissful release of orgasm.
“Don’t tell me. In a moment you’ll find the courage to ask if you can sketch me in the nude. Just slip out of those clothes, Madame, you’ll say, and I will immortalize you. Before I ravish you, of course.”
Alain laughed. “Oh, please, Sam…nothing so predictable. A true artist would not combine the two. He would sketch single-mindedly until the portrait was finished. There would be no thought in his mind for lovemaking until he put down his charcoal.”
His eyes held Sam’s and he lowered his voice theatrically. “However, once the work was done and he was sharing a drink with his gorgeous model who would compliment him on the accuracy of his portraiture, she might well be happy to thank him in whatever way seemed appropriate…”
Sam couldn’t help smiling. She was flattered Alain was trying so hard to seduce her.
Alain smiled and shrugged. “That, at least, is the fantasy,” he said lightly. “Not to mention owning a huge studio apartment in the center of Paris and selling my paintings to a world-famous dealer for millions of euros.”
Sam laughed with genuine amusement. “It’s nice to have dreams when you’re young.”
Alain gave her a piercing look and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing.
“Sam, I am 24 and you are no more than ten or fifteen years older than me, and it is obvious from the absence of wedding ring you are not the ‘Madame’ you claim to be.”
“You’re very perceptive,” she said.
“An artist’s eye for detail. Now, it is your turn to buy the cognac as I am a struggling artist, and I would be very willing to listen if you wanted to talk.”
“Oh god, there’s no way I want to tell you my life story,” Sam said dismissively. But she still found herself buying a bottle rather than just two more drinks, deciding it wasn’t everyday a handsome young Frenchman was prepared to listen while she explained why she was running away from everything and everyone she had ever known.
*
Sam couldn’t recall the moment she stopped talking and drifted off to sleep, but she woke to find her head resting in Alain’s lap and felt his hand lying across her chest, his hand cupping the weight of her left breast. For a moment she wondered whether to be offended but then decided she liked the feeling of Alain’s warm fingers holding her. The bar was empty, the bartender gone.
“Bonjour,” a voice said from above her. “There is just time for coffee and croissants before we dock.”
She sat up, a little embarrassed for having fallen asleep on the young Frenchman although he seemed quite unconcerned.
“God, I must look a fright,” she said and ran her fingers through her tousled hair.
“Of course not. You are – ” he started to say and Sam cut him off.
“I know. Beautiful.”
Alain grinned, and Sam couldn’t help wishing for a moment their time together could have been longer. The phrase ‘strangers passing in the night’ came to her mind.
She led the way to the top deck café, now serving breakfast, and asked, “Where are you headed when we dock? Is someone meeting you?”
“I am going home. To Auray,” Alain said. “It is a pretty town in southern Brittany. I must hitchhike because I am a penniless artist.”
“I’m going to the Côte Sauvage,” Sam said, keeping her voice light. “And I have a car. I could give you a lift if you like?”
Alain shook his head. “I could not impose, Sam,” he said.
“Why?” Sam guessed his protest was for show but she played along. “I’ve said I’m going that way.”
“Yes. To forget for a while,” Alain said, his voice full of sorrow for her. He paused and then said, “Alright, that would be most kind. And my father will be only too happy to provide a room for you.”
“Oh but I couldn’t – ” Sam started to say, thinking Alain meant in a private house.
Alain shook his head. “He is the patron of the best hotel in Auray. Very small but très chic and he is a true artist in the kitchen. Papa will repay you for the kindness of your giving me a lift.”
“That sounds perfect,” Sam said. And she meant it.
*
Two
Sam smiled at Alain’s skeptical look when he saw she was driving a Porsche, but he visibly relaxed when he saw how skillfully she drove out of St. Malo and on to the N137 south towards Rennes. They stopped for lunch just outside the city and then Sam turned southwest towards Vannes and Auray, driving into the small riverside town around four in the afternoon.
Following Alain’s directions, Sam drove carefully down a steep cobbled street that brought them out at a picturesque stone bridge across a river. There was a half-timbered building on the other side with tables and chairs outside.
“This is the old quarter, St. Goustan,” Alain said. “There is the hotel. Will you park in front while I go in for a moment? I will not be long.”
“Yes. Of course.” Sam wondered how Papa would react to Alain having brought an unexpected female guest.
Alain’s father turned out to be warm and welcoming, kissing Sam on both cheeks. He picked up her bags and led the way to a tastefully furnished room with a view of the river winding slowly and gently downstream.
“Oh this is perfect, Monsieur Bazon. Thank you,” Sam said, genuinely pleased.
“Please, call me Philippe, Samantha. You will join us for dinner? I hope you will not mind sharing a drink with Alain beforehand because we do not eat until after I have attended to my guests.”
“Of course,” Sam said. “I look forward to it.”
Philippe Bazon smiled and left the room and Sam started to unpack, amazed to find herself happily humming a French melody she remembered from a holiday she had taken with her parents a lifetime ago.
*
The night was warm and dry. Sam walked down to the hotel’s bar wearing only a light cotton print skirt and a sleeveless cardigan buttoned up the front. Although her breasts were too big for her not to wear a bra she still went without, wanting to be unfettered, free, to have the pleasure of feeling her nipples rubbing against the gorgeously soft wool. It was part of her new persona, a sensuous woman who didn’t feel self-conscious wearing nothing under her sweater and skirt.
Alain was waiting for her and Sam felt a little thrill of sexual desire when she saw his smile of pleasure at seeing her. He was wearing a white cotton shirt and dark brown corduroy pants. He looked tanned, handsome, every inch the young artist, carefree and delighted to respond to her need for romance and laughter.
“I ordered you a Kir Royale,” Alain said and handed her the mix of crème de cassis and white wine. It was strong and fragrant and Sam loved the way the alcohol instantly relaxed her, made her alive to the sound of the river, the smells drifting in from the dining room, the coolness of the leather seat against the cheeks of her bottom, bare beneath her skirt. The thrill of desire she felt earlier grew stronger and her cunt felt creamy, making her aware of how long it had been since she had been fucked. Her arousal suddenly made her possessive as she listened to Alain’s stories about his life in Paris.
“And are there girls, a girlfriend?” she asked.
“No one special,” he said. “No one who would miss me if I was not there.”
“That’s a pity,” Sam said, and Alain smiled at her.
They talked until Philippe called them for dinner and served gigot of lamb and locally grown vegetables. The food and wine were superb and Sam joined with Alain’s toast to his father, agreeing his son had not exaggerated his skill in the kitchen. Philippe Bazon glowed with pleasure, delighted by the compliment.
“Will you come for a walk with me?” Alain asked when they had finished eating and Sam emptied her coffee cup.
She looked across at Philippe, half-hoping he would object. The wine had lowered her inhibitions and she was enjoying having not one but two attractive Frenchmen treat her as the center of attention.
“But of course, you must,” said Philippe, smiling at her. “You should see the gardens of the ruined monastery. They are beautiful in the moonlight and it is said to be haunted from the time when Brittany had its own kings.”
“That would be lovely,” Sam said, grateful Philippe showed no resentment at the attention his son was paying her.
She followed Alain as he led the way out of the hotel and toward the bridge over the river. When they reached the mid-point he stopped and leaned over, watching the waters as they swirled away into the darkness.
