by MP Frank
Gaëlle turned. The person who had spoken had to be Élodie’s mother, a dark, slim woman in her early thirties. Gaëlle had assumed that the patronne of a guesthouse out in the backwoods would be an earth-mother type, but the woman at the foot of the stairs could have stepped out from behind the reception desk of any top Paris hotel. Her crisp white blouse and straight black skirt echoed her daughter’s, and Gaëlle felt slightly under-dressed in her tee-shirt, flip-flops and shorts.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, and smiled. “Mademoiselle Élodie is very welcoming and most efficient.”
The woman returned the smile. “I’m glad you approve,” she said. “In a hotel like this we all have to contribute. We only took it over this year and we’re still learning.”
“It’s delightful,” Gaëlle said. “We’re happy to be your only guests, but I hope you’ve had a good season?”
“Oh, yes. This evening will be a rest cure for us. We haven’t had an empty bed since the middle of June. I hope you don’t mind if we all eat together?”
“As I said to Élodie, it’s fine. I’ll leave you in peace to carry on.” Gaëlle went up to the room and stretched out on the bed beside Jérôme, who was still half-asleep. Soon Gaëlle drifted off, too.
Delicious smells wafting upstairs woke them some time later. The sun was still shining, making patterns on the wall opposite the window. Having seen how smart the patronne was, Gaëlle felt she should make a little effort with her clothes. Jérôme, already dressed, lay back on the bed, his hands behind his head and watched her getting dressed.
“I do like those,” he said, looking at the broderie anglaise that decorated her white knickers.
“Just as well,” Gaëlle commented. “I only have one other clean pair and they’re black. I can’t wear black under this.”
“This” was a white sundress, strapless and very simple. The contrast between the white of the dress and her honey-coloured shoulders pleased Gaëlle. She did a twirl for Jérôme, whose smile demonstrated that he approved.
“Nice legs, too,” he said. “Shall we go down?”
Élodie met them in the entrance hall. She had changed into a dress. She led them out onto the terrace and brought them apéritifs. They sat in the evening sunshine and relaxed. Then Élodie emerged again, accompanied by her mother and a young man.
“We won’t stand on ceremony,” the patronne said. “You’ve already met Élodie, who is my daughter.”
“We’d guessed,” Jérôme said. “You look very much alike.”
“My name is Sidonie and this is Raoul, who caught the fish we’re going to eat.”
Sidonie was wearing a multi-coloured cotton dress, which set off her dark colouring. Raoul was tall and thin. The pallor of his complexion was in marked contrast to the tan of Sidonie. She noticed Gaëlle’s puzzled expression.
“You’d better explain,” she said to Raoul. “You look like an ice cream, compared with me.”
“I just got out of jail,” Raoul said. Seeing the raised eyebrows that greeted this revelation, he explained, “I got arrested in the big demonstration in Paris. I’m only a smallholder, not a real farmer, but I had to be there. We couldn’t get the local politicians to do anything about the appalling state of agriculture, so we took direct action, and three of us from around here got eight months inside.”
“I remember reading about it,” Gaëlle said.
“They wanted to make an example of us. But it’s okay. We made our point and I’m out now.”
Sidonie leaned across and kissed him. “Come on, jailbird,” she said. “Help me bring the food.” They came out a few minutes later with a huge salver of charcuterie and a big peasant loaf. Élodie brought out a pitcher of red wine.
“It’s all local produce,” Raoul said. “The only part of the meal this evening that won’t be from within an hour’s drive will be the wine to go with the trout. For that, nothing compares with an Alsace Riesling.”
“Home away from home,” Gaëlle exclaimed. “I’m from Strasbourg.”
“Serendipity,” Sidonie commented. “It was meant to be, that you are our last guests of the season.”
They ate and drank. As the sun went down, Raoul lit oil lamps, which gave a soft light over the terrace. By ten o’clock, Élodie was drooping. She sat up with a jerk, yawned and stretched.
“Bedtime,” Sidonie said. They kissed Élodie goodnight and she drifted away, already half asleep. The adults sat for a while, as the day’s heat dissipated and the cicadas filled the night with their mating song.
“This is a lovely end to our holiday,” Jérôme said.
