Late afternoon in our Montmartre creative agency. I head back early to check on Mom. She’s been stressed. Open-space buzzes low. Printer hums distantly. I push the conference room door. Strange moans hit me. Clotilde, my own mother, gasping loud.
Heart pounds. I peek in. Door creaks soft. She’s naked, riding some slick gigolo on the velvet lounge chair. His back to me first. Then those hairy white balls swinging. She bounces hard, tits jiggling. His mouth sucks her nipple fierce. They don’t see me. Cock slams deep, wet slaps echo. Memories flash—old nights, different legs. Not Armand this time. This dandy from the Flore cafe meeting.
The Build-Up
I back out quiet. Door clicks shut, locked vibe. Laugh or cry? Head down, rush hallway. Bump hard into a guy. ‘Watch it, miss!’ Massive build, fifties, blue eyes sharp. Short hair, frank smile. Paul, our senior designer. ‘Sorry, sir.’ He grins. ‘Make it up—coffee in breakroom?’
Can’t refuse. Eyes lock. We sip cold water—coffee machine spits, beeps. Perfume mixes with stale brew smell. He sketches my face on napkin. Fusain quick. Stunning. ‘For the hottest in Paris today.’ Heart races. ‘Pose for me? Paid. My office, B10.’ Card slips into my bra cup. He laughs. Wink. Secret heat stirs, like Adele’s old touches.
Back home, bath steams. Scented salts. Body relaxes. No traces left—couch neat, faint male cologne maybe. Evening, Aunt Gertrude’s—HR queen. Geneviève, my boss, grins. ‘Adèle’s back soon. Your b-day gift.’ Hugs, laughs. Seine stroll later—office crew chats. Uniforms? Nah, client suits everywhere.
Geneviève pulls me aside. Whisper. ‘Secret drop tomorrow. Envelope to Jules, lobby under departures board. He sweeps, hums ‘Lorraine.’ Say ‘Too late, Germans took her.’ Follow, hand off safe spot. Swallow if caught.’ Tube in ass—lubed aluminum, painkillers prop. Adrenaline spikes.
The Explosion
Next morn, lobby chaos. Printers whir outside. Jules limps, sings. I mouth the line sarcastic. He nods to restrooms. Stall door locks click. Pull tube from ass—slick pop. Letter to tit. Handshake on stairs. ‘Bye, beauty.’ Clean, refill tube. Free. Noon, back. Paul’s card burns bra.
His office. Door ajar. Mockups everywhere—SacrĂ©-CĹ“ur comps, portraits. Chaos smells oil paints, ink. He jumps. ‘Heart attack! Knew you’d come.’ Fresher than memory. Water glass clinks. ‘Sit.’ Paint-splashed chairs creak. Mouse clicks slow. Printer whirs tense. Coffee scent clings, my perfume teases.
Eyes devour. Silence thick. ‘Why here?’ ‘Dunno.’ He stands massive. Hand on thigh. Skirt hikes. Breath hot. Door locks—click sharp. ‘Our secret.’ Lips crash. Rough. Blouse rips buttons. Tits out, nipples hard. Desk clears—files crash. Pants down. Cock thick, veiny. Balls heavy.
Bend me over. Skirt up, panties rip. ‘Wet slut.’ Fingers plunge pussy. Gush. Thrusts brutal. Desk shakes. Moans echo. ‘Fuck me harder, Paul!’ Balls slap ass. Printer beeps frantic. Risk—someone knocks? No. Cum builds. He grunts, floods deep. Pulls out, drip on thighs.
Quick mask. Wipe cum quick. Skirt smooth. Blouse tucked—buttons later. Perfume sprays. Hair fix. ‘Meeting now.’ Door unlocks. Stride open-space cool. Colleagues nod. Nothing happened. Pulse races still. Adrenaline pure. Back to files, boss nods Geneviève. Secret smile.