“When I was young I used to come here all the time,” he said. “I would talk to my mother in my mind and believe the river carried my words to her.”
Sam asked, “What happened to her?”
“She died in an accident. A speeding police car left the road and smashed her car into a wall. Papa bought the hotel with the compensation we were given by the government. I hardly knew her: I was only three when she was killed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There is no need for you to be,” Alain said and Sam saw him smile in the glow of the overhead streetlight. “I only told you because standing here reminded me.”
“Did it work, the river carrying your words?”
“I like to think so,” Alain said and smiled. He started walking and Sam followed him up the cobbled street to the town square. There was a blaze of light from a bar that was still open and two old men were sitting on chairs outside, talking softly.
“Bonsoir,” Alain called as he and Sam walked past.
They came to an iron gate in a high wall between two buildings. Alain pushed it open and said, “Here. This is the entrance to the monastery gardens.”
Sam followed him, her senses suddenly filled with the scent of blossom on the night air. What was it Philippe had said? That the garden was full of ghosts from medieval times? Sam felt as if a much more recent ghost was standing beside her. The remembrance that she had so often shared such experiences with Richard was very strong as she walked with Alain along a gravel pathway between neatly mown lawns and rhododendron bushes heavy with flowers. Sam walked over to an iron-framed bench, resting her hands on the back as she closed her eyes, surrounded by the smells and the silence.
Alain came up behind her and bent his head into the curve of her neck, his lips barely touching against the smooth skin. Sam let out a soft sigh and Alain kissed her neck more firmly, sliding his lips up under her hair to the lobe of her ear. He bit it gently, making Sam shiver with renewed arousal. Instinctively she moved her legs apart and leaned back against his chest, unresisting as his hands closed over the fullness of her breasts, cupping them through her cardigan.
Sam opened her eyes and tried to turn so she and Alain could kiss but he held her with his body against the back of the bench. She gasped when he started opening the buttons of her cardigan and exposed her heavy breasts, filling his hands with their soft weight, caressing them and rolling the stiff tips of her nipples between his fingers. She felt him press the hardness of his cock into the furrow between her buttocks and realized she was moments away from being fucked.
“Alain…please,” Sam said softly, her voice betraying her desire. “I want to, but not here. Can we go back to the hotel?”
“Of course,” and he released her from his embrace and stood back so Sam could button her cardigan.
The sense of unease Sam felt in the gardens lessened with every step she took towards the hotel. At the bottom of the stairs leading up to the guest rooms Alain paused for a moment and said, “I must just say goodnight to Papa.”
Sam leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek. “Thank him for inviting me to stay,” she said softly.
“It is our pleasure. I hope you will remain for as long as you like. At least until you find the peace you are looking for.”
Sam smiled but didn’t reply.
She walked to her room and closed the door behind her, leaving the light off and the curtains open so she could stand and watch the river, its surface shimmering in the moonlight. There was a soft tap and Sam drew Alain into the moonlit room and put two fingers on his lips as a signal not to speak.
She watched Alain’s face as she unbuttoned the sleeveless cardigan and drew it off her shoulders. Then she hooked her fingers inside the waist of her print skirt and pushed it down over her hips. As she did so, Sam shook her hair to fan it across her shoulders and down her back, the movement making her breasts jiggle and sway.
“Now you,” she said softly as she sat on the bed, her face level with his groin.
Alain stood in front of her and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his pants. He dropped it on the floor and stood with his hands by his sides as Sam reached up and ran her hands down along the smooth skin of his neck and across the muscles of his chest. She moved her hands lower, marveling at the flatness of his stomach, delighting in the warm smell coming from his skin. She put her lips to it, wanting to taste his flesh, the taut muscles rippling in response as she opened her lips and trailed her tongue across the smooth surface.
The Frenchman rested his hands gently on her head as Sam reached for the buckle of his belt. She flicked the clasp, ran the zip down, and opened his pants. His cock was already hard, the head protruding above the waistband of his briefs. She hooked her fingers inside the waistband of his pants and briefs and pushed them both down his legs. He quickly stepped out of them and kicked them away. The movement made his cock quiver and sway and then it stood out hard and straight from his groin, the tip throbbing, precum dripping from the glans.
For a long moment Sam stared at Alain’s cock. She loved its size, the smell of it. She wanted to taste it, make love to it with her mouth, suck his sperm from it. She stretched her arms up to lay her hands on his chest, spreading her body into an attitude of worship as she opened her lips and sucked as much of his cock into her mouth as she could.
Slowly and carefully Sam worked her ovaled lips down the length of Alain’s cock, working the glans past her palate. She still hadn’t captured all of him when the head entered her throat, his cock filling her mouth with its heat and salty flavor, semen trickling down her throat and into her stomach. He tasted wonderful.
Bit by bit, Sam released the saliva-slick length of Alain’s cockshaft from the confines of her mouth. She swirled her mouth round the swollen head when it appeared, pressing her lips against the ridge behind his glans to squeeze out delicious droplets of sperm which she swallowed. Then she took him back into her throat, inhaling the masculine scent of his pubic hair and pendant balls.
A low groan of pleasure escaped the Frenchman’s chest and he bent at the waist to reach under Sam’s outstretched arms to take her breasts in his hands, squeezing their weight softly in time to the movements of her head and mouth as she feasted on his cock. She gurgled with pleasure and increased the hot suction of her mouth, hollowing her cheeks to draw at the long shaft and the bulging head.
Sam could feel the tension building in Alain’s body as he released her breasts and straightened up. His legs started to tremble and his hips jerked as he tried to push every inch of his cock, right up to his balls, into her greedily sucking mouth. She moved her head tirelessly, pumping Alain’s prick with the greedy embrace of her lips, faster and faster until his voice rasped in his throat and he cried out, “Oui, Sam, ah oui!”
Spurts of warm, creamy cum filled Sam’s mouth and she swallowed greedily. There was so much, some of the thick liquid was forced back between the pulsating shaft and Sam’s slippery lips but she slithered and twisted her tongue around the pumping glans to lick up Alain’s sperm, determined not to waste a drop.
When at last the flow of semen slowed, Sam let the head of Alain’s cock slip from between her lips. She sat back on the bed, gazing up at him lovingly as he brought his breathing under control and tried to stop shaking from the intensity of his orgasm.
Alain rested for a moment and then put his hands on Sam’s shoulders, signaling she should lie back. He quickly climbed between her legs and lifted her thighs onto his shoulders, his face close to the lips of her cunt, the scent of her arousal filling the air as strongly as that of hot semen. He pursed his lips and blew out the gentlest stream of warm air onto Sam’s erect clit.
“Ohh,” she moaned, reaching up with her hands to thread her fingers through his hair.
He blew warm air along the lips of her cunt and over the pink pucker of her asshole.
“Ohhh!” Sam moaned, a little louder.
Gently Alain used his thumbs to prize open the slippery lips of her cunt and this time he blew warm air from the erect bud of her clit back and forth along the divide, into the hole and then against the twitching muscle of her anus. He put his tongue out and worked it against the taut muscle of her anal sphincter, pressing it open until the wet tip penetrated her rectum.
“Ohhh — ohhh!” Sam moaned, moving her head from side to side on the pillow, cupping her breasts in her hands and caressing them.