“Where did you stay?” Raoul asked.
“Argelès.”
“That explains the absence of tan lines on your shoulders, then,” Sidonie commented.
“Actually,” Gaëlle said, “one of the reasons we chose that piece of coast was to avoid tan lines altogether.”
“You went naturist?” Sidonie said. “I like to sunbathe topless, but the idea of turning up on a beach and having people staring at my chalk-white bottom is quite intimidating.”
“True,” Gaëlle agreed. “I was nervous at first. But after a while it felt normal…and so nice, too!”
“Not to mention quite a turn-on, I imagine,” Raoul added. He reached over the table and shared the last of the Riesling between the four glasses. The four of them sat for a few minutes, each with their own thoughts. Raoul had moved to sit very close beside Sidonie. Her eyes were half-closed and her head was resting on his shoulder. Raoul’s hand had slipped beneath the table and was most probably on Sidonie’s thigh, Gaëlle thought.
She leaned down, as if to adjust the buckle of her sandal and to take a quick peep. Sidonie’s feet were well apart, so her thighs had to be, too. Perhaps Raoul’s hand wasn’t so much on Sidonie’s leg as between her thighs. The faraway expression on Sidonie’s face supported that theory. Then she spoke. “I’ve never been to a nude beach. They say that some of the people are, you know, all shaved or with, er, decorations, piercings and so on. Is that true?”
“We weren’t at a strictly nudist resort, so I can’t tell you. I think I was the only woman on our bit of beach who was totally depilated, wasn’t I, Jérôme?” Gaëlle said.
Sidonie’s eyes opened wide. “You are?”
“I think I only saw one other woman shaved clean all week,” Jérôme said. “But perhaps it’s different at Cap d’Agde. We aren’t hard-core nudists…not yet, anyway.”
“Would anyone like more wine?” Raoul asked, breaking the silence. “I can get another bottle.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Jérôme said. “Gaëlle?”
“Nothing more for me, thanks. I’m just enjoying sitting here, listening to the cicadas, grateful that there aren’t any biting insects and relaxing in very pleasant company, with two attractive people.”
Sidonie opened her eyes. “Attractive? You think so? Even with my tan lines?” She slipped the shoulder strap of her dress to one side, revealing a white mark.
Gaëlle laughed. “They’re hardly disfiguring,”
“When Sidonie gets a negative idea in her head about herself, it’s hard to shift,” Raoul explained. “I know what, Sisi, why don’t you get it out of the way? Show all your tan lines to Jérôme and Gaëlle, so they can judge for themselves. Come on, I’ll help you.”
Sidonie didn’t resist as he reached behind her and unfastened the zip on her dress. Raoul pulled Sidonie’s dress top down and revealed her breasts. The sharp contrast between her tanned shoulders and the blue-white skin of her breasts was almost shocking. “Well?” she asked.
“Lines or no lines, you’ve got a lot more bust than me,” Gaëlle said. “Look.” She pulled down her top and showed the even tan of her small, neat breasts. “I can see what you mean about the contrast in colour, though.”
Raoul had resumed his caresses. He wasn’t bothering to hide what he was doing now, and the effect on Sidonie was becoming obvious, too. She was rocking gently to and fro as she
stared at Gaëlle’s exposed breasts.
“May we watch?” Jérôme asked. He didn’t have to say what. Raoul nodded, and Gaëlle and Jérôme moved their chairs so they had a clear view of the other couple. Raoul’s hand was buried deep between Sidonie’s thighs, as Gaëlle had guessed, and it was working rhythmically as he massaged her sex. Sidonie opened her eyes and looked up at Gaëlle and Jérôme. “You, too?” she asked.
*Seeing the other couple in action had heated Gaëlle up. She had an urge to caress herself, of course, but also a temptation to challenge herself and do something more daring. Being naked at the beach had been exciting, but showing herself in the restaurant had turned her on disproportionately more. She made up her mind, stood up and lifted her dress. She pulled her knickers down and stepped out of them. The sight of her depilated sex seemed to excite Sidonie and Raoul even more. Sidonie pulled her own dress up and raised her hips so Raoul could pull her navy-blue knickers down and off. Her lower belly was, indeed, just as white as her breasts, apart from the mat of her dark pubic hair. Raoul’s fingers slipped inside Sidonie. She moaned.
