Printer hums fade behind me. Coffee scent clings, mixed with my perfume. Office door clicks locked. RTT freedom hits. Spring sun warms Champs-Élysées. Tourists swarm. World’s prettiest avenue? Parisians scoff. I love it. Magic buzz.
Near old Virgin spot. Bam! Hard shoulder slam. Pain jolts hip. I whirl. Him: Arab in flowing dishdasha, checkered scarf. Stocky. Thick mustache, trimmed sharp. Gold-rimmed shades. Huge gold watch gleams. My glare stabs.
The Building Tension
“Excuse me, Madame. Didn’t see you.”
Now he stares. Blonde curves. Extra kilos, still fuckable. Blue eyes. Pretty face. His type.
“Watch it! You hurt me!”
“Sorry. Champagne? Cafe or my car?” Points black limo. Tinted glass. Chauffeur picks nose.
“Car.”
Chauffeur scrambles. Door swings. Cap off. I dive in. Black leather. Wood shine. Opulent hideout.
He slides close. Door thuds shut. World mutes. Crowd ghosts by. No sound.
Mic click. Arabic mutter. Limo purrs. Glides up Champs.
“Paris tour.” Cork pops. Flute fills. Bubbly gold.
“Perfect.”
The Explosive Release
“Where hurts?”
“Hip. Ankle twist. Heels killer.”
Sip. Hand strokes thigh. Over short black dress. Etoile flashes. Kleber dives.
“Good. Inner thigh too.”
Skirt hikes. Naked skin. Thighs part slight. Lace panty shows. Shaved mound peeks.
He stares. I melt. Sip more. Eiffel looms thru glass roof.
Hips shift. Offer more.
Fingers climb. Venus mound.
“Hurts here. Check bruise. Panties off if needed.”
Head dips. Fingers probe lips. Hits clit. Champagne spills pussy.
“No waste!”