Alain used his saliva as a lubricant to slide two fingers in place of his tongue into her asshole, working them in and out to heighten her pleasure. At the same time, he moved his head back and pressed his pursed lips down the shaft of her straining clit, applying the gentlest pressure to the base and flicking the tip with his tongue.
“Alain — YESSS!” Sam cried and she jerked her hips up, her head thrashing from side to side, her belly spasming as she climaxed, flooding the Frenchman’s mouth as he licked and lapped up the sweet cream pouring from the opening of her pussy.
Sam expected Alain to give her time to catch her breath. But he didn’t. He leaned over her body and whispered in her ear, “Turn over for me,” and she did as he asked, settling herself onto the pillow, the slightly rough cotton sheet deliciously sensual against her aroused nipples.
And then Alain settled himself between her legs and Sam felt him pull open the cheeks of her ass so he could lick up and down the divide, first squirming his tongue between the lips of her cunt, dripping wet from her climax, then up along the furrow to the tight bud of her anus. It was a delicious sensation as Alain feasted on her two openings.
Overwhelmed by the sensation, Sam moaned into the pillow as Alain’s tongue slid deep into her cunt, greedily licking and lapping up her sex honey before sliding purposefully to the rosette of her asshole to press inside the tight opening, easing the muscle open so the wet flesh could push deep into her rectum. Sam felt as if she her ass was being fucked by something delightfully warm and slippery, Alain’s tongue finding every sensitive nerve-ending and making her pussy vibrate in response to his thrusts deep into her ass.
Minutes felt like hours as Sam luxuriated in the sweetness of being rimmed and then the tongue gently withdrew. A second later she felt fingers reach between her legs and prize apart the lips of her cunt. The swollen tip of Alain’s cock nudged against the opening. Sam raised her hips and moaned softly with intense delight as Alain settled his body on top of hers and slid effortlessly into the welcoming warmth.
For several minutes Sam bucked and shuddered in rhythm with the hot hard cock that pistoned back and forth in her cunt, one moment buried full length inside her body and the next withdrawn until only the head was lodged within her clasping pussylips. Alain reached his hands under Sam to cup her breasts, squeezing and kneading their soft weight as he panted and shuddered with lust, his mouth close to her ear while Sam fought to engulf him with her cunt, arching her spine so she could take in every inch of his pounding prick.
Every stroke, from hard and deep to shallow and teasing, Sam absorbed, loving Alain’s skill in judging just which type of thrust she needed next. She felt like a sexual plaything, entirely at the mercy of the prick that was one moment stretching wide the wet lips of her cunt, the next buried so far inside her she gasped from the sensation of being full to the brim.
And then suddenly the movements of the cock in her body grew stronger. Alain ground his hips against Sam’s upturned buttocks as he began to come for a second time, the shaft of his cock throbbing in the sheath of her pussy. He cried out, jerked, shuddered, and Sam felt gushes of hot semen pour into her cunt, a liquid heat that set off her own climax, an explosion of sensation deep in her belly so intensely pleasurable she screamed into the pillow.
The strength of Alain’s thrusts gradually lessened. “Oh Alain, that was wonderful,” Sam said, a little surprised when he withdrew his cock completely from the spasming depths of her cunt. She had wanted him to stay inside her as they fell asleep together.
“I will not be long,” he whispered and Sam stretched contentedly, enjoying the delightful sensation of having had her mouth and pussy thoroughly fucked by the virile young Frenchman.
Two or three minutes later Sam felt the weight of a body settle once more between her legs. She was about to turn over when a hand slipped between her buttocks and another closed over her mons, the fingers pulling her pussylips back to expose the bud of her erect clit. She groaned with the delicious sensation as fingers wet with her slippery cream rolled the tiny bud back and forth and she cried out as she felt the curvy globes of her buttocks being separated and felt the massively swollen head of a cock press against her anus. She was thrilled Alain had regained his erection so quickly and she moaned, “Oh yesss..!” quivering with excitement at the realization she was about to be fucked in the ass.
Within seconds the slippery glans had pried the taut muscle apart and lodged in the opening, the engorged shaft distending the puckered rosette. Sam gasped and gritted her teeth, suddenly realizing how long it had been since a man’s cock had plundered that receptive part of her body.
The cock moved forward and pushed ever more deeply inside Sam’s back passage. She could feel her rectum slowly relaxing to accommodate the thickness, each tiny advance sending waves of pleasure into her belly, heightened by the skilled fingers stroking and rubbing her clit and sliding back and forth in the dripping sheath of her cunt.
And then the huge cock was driven completely into her asshole, belly and balls slapping against her upturned buttocks and she was being sodomized, the pumping increasing in tempo as she moaned in ecstasy, “Yes – fuck my ass, Alain! Come in my ass – I want to feel you spurting inside me!”
As she spoke the vibrations radiating out from the depths of her over-filled rectum made Sam come, a liquid climax that faded quickly and only made her hotter, a brief stab of pleasure there and then gone. She felt stretched to the limits but wonderfully so and she wriggled her backside against her lover’s groin, her bowels sucking in the head of his cock, her asshole clenched round him, milking his prick, drawing the cum up from his balls.
“I love this,” Sam gasped, lost in the double pleasure she was feeling from the fingers working in the sopping depths of her pussy and the cock thrusting back and forth in her rectum. She was amazed how far Alain stretched the tight muscle of her anus, how big he felt in her back passage, how deeply he penetrated her bowels, and she cried out, “Oh god, it feels so good!”
“Yes — yes it does,” a man’s voice said next to her ear, a voice deeper than his son’s and Sam screamed, wriggled her ass in ecstasy, her breasts quivering as another intense climax burst within her belly. The cock buried in her bottom throbbed and Sam felt an explosion of sensation as huge spurts of stored-up sperm poured into her bowels. Time and again she felt Philippe Bazon’s hips jerk as he emptied his spunk into her, his cock sliding back and forth in the slippery mass until finally the movements of his body slowed and the intensity of his orgasm ebbed.
Sam felt the coolness of the night air on the sweat gathered at the base of her spine as Philippe gently withdrew his cock from her rectum. She steeled herself and turned around to face the man who had just emptied his balls into her ass.
“You shared me,” Sam said to Philippe, her eyes meeting his.
“Yes. Yes, we did. I wanted you as much as Alain. But then you wanted us both also.”
Sam was amazed Philippe had guessed her thoughts after dinner. Had it been that obvious?
She paused for a moment. Then she said, “Is Alain coming back to bed?”
“He was not sure how you would react to his act of generosity…” Philippe said, leaving the statement hanging in the air.
Sam paused for another, longer moment. Then she leaned over and kissed Philippe gently on the lips, dragging the tips of her breasts slowly across his chest.
“Why don’t you call him and you can both find out,” she said softly.
*
Three
“Sam, please, you must not move!”
Alain’s voice showed his irritation, an irritation made even greater when the sketchpad he was balancing on his knee slipped.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Samantha said. “It was just I had sand, it was itching me.” She smiled in an effort to defuse her young lover’s anger but he only grunted and continued to sketch.
Samantha knew Alain was intent on capturing her image. Charcoal, pastels, paint, he used every medium at his disposal to express the beauty he saw in her face, the sensuality of her body. He called her his muse and planned to devote an entire exhibition to her, charming and scandalizing Paris by displaying her every mood and action, from her face in repose in the morning, to a study of her cunt slick with his sperm and her asshole gaping after he had fucked her cunt and asshole to overflowing with his sperm. Samantha had blushed when he told her what he planned. The thought that her relatives and friends might see such a picture shocked her.
Or did it?
Samantha was a very different woman from the one who had fled to France a month earlier. She had not foreseen how quickly and easily she would fall into a relationship with Alain while enjoying being made love to by Philippe whenever the mood took her. She discovered the only boundary to her pleasure was the physical limits of what her body could accommodate, but her desire to satisfy the passions of the two men was very strong.
Samantha never spent the night with Philippe but always returned to her own bed, out of recognition that her first choice of lover had been his son. Early each morning she would untangle herself from the arms of Alain and lie in a bath, luxuriating in the heat and stroking between her legs, remembering the movements, the caresses, the ecstatic shudders of the night before. Then she would dress in a cotton floral-print dress, her body naked underneath as the perfect antidote to the sticky heat of the summer and make her way to the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast.
She would delight in the taste and smell of freshly baked croissants, unsalted Normandy butter, plum jam and tiny cups of strong black coffee, a day-old English newspaper propped up in front of her. Acknowledging the smiles of the arriving female staff and the whistles of appreciation from the deliverymen, she would wait for Philippe to compose the evening menu, then she would accompany him to the market, delighting in the steep walk from the hotel by the side of the river up the hill to the centre-ville.
Shopping for meat, poultry and fish gave her an opportunity to catch up on gossip and flirt happily with the male stallholders who stared with Gallic longing at her breasts, too big for her petite frame, and her ample ass, which jiggled and bounced as she walked. Some of the wives scowled at her but Samantha would just smile in response, unconcerned by their suspicions despite an awareness that part of their animosity was because she was English.
Occasionally Samantha would drop into a salon to have her hair done, but usually she walked back to the hotel with Philippe, leaving him to start the preparations for lunch while she took a big, milky coffee to Alain who would be in the shower or sitting in the balcony of their room, sketching the constantly changing face of the river. Alain always decided where they would go for the day: to the beach, walking along the coastal cliffs, or into Rennes, the closest city, to shop and go to the movies. It was an idyllic, undemanding existence, in exchange for which Samantha gave herself to her young lover each night, twisting and turning in ecstatic response as he emptied his balls into every hole in her body.
Today, Alain had decreed they would go to the beach, packing their lunch of Parma ham, bread, cheeses, fruit and wine in a hamper. He chose where he wanted Samantha to sit, arranged the sun umbrella behind her, chose the color of the towel she sat on and arranged it beneath her, chose the sunhat and the angle at which she must wear it, even chose the sunglasses she wore from the pairs she owned. Then he slipped a strap of the dress off her shoulder to expose the creamy whiteness of a full naked breast. He tongued the nipple to stiffness and stepped back, leaving her under strict instructions not to move. Amused, Samantha did as she was told until the moment when she squirmed, pretending an itch when, in reality, her pussy was wet and swollen and needy.
“Is it nearly lunchtime?” she asked, staying perfectly still.
“Very soon,” he said, his eyes staring at her breasts to capture a curve his hand reproduced quickly on paper.
Samantha waited another five minutes. Then she said, “Alain, you did say it was nearly time for lunch?”
Alain laughed and put the pad aside. “Samantha,” he said with a smile. “You are impossible. I am concentrating on the creation of fine art and you are aware only of your stomach.”
Samantha pulled her sunglasses down slightly so her eyes met his. “And my creamy cunt,” she said. “That’s hungry, too.”
“Eh bien, which needs feeding first, hmm?”
“Stomach,” she said, and reached for the hamper. “What would you like?”
“Nothing for a few minutes. I am hot and a swim will do me good.”
Alain stood up and stretched, then pulled his shirt off and dropped it on the sand. He was already wearing swim trunks and Samantha admired the rippling muscles in his back and the strength in his thighs as he jogged down to the surf and waded in far enough to be able to dive under the surface.
For a while she ate in silence, enjoying the food and the cool breeze blew in from the sea. She watched Alain appear and disappear until he stood free of the water and padded up the beach toward her. She threw him a towel.
“I don’t know what Paradise is supposed to look like but this comes pretty close,” she said as she watched Alain rubbed the towel across the flatness of his belly.
She bit into a ripe peach and felt the juice dribble from the fullness of her bottom lip and down her chin. She was about to reach for a napkin to wipe it off when Alain said, “No. Let me.”
He walked closer so his groin was level with her face. Then he reached down and cupped Samantha’s chin in his fingers and used his thumb to wipe off the juice. It was an overtly sexual gesture and Samantha responded by reaching up and hooking her thumbs in the waistband of Alain’s wet trunks. She pushed them down, exposing his thickening prick.
Samantha stroked Alain’s sex with her cool fingertips until he was erect. Then she gently kneaded and massaged his flesh while she reached down between her legs to expose her pussy to his gaze. They both heard the wet slurp as she pushed two fingers into the hole and began to masturbate.
As soon as Alain’s cock was fully erect and throbbing, Samantha treated the whole of her lover’s swollen glans to a gentle, moist, tongue-tip massage. Sometimes, when he was highly aroused, this was enough to make him ejaculate over her nose and cheeks so she licked for only a few moments before she opened her mouth and closed her lips on the ridge while she stroked the underside with her tongue, tantalizing him. Then, very slowly, she moved down on the throbbing shaft, each movement back and forth taking in an inch more than the last. Samantha could tell from Alain’s breathing and the way he tangled his fingers in her hair he loved what she was doing to him.
At last she worked every bit of the swollen shaft into her mouth and down into her throat, rolling his very full balls with the fingers of her free hand and tickling the soft globes as she started to suck his cock.
Samantha was gentle and delicate in her sucking and licking because she wanted to give her lover the greatest amount of pleasure for the longest time possible. Time and again she bobbed her head up and down, lifting up so the saliva-slick length of his cock almost slid from her mouth, then sank back down, easing his prick into her throat so she could bury her nose in the wet fur of his curly black pubic hair.
Several times she felt the warning swelling of his glans as he was about to climax and she pressed her tongue tightly against the base of his cock to hold back the threatened gushes until the pressure lessened, then she sucked gently for another minute. A second time he was close to climax, but she blocked the flow until he had relaxed again. Each time she knew the soft moist caress of her lips and tongue felt even more satisfying to his throbbing, bursting penis as she sucked it softly, slowly, and sweetly.
When the pressure built up again and the glans started to throb, Samantha aided, rather than blocked, the flow and Alain groaned loudly, a stream of hot cum pouring from the head of his cock into her mouth. Samantha adored the taste of his semen and savored every drop that flowed out of him, swallowing it down until his balls stopped pumping, keeping up the gentle sucking motion until he could take it no longer and had to push her head off his spent prick.
Some of the thick salty liquid that had gushed into her mouth was dripping down her chin as Samantha raised her face to smile up at him. She knew he would recover within minutes and she longed for his cock to replace the fingers she had buried in her wetly sucking cunt.
But Alain had other ideas.
“Yes – oh yes chérie – that is perfect!” he cried, yanking his trunks up and kneeling in front of her so he could balance the sketchpad on his knee, the charcoal moving in agitated strokes in his fingers. “Take your sunhat off! Look up as if you were seeing something divine! Oh yes, the face of a Madonna, breasts bared, sperm dripping from her chin: it will be une vraie scandale!”
