“I have no plans, and I’d love to make plans with you….” A mental picture flashed through her mind of an embrace with him, of them standing against a wall and him pumping his ass against her, between her legs. She snapped out of the reverie. “Uhh, I have nothing to do. You know, if my family’s away, then I’m on holiday, too. Why don’t you call me in the morning? I haven’t been to the Centre Pompidou in years.…”
“Let’s do it—let’s be real tourists,” Oscar said with a laugh. Then the mood shifted in an instant while they looked into each other’s eyes. Oscar’s hand swept into the back of her hair, and he leaned in and met her mouth with his with an urgency that sent a current of desire down her loins. The kiss was hot, deep and hungry. They both shuddered, and his hand palmed her body from between her legs, where he pressed against her, up to her breast, which he squeezed, kissing her even more passionately. Just as quickly, he let her go and held her by her shoulders, away from him. They looked at one another and breathed hard.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” Oscar said. He guided her into the taxi, announced Valérie’s address to the cabbie and handed him some folded euros, then gestured warmly to her as the taxi moved into traffic. With the wine in her head, and the sensation of their kiss, and of their shared dessert…she simply remained in those moments. She felt the breeze from the open windows of the speeding taxi, and watched the glow of passing lights and fluorescent signs. His touch was branded on her senses, and their sexual energy hummed through her body until the taxi stopped at