Gaëlle’s mind whirled. It would be nice to be masturbated like Sidonie, but something was urging her to push herself further. What could she do to add to the moment? Glancing at the table, her eyes fell on the empty wine bottle. Its slim, tapered form gave her an idea. She picked it up and placed it on the floor.
“Can I have your sweater?” she asked Jérôme. He passed it to her. She folded it and put it down beside the green wine bottle. She kneeled on the improvised padding and raised the front of her dress again, gripping the hemline between her teeth to stop it from falling back down and covering her. She looked up, to make sure that Sidonie and Raoul could see. His caresses had stopped for the moment, while they waited to discover what Gaëlle intended to do. She shuffled her knees apart, then tried to move the bottle into position.
Wine from Alsace comes in taller, slimmer bottles than most wines. Gaëlle had to lever herself up onto tiptoes and squat over it, to allow it to slip between her labia, which she held apart with the fingers of her spare hand. She lowered herself carefully, helping the rim of the bottle to gain initial penetration of her vagina. The wine had been chilled and the bottle still felt cool inside her. She looked at the others. Their eyes were fixed on where the bottleneck disappeared into her sex. She smiled at them, encouraging Raoul to resume his masturbation of Sidonie. As his hand began to move again, Gaëlle lowered herself a little, letting the bottle open up her vagina. The bottle’s gradual increase in diameter stretched her. She gathered her dress around her waist and tied it in a loose knot at the side, so it formed a sash, with her bare breasts above and naked sex below, emphasising the exposure of both. She sank down a little further onto the bottle, driving it deeper into her. Gaëlle rode the improvised dildo, sliding up and down and soon leaving visible evidence of her excitement as her juices coated the surface of the glass. Sidonie hitched herself forward on her chair to allow Raoul complete access to her. His fingers delved deeper into her, and her moans kept time with his strokes.
Gaëlle increased the tempo. Her excitement was building and she flung her head back as she pumped up and down. Her sex was becoming accustomed to the unnatural diameter of the bottle and now each penetration plunged it deeper and deeper into her. She was panting, now, and the growl in the depths of her throat was audible to the other three.
“I can’t hold it!” Sidonie gasped. She folded over and groaned as Raoul withdrew his dripping hand. She shuddered for some time as the ripples of her orgasm ran through her. Gaëlle made herself pause in order to watch, struggling to ignore the twitching of her clitoris, as well as the neck of the bottle stretching her vaginal walls.
“You, now!” Sidonie begged. Gaëlle began again. The moment of respite had brought her back from the edge and she was ready to make herself wait. She moved very slowly at first, concentrating on every extra centimetre of penetration. She peered down at her sex and could hardly believe how much of the bottle her vagina had managed to accept. She tensed her thighs again and used them to raise herself, revelling in the way the glass almost slid out of her. It gave her extra pleasure to know that the bottle was too long to emerge entirely—even if she’d wanted, her thighs weren’t long enough to free her sex from the bottle’s intrusion.
She paused again, conscious of her trembling buttock muscles as she fought to hold her position before she sank back down and felt her sex being dilated yet again. The rough texture of the foil on the neck of the bottle inside her made a contrast with the smooth glass. Gaëlle squeezed her pelvic muscles as hard as she could and lifted herself. For a delicious moment, she managed to hold the entire weight of the bottle in place. Then the shape of the bottle, gravity and the slippery glass took effect and Gaëlle almost came as the bottle slid—oh, so slowly—out of her and hit the floor with a little clunk. She was panting hard. The minutes passed, punctuated only by the increasing volume of Gaëlle’s moans. She hung on until she could take no more, stopping to get her breath whenever she felt the orgasm was getting too close. When, at last, she knew she had no option but to come, she forced herself to pump faster and faster, grunting in time with the effort. Part of her mind told her that when her orgasm came, she ought to be careful not to injure herself on the bottle. Then the surge finally overwhelmed her, and she toppled backwards. Only Jérôme’s rapid intervention prevented her from cracking her head on the floor. He lowered her onto the cool tiling, where she writhed and moaned for what seemed like an age, before the tidal waves inside her vagina subsided and she was able to sit up.
She looked up at Sidonie, Raoul and Jérôme. “Did I just disgrace myself?”
Sidonie smiled. “Not at all. You gave us a great show!”
“Well, you did, too,” Gaëlle responded. “A wonderful end to a lovely evening.”
“I’ve never seen a bottle used quite like that,” Sidonie said.
“Well, I’ve never used one like that before, either,” Gaëlle confessed.
“We have a cellar full of wine bottles here…” Sidonie said, in a pensive voice.
“With all sorts of different shapes,” Raoul said.
“I bet you’ll have fun finding out which of them work best, then,” Jérôme said. He smiled and helped Gaëlle to her feet. “We’ve got a long way to go tomorrow, so I think it’s time for bed.”
“How did I look?” Gaëlle asked when they were lying in bed. She was buzzing too much to be ready for sleep.
“Well, when you were about to come, you were trying to avoid falling over backwards, so you spread your thighs beautifully. They framed the neck of the bottle that was sticking out of you. You looked great.”
“Not vulgar?”
“Never. Just very sexy!”
“I’m getting braver, aren’t I? When I ‘m excited now, I want to do things that shock people. Is that weird?”
“No. It’s just part of why I love you. Now, dodo time. We have a long drive in the morning.”
Gaëlle shook her head and came back to the present. Still, she thought, while the bottle was in her hand, she might as well make good use of it. She knew she’d need an orgasm or she wouldn’t be able to sleep, and the desire to be indecorous was very strong.
She organized herself first. Once she was ready, in her sleeping tee-shirt, with clean teeth and moisturized skin, she lay down on her bed. After a few seconds, she rolled over and picked up the bottle. How would it feel, if it was Maya holding the bottle? Gaëlle rubbed the neck of the bottle over her sex, letting the glass slide between her labia, easing them apart and rubbing the cool glass over her clitoris. Soon, she wanted more, so she raised her head to see what she was doing as she penetrated herself with the bottle. She closed her eyes and fantasized that the hand driving the bottle deep into her belonged to Maya. She was surprised at how easy and how exciting that was to imagine, now. She tried again, this time with Gabi as her imaginary partner. That felt good, too. Odile? Gaëlle wondered. Also nice! What
about Eric, then? Or Eric and Maya together. You’re quite shameless, Gaëlle. That conclusion made no difference to the orgasm that sprang from her thoughts, though. She bucked and wriggled as it hit her. Whoo! If I can’t sleep after that, I don’t know when I will, she thought, as she lowered the bottle gently on to the floor. She was asleep in less than a minute.
Chapter Twenty
Maya didn’t wait until the following week to let Gaëlle know what she thought of her trick with the dress. “That wasn’t fair,” she declared as soon as Gaëlle picked up the phone the following day.
“Why? What happened?” Gaëlle asked in an innocent voice.
“You know bloody well what happened. I got home, ready to fend off Mister Lover Boy, and he grabbed my bag and produced your dress. I could hardly refuse to put it on for him, since I’d worn it for you and he insisted on seeing even more than I showed to you. I’ll have it cleaned before I return it, but I’ll be sending you the bill!”
Gaëlle hugged herself. In telling Maya her own erotic history, she had managed to introduce her friend to a wider view of sexuality. Now Eric was reaping the benefits and Maya seemed to be enjoying it, too. “Are you still talking to me, Maya?” Gaëlle asked. “Will you come on Monday again?”
“Eric would strangle me if I didn’t. I’ll be there.”
* * * *
When Maya arrived for their next session, the atmosphere had changed. Maya had questions to ask. “If, and it’s a very tentative if, I was going to try out some of the least of your experiences, how would you suggest I start?”
“If, and I appreciate that it’s a very big if, you were sure that you wanted to experiment, I assume that Eric would want to be with you, wouldn’t he?” Gaëlle said, trying to appear calm.
“Oh, yes! He’s the one who is pushing for me to go for it. But remember, Gaëlle, I have a certain position in society and I don’t intend to jeopardize it just so Eric can have a moment’s turn on.”