Oh god, thought Samantha. As if giving him a blowjob on a public beach wasn’t enough, he was putting her immortal soul in jeopardy. Bloody man!
*
“Have you heard from your agent?” Samantha asked as she drove back to the hotel. It was late afternoon and the wind had turned chilly.
“About the exhibition?”
“Yes.”
“Oui, he has been in touch.”
“And?”
“He wants to see me in Paris before the end of the week. I’m to bring him examples of what I’ve done so we can talk about a suitable venue. He’s suggesting the exhibition should be in two months’ time. There will be a lot of work to do.”
Samantha took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at Alain. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“Yes, I think so.” He smiled and reached a hand across to stroke the inside of her thigh. “You will come with me, of course?”
“No, Alain,” Samantha said. She had been expecting the question and steeled herself for his reaction. “I’m sorry, but no.”
“Why not?” Alain asked, his disappointment making him sound petulant. “I told my agent you are my muse, my inspiration. He said he wishes to meet you. And Paris is the city of lovers. You must come.”
“Alain, Paris is a wonderful city. But it’s dirty, it’s noisy, and it’s full of people. Auray is the absolute opposite of all those things and, right now, it is where I want to be.”
“Pah,” he said, dismissively. “Auray is dull. Brittany is dull. This decision of yours makes you dull.”
Samantha was deeply hurt but she didn’t show it. She also felt that, for someone who so casually dismissed the strong influence of his birthplace on his artistry, Alain was doing Breton culture and its people less than justice.
Alain lapsed into sullen silence. When they reached the hotel, he said he was going to walk up into the town to a bar he knew. Samantha said fine and carried the hamper through the dining room to return it to Philippe. He greeted her with exaggerated warmth, kissing her on the cheek, his obvious anxiety making the words tumble out.
“Ma chérie, please – I have a crisis. Rosalie says her grandmother has had a fall and will have to go to the hospital for an X-ray. The restaurant is full. Would you take Rosalie’s place and assist Sandrine for an hour or so? You know I would not ask unless – ”
“Of course,” Samantha said. She had replaced either Rosalie or Sandrine before, taking food to tables, clearing plates. It wasn’t difficult because it was a set menu and Philippe always laid out the meals in the kitchen before serving while the maitre d’, François, dealt with the wine and the bills.
“Do I have time to shower?”
“Shower, yes,” Philippe said with a grin. “Satisfy the sexual appetites of young Master Gauguin, the impoverished artist, no. I need a little help with the vegetables, chérie.”
“Ten minutes?”
“Fifteen. A lady’s toilette cannot be rushed.”
Samantha laughed. “You are a gentleman, Philippe.”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “With you, but of course,” he said.
Samantha showered and changed but after an hour in the heat and noise of the kitchen she wondered if there’d been any point. She’d worn a silk blouse and skirt and pulled on a cashmere sweater against the chill of the evening, but the sweater was already lying in a heap on a chair and she could feel prickles of sweat on her forehead. The meals were ready for serving and she could hear the noise of diners assembled in the restaurant.
Philippe called out, “Alors – we are ready?”
A chorus of oui’s came back and Samantha and Sandrine picked up plates of hors d’oeuvres and carried them through the swing doors into the dining area.
The room was full of people, the tables laden with opened bottles of wine and glasses glittering in the candlelight. Well-dressed diners chatted and laughed and smiled up at Samantha as she placed the artfully arranged appetizers in front of each and moved on to the next.
And then she stopped, astonished and distressed to find herself face-to-face with the last person she expected to see. Richard’s wife.
“Dear God!” Denise Roberts said in the sharp, arrogant voice Samantha knew so well from bitter phone calls demanding she quit the apartment and the even more bitter court case. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The man opposite her looked at Samantha and said, “What is it, darling?”
“It’s that woman who claimed Richard bought her an apartment,” Denise said, fussily pulling on the length of her ponytail that hung across her shoulder and speaking so loudly diners around stopped talking to listen. “Cost me a bloody fortune in solicitor’s fees to get her out. All bloody lies, of course.”
Samantha struggled to keep her composure. “Your hors d’oeuvre, Madame,” she said and was about to put the plate down when Denise said, in a cold voice, “No, thank you. I’d rather not eat anything you’ve handled.”
“As you wish,” Samantha said and placed a plate in front of the man.
“As I wish? What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Are you being rude to a paying guest?”
Samantha wanted to hurl the food in Denise Roberts’ face but she held on her self-control to avoid damage to Philippe’s reputation.
“Of course not, Madame,” she said.
“I think you are. In fact, I’m sure you are. Get me the manager. Get me the manager,” she said loudly. Now.”
“Please, darling – ” the man said, aware their table had become the focus of attention in the room.
“Oh bugger off, Martin,” Denise said. “This bloody woman – ”
“Is my wife, Madame,” said Philippe Bazon, suddenly appearing at Samantha’s elbow. “I must ask you to apologize or leave my establishment. The choice is yours.”
“Your wife! Well I don’t care if she is your wife, she was bloody rude and I’m not going to apologize – ”
“Nor are you going to remain in my establishment disturbing the pleasure of other guests, Madame. I shall instruct François to prepare your bill while you pack.”
“Oh I say, Monsieur – ” Martin was about to say when a look from Philippe cut him off.
“Come along, Martin,” Denise Roberts said. “And you needn’t think we’re going to pay for this dinner.”
“Of course not, Madame. I do not charge peasants. They cannot afford it…”
Several people applauded Philippe’s retort and Denise showed her displeasure at their support by dragging her companion from the restaurant and causing as much disruption as possible.
Samantha wanted to cry but she could not. Philippe had come to her rescue and now she must come to his in taking Rosalie’s place. But she felt utterly wretched and wondered if she was going to be sick.
That she was not was down to her strength of character and Philippe’s ensuring she had no time to think about what had happened. He kept both her and Sandrine so busy they were exhausted by the time the final guests had paid their compliments to the chef for the wonderful meal and departed. Sandrine reached for her coat, kissed Philippe and Samantha goodnight, and went home to her husband.
“You are off duty now,” Philippe said. “François will attend to room service. Come and sit and I shall make you an omelet jambon.”
Samantha knew better than to refuse, even though she wanted to go to bed and forget what had happened in the restaurant.
Philippe poured her a glass of wine.
“That was nice of you,” she said as she sipped the drink and luxuriated in the relaxing effect of the alcohol.
“To call you my wife?” Philippe said as he poured the beaten eggs into the pan. “It was just what came to mind. A pleasant fantasy, no more.”
Samantha noticed he had his back to her as he spoke, seemingly intent on the task of adding pieces of cooked ham to the rapidly setting mixture.
“Well, thank you anyway,” she said as he set the omelet, cooked to perfection, in front of her. Samantha suddenly realized she was ravenous and helped herself to baguette and butter while Philippe fetched a coffee for himself and sat opposite her.
He watched her eat for a few moments and then said, “Alain tells me he is going to Paris, to talk to Bertrand Desforges about the exhibition. You will go with him?”
“No. I told him not. He was quite angry at my refusal,” Samantha said, heaping omelet onto baguette to eat it French style. “But I like it here. I like Auray, the river, the market, the quiet peace of the countryside, and the Breton people.
“But you could go to Le Tour d’Eiffel, the Louvre, to a concert, see the latest movies – ” Philippe started to say.
“- Even go shopping, which would be wonderful,” Samantha said, a note of regret in her voice. “It’s been so long since I spent anything on myself. Some pretty underwear, a pair of earrings, something like that would be lovely. But it just isn’t what I want right now. You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Philippe said. And then he added, quietly, “I cannot pretend to be sorry,” he said and refilled Samantha’s glass. “It will mean I have you all to myself.” He paused for several moments and then said, “Alain is like a child who never grew up,” he said. “I suspect because his mother died when he was so young. Perhaps I should have been stricter but – ”
Samantha sipped the wine to savor the bouquet and flavor. “Sometimes I wonder if your son has any feelings for me at all, Philippe,” she said. “But then sometimes I wonder what my feelings are for him. He’s young, virile, and good in bed. But I don’t love him and he doesn’t love me. I’m a mother substitute, but one he can fuck as well.”
Philippe laughed. “Lucky Alain,” he said.
“Perhaps. But probably not for much longer,” Samantha said and finished her wine.
She stood up. Despite her tiredness she was still in the mood to be made love to, especially as Alain had neglected her needs earlier in favor of finishing the Madonna sketch. “Thank you again for standing up for me,” she said.
“But of course,” Philippe said and stood up, moving next to her. He put his arms round her and drew her to him. It was a gesture of comfort, not desire, and Samantha responded by kissing him gently on the cheek.
Not long after, lying naked next to Alain, Samantha felt as if her body had become pure liquid. Sweat glistened on her upper lip and the slopes of her breasts. She could feel moisture on the skin of her back from the heat of his chest and belly pressed against her body. Her left leg was hooked over his thigh so her anal opening was fully accessible and sperm oozed from between the gaping lips of her cunt. Oily lube made a slurping noise as he pushed his long, thick cock against the tight muscle of her anus, forcing it to open.
“Oh god Alain,” she hissed, “I’ve been wanting this all day – ”
Samantha would have said more but Alain’s mouth met hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth at the same time as he buried the full length of his cock deep in her rectum. Several hard thrusts and Samantha felt Alain come, his sperm hot in her bowels. His orgasm set off her own climax, a tribute to her young lover’s ability to reduce her to a quivering mass of well-fucked woman. But Samantha knew in her heart this was a leave-taking. Alain had made sure to fuck every hole in her body as a way of marking the end of what they had enjoyed together.
*
Four
When Samantha woke in the morning, Alain was gone. She showered, dressed, and went downstairs.
Sandrine was clearing breakfast plates from the restaurant. “Bonjour,” she said with a smile. “Philippe has taken Alain to catch the morning TGV. He said not to worry about going to the market, he has everything he needs for tonight.”
“Oh, good,” said Samantha, feeling relieved at being spared a long goodbye scene with Alain.
She was about to leave when Sandrine called to her.
“Samantha? Be a little careful. The Royal Navy intercepted a Breton trawler in the Atlantic yesterday. It was claimed they were fishing in British territorial waters. They arrested the captain.”
“I’m sorry – I don’t – ”
“There may be some anti-English feeling in the town for a day or so. It will probably not matter, but – ”
“Thank you, Sandrine. It is nice of you to warn me.”
Sandrine smiled and Samantha went to spend the morning having her hair washed and the ends trimmed. She returned to the hotel at midday. Philippe’s car was in his parking place.
“Hello,” he said when she walked into the kitchen. “You are looking radiant this morning.”
Samantha smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, kind sir. Alain went off all right?”
“Yes. He said I was to tell you, ‘Au revoir’. I told him that, even if things between you and he had changed, it was likely you would still be here when he returned. He shrugged and then the train started moving.”
“Like father, like son,” Samantha said, meaning the characteristic shrug.
“Yes,” said Philippe and his eyes met hers. She wondered if he meant something else. Then he said, “Lunch?”
“Please.”
“By the way, I wanted to thank you for your kindness in helping me in the restaurant last night.”
Samantha started to say, “There’s no need – ” but Philippe cut her off.
“An expensive dinner, dancing to a big band, a romantic walk home afterwards in the moonlight? Ah, I can see you do not want all that fussiness,” he said before she could respond. “All right, how about a huge pizza, sharing several bottles of Chianti, and a chance to win two hundred Euros playing bingo for a good cause?”
“Philippe, you charmer!” Samantha said and laughed. “That sounds marvelous! Just what I need.”
“We will walk up to the town at 7.30.”
“Perfect.”
*
Samantha loved the informality of being able to go out to dinner wearing a silk shirt and jeans with her hair in a ponytail. She found being with Philippe great fun, especially as he kept the conversation light and entertaining, mentioned Alain only in passing, and seemed genuinely delighted to have her to himself. She felt pleasantly tipsy when they walked to the main room of the Town Hall where bingo had been organized to raise funds for the maintenance of the ruined monastery, the town’s oldest treasure. Samantha was happy to support the fund because she adored the monastery’s beautiful garden.
She took a childish delight in listening for the numbers being called out and filling them in on her card. Occasionally she found it difficult to understand the caller’s rapid French and his jokes, but Philippe translated and made sure she kept up.
At last there was a lull for refreshment and Philippe said, “You must excuse me. All that wine – ”
Samantha smiled. “Of course,” she said. “I’m going outside for a breath of fresh air.”
She stood on the steps of the Town Hall, breathing in the smell of the town, listening to the sounds of people closing their shutters ready for bed. And then she saw three men emerge from a bar in a nearby street and wondered if she should go back inside. She dismissed the momentary fear, everyone she met in Auray had been friendly, why should this be any different?
One man detached from the others and started to make his way to a car parked close to where Samantha was standing. He seemed to find the effort of pulling on a beret and walking in a straight line difficult and Samantha wondered if she should enquire if he wanted a taxi home. But she decided to hold her peace. It was no business of hers if the man had drunk too much.
He dropped his keys and bent to look for them. Samantha could see them glinting in the neon lights and walked over to pick them up for him.
“Merci!” the man said brightly. He shoved his beret back on his head and tried to focus on her. Then he said, in French, “You are beautiful, Madame, you know that?”
“No kidding,” said Samantha in English, hoping he’d get in his car and leave.
“Sure,” The man said, also in English. He swayed towards her. “Hey, you are English!”
“Yes,” she said, hoping he’d think she was a tourist and leave it at that.
“My name’s Claude,” the man said. “Are you with anyone?”
“Yes, I – ” Samantha started to say but Claude cut in.
“I speak English pretty good, no?” he said, breathing beer fumes over her.
“Yes, very good. Now, if you will excuse me, Monsieur – ” Samantha turned to walk back into the Town Hall when Claude grabbed her wrist.
“Hey, you’re not leaving, are you?” he said.
“Yes, Monsieur, I am,” Samantha said. “So let me go. Now.”
The other two men who had emerged from the bar suddenly appeared. They walked over to where Samantha was struggling to get free of Claude’s grip.
“Hey, Jean-Pierre,” Claude called out as the two men approached. “The English lady doesn’t want to be friendly. And I asked her very nicely – ”
Using her strength against Claude’s drunkenness, Samantha slapped the Frenchman’s face as hard as she could. He let go of her wrist in surprise and she tried to walk quickly toward the entrance of the Town Hall. But the man named Jean-Pierre stepped sideways and blocked Samantha’s path. She stopped, trying to stare him down.
“Excuse me,” she said sharply and made to step round him.
“For being English? We do,” Jean-Pierre said in a syrupy voice. “Of course we do. But my friend Claude is unhappy you don’t want to be friendly.”
“Yes, and we’re a little unhappy you’re English. Just like the Royal Navy.” Claude’s voice came from behind her. Very close behind her.
For the first time, Samantha felt a stab of fear. The men were Breton fishermen.
Samantha jumped in shock when Claude suddenly slid his hands under her arms from behind and grabbed her breasts. She tried to break free as he mauled her, frenziedly pulling her shirt out of her jeans to get his hands on their soft weight.
“Mon Dieu!” Claude gasped in shocked pleasure when he felt the size of Samantha’s breasts.
Cursing herself for not wearing a bra, Samantha spun on her heel and hit Claude as hard as she could with her fist. He staggered but didn’t go down. Jean-Pierre immediately grabbed her arms.
“Uh-unh,” he said in a cold voice. “I should like the same pleasure as Claude. As will Luc.”
A lecherous grin lit up the third man’s face, the grin of a man happy to let others take the lead for him.
“Leave me alone!” Samantha cried, hoping someone would hear her and intervene.
“Pardon me?” Claude said, acting surprised. “This is not an attitude that will further Anglo-French détente.”
Then he took advantage of Jean-Pierre holding Samantha against the pick-up to rip the front of her shirt open. Samantha’s bare breasts, heaving as she breathed hard with anger and fear, glowed creamy-white under the streetlights, her nipples almost violet in color.
“We think détente is so important,” said Jean-Pierre, his hands holding Samantha’s wrists together as he tried to kiss her.
“Mmmpff – no!” Samantha screamed, twisting her head away.
Jean-Pierre simply stared at her and moved back slightly so Claude could step in and slap her across the face. Samantha felt so stunned she wondered if she was going to pass out.
Claude started to scrabble at the buttons of her jeans, his drunken hands fumbling to get them open. At the same time Jean-Pierre said softly, “Oh I think the answer should be, ‘Yes, please, monsieur,” and bent his head to run his tongue over the nipple of Samantha’s left breast, his eyes meeting hers as he moved to the right breast, wanting her to like what he was doing and defying her to stop him.
Straightening up and attempting to kiss Samantha again just as Claude hooked his hands inside the waistband of her jeans to push them off her hips, Jean-Pierre suddenly found himself unable to stop straightening up.
He was carried forwards in a rush, his body flying past Samantha as he was grabbed from behind and rammed into the driver’s door of a BMW, the impact knocking him out cold.
“Now that’s going to be expensive,” Philippe said as he took hold of Claude’s shirtfront with one hand to hold him steady and then punched him hard in the face with the other. Claude crumpled to the floor. Luc didn’t stick around for his turn but ran off as fast as he could.
“I think we will finish playing bingo some other time,” Philippe said, reaching his arms out to Samantha who collapsed into them, trembling with fear.
“Damn,” she said, her fingers shaking as she pulled her shirt together and jabbed her shirtfront into the waistband of her jeans. “I was winning too.”
“You certainly were,” Philippe said, his voice showing his anger and distress at her ordeal. “But it is time to go home. Right now.”
*
Five
In the hotel lobby Samantha checked her reflection. Thankfully, Claude’s blow hadn’t broken the skin, which might have left a scar. But she was going to have an eye that would be several shades of blue by the morning.
She didn’t feel like crying, she was too relieved Philippe had arrived when he did. It didn’t take much to guess Claude, Jean-Pierre, and Luc were close to raping her. She walked across and kissed Philippe on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Of course,” he said a little gruffly and she knew he blamed himself for what had happened.
“Do you want anything, Samantha?” he said, about to disappear into the kitchen.
Samantha grabbed his upper arm and made him stand still. She could see the anger flashing in his eyes.
“Yes,” she said softly. “A bottle of champagne and you. I want to show you how grateful I am.”
For the first time Philippe let a small smile appear on his face. It made him look very raffish and attractive.
“Wait,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later he returned with a bottle of champagne in one hand and held out his other hand to Samantha. She took it and Philippe led the way to his bedroom.
Samantha undressed slowly, taking pleasure from having Philippe watch her. The torn silk shirt slipped from her shoulders and fell on to the bed. She unzipped her jeans and pushed them down her legs to reveal she was not wearing anything underneath. Philippe smiled, his eyes glittering with desire.
He was naked in a second, his thick, heavy prick erect at once. It quivered lightly as he padded across the room toward her. He took her in his arms, pressing his hardness against her thigh. She opened her mouth and they kissed, a passionate expression of their lust for each other.
Suddenly Philippe held Samantha back and his eyes met hers.
“I don’t know what I would have done if they’d – if – ” he tried to say but she cut him off.
“They didn’t. Because you were there.”
“You know I am in love with you, don’t you?” Philippe said, running his hands down the smooth, flawless skin of her back.
“Yes,” Samantha said. She had known it for a while.
She reached a hand down to grasp his cock. She massaged her other hand over his chest, down over his flat muscular stomach, the ridged muscle rippling under her fingers. The prick in her fingers was long and hard, the ribbed underside capped by the bulbous purple glans. She traced a finger along its length, her face showing her pleasure at the feel of his stiff flesh.
Philippe kissed Samantha slowly, sucking at her mouth and neck. His hands were everywhere, moving over her body softly, touching her, and exciting her to fever pitch. Samantha opened her legs to his questing fingers, inviting him to enter her cunt, to feel how wet and aroused she was inside.
He moved his hands up to cup her breasts, squeezing the firm flesh, massaging them gently, exciting her nipples with the briefest of caresses. Samantha’s breath was coming faster, the heat of her desire to be fucked growing in intensity, her lips half-open with excitement. She stroked his cock urgently, moving her hand up and down, making him catch his breath, responding to her movement by pressing himself against her even more. He swooped down and lunged at her nipples, his hands pulling at her breasts as he fed the taut tips into his mouth. He sucked them hard, catching them between his teeth, flicking his tongue over both at the same time.
Samantha cried out as Philippe bit her, but it was from lust, not pain. She cradled his head in her arms, her eyes closed in pleasure. Philippe slipped out of her grasp and fell to his knees, kissing her thighs, sliding his lips and tongue up toward the swollen pink lips of her pussy. He planted soft gentle kisses on the smooth flesh of her thighs, his hands sliding along in the wake of his lips. Samantha stood with her legs wide apart, opening herself in anticipation.
Philippe paused, looked up at Samantha and smiled. She smiled back and then parted the lips of her pussy with her fingers, exposing the moist pink tunnel of her cunt. Philippe kissed her there, pressing his lips against the soft skin of her cuntlips, sliding his tongue deep into the wet hole. Samantha moaned loudly and stretched her head back, lost in the heady anticipation of being fucked.
Philippe’s tongue pressed against the walls of her sex, lapping at the thick creamy liquid oozing from deep inside. He sought and found the stiff bud of her clit, flicked his tongue over it, then pressed his mouth closer, clamping it tight over the whole wet peach of her cunt.
Samantha moaned more loudly and Philippe moved his hands to massage the warm flesh of her buttocks, adding more sensation to arouse her even further. She responded by moving forward instinctively, lifting herself so she could rub her cunt over his mouth, directing his tongue and lips where she most wanted the exquisite friction. She heard him swallowing the creamy honey that poured from her highly aroused cunthole.
Suddenly he stopped and stood up, making Samantha moan softly with frustration.
“Philippe – why have you -?” she started to say and then the words died in her throat as he walked over to the bedside table and picked up the bottle of champagne, his fingers deftly twisting off the foil and popping the cork.
“Lie down,” he said.
Samantha moved back towards the bed and sprawled out on it, apprehensive and yet very aroused. Very slowly Philippe raised the bottle, aiming the mouth toward Samantha’s breasts. The champagne fizzed noisily when it poured on to her, splashing down to her belly. She cried out, jumping up suddenly, but Philippe pressed her down again.
The champagne was very cold, bubbling and fizzing as he poured it onto her belly. It trickled down her sides, soaking the bed, drops of it glistening on the smooth skin of her breasts like golden sweat. It seemed to bubble into her navel like a fountain as Philippe continued to pour, moving the foaming liquid down further and further.
Samantha closed her eyes and opened her legs obscenely wide. The trickle of sparkling liquid became a torrent, pouring down over her stomach and cascading over her mons and into her sex. Her pussy was filled with the cool tingling drink, the sparkling champagne effervescing and pouring down between her buttocks to form a pool under her anus.
“Is it good?” Philippe asked, halting the flow for a moment so he could check how much was left in the bottle.
“It feels amazing,” Samantha squealed, her eyes half closed. The fizzing drink poured from her pussy, foaming white. The cold and hot at the same time had produced a deep sexual glow inside her, making her whole body quiver with excitement.
“Does this feel delicious too?” Philippe asked as he walked round to the end of the bed and then climbed between Samantha’s legs, his fingers parting the cheeks of her ass and holding them open.
“Oh, Philippe – no!” Samantha cried, realizing what he was going to do. But it was too late; she had no time to squirm away. Philippe pressed the cold mouth of the bottle against the puckered entrance to her bottom and slid it up into her rectum. Samantha caught her breath, too aroused to move. Philippe pushed the bottle deep into her anal sphincter, stretching the tiny opening impossibly wide.
Samantha squirmed with pleasure at the coldness in her hot anus, its width forcing her to pull her knees up, opening her buttocks even further. Philippe pressed the bottle in and out, each stroke sending a thrill of pleasure through Samantha. The neck of the bottle slid repeatedly into her rectum, the penetration made easier by the bubbling liquid pouring deep into her ass and dribbling out with each inward stroke.
Philippe lifted the bottle high to send the bubbling drink cascading deep into Samantha’s bowels, fizzing and hissing all around her distended asshole. She closed her eyes, her breath escaping from her open mouth in a wordless sigh of delight.
Withdrawing the emptied bottle Philippe let it fall to one side. Once again he began to kiss Samantha between her thighs. Her back passage was full of frothy liquid and Philippe lapped at it with his tongue, drawing it into his mouth. Samantha began to buck and writhe, opening herself fully as Philippe rimmed the walls of her rectum, bringing her closer and closer to a climax.
Her body falling and rising with the rhythm of Philippe’s face between the cheeks of her ass, Samantha lifted herself high to meet his spearing tongue. Her cunt flooded his mouth with her cream until Philippe withdrew his tongue from Samantha’s asshole and stroked it along the wet furrow of her slit, up to the pink bud of her clit, licking and sucking her with an intensity that made Samantha cry out and thrash her head back and forth wildly. She cried out once more and froze into position, her belly and cunt spasming with wave after wave of ecstasy as an orgasm burst deep within her belly.
Samantha lay flat on her back, her breasts heaving, her buttocks wet with a glistening trail of champagne and the creamy liquid pouring from her anus. She slid her fingers between her legs, using the fingers of one hand to spread the lips of her cunt in invitation, using the fingers of her other hand to spread the thick cream oozing from the depths of her cunt over the inflamed bud of her stiff clit.
“Fuck me, Philippe,” she begged. “I want your cock inside me. Please!”
Philippe pulled Samantha to the edge of the bed so he could move in between her legs and take them in his hands, lifting them over his shoulders. She let out a gasp of surprise when he suddenly pushed the bottle back into her asshole at the same moment as he thrust his huge, hard cock deep inside her. His prick slid along the slippery walls of her cunt, far into her, his groin rubbing against her clitoris. Then he began to pump his cock and the bottle back and forth, a slow rhythm, pulling his prick back when he thrust the bottle forward with his hands, fucking and sodomizing Samantha at the same time.
Philippe crushed Samantha’s soft mouth under his, his chest rubbed against the sensitive tips of her breasts, his belly slapped against hers, his hips quivered and thrust in response to her own upward fucking motion, her cunt greedily swallowed his cock as he thrust the bottle deep into her rectum.
Every thrust made Samantha gasp with pleasure, bucking her hips up to meet each rhythmic pump of the hard cock and the improvised dildo Philippe was burying inside her sopping wet sex and stretched back passage. Time and again Samantha climaxed with the dual sensation, intense orgasms that made her gasp and shudder, made her cunt pour down even more cream around the long, hard cock and the glass bottle filling her to capacity.
Beneath him Samantha quivered and shook, lost in the incredible sensation as he double fucked her. She screamed and moaned and gasped repeatedly, “Yes – unh - yes, yes – oh yes, Philippe!” her voice hoarse, her whole body juddering with the force of Philippe’s thrusts as he ploughed his super-hard cock and the champagne bottle back and forth between her legs.
The he suddenly cried, “Samantha – I am coming!” and she felt his swollen cock pump his sperm into her, flooding her cunt, making her jerk and quiver in response, overwhelmed by yet another powerful climax.
For several minutes Philippe’s hips jerked and shuddered as he emptied his balls, the pressure of the bottle in Samantha’s rectum and her cunt milking him until he was drained. There was so much she felt thick creamy mixture of his semen and her cream soak the bed, adding to the already sopping wet patch where champagne had flowed from her asshole.
Slowly he withdrew the bottle from her ravished rectum and dropped it to the floor. Then he collapsed into her arms, exhausted.
For several moments there was silence in the room. Then Philippe said, softly, “You said only ‘yes’ when I told you I love you.”
Samantha kissed him, long and hard.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Yes, of course I love you. I just didn’t realize how much. This morning I was lying in Alain’s arms, this evening I’m lying in yours. I didn’t love him and it took me by surprise when I realized how much I do love you. How do you think he will react?”
Philippe lifted himself onto one elbow.
“I don’t think he will be as surprised as you think,” he said, with a smile.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I told him I was in love with you when I took him to the station.”
“Ahh.”
Samantha spent a happy, silent moment looking at Philippe. Then she said, “You remember I said, ‘like father, like son’ when you came back?”
“Yes?”
“Can your cock recover as quickly as his?”
“Quicker. I am ready now. Turn over, I want to slide my cock into your tight asshole, filled with all that lovely champagne.”
And Samantha sighed with exquisite pleasure and did exactly as instructed.
End
© Alex Barton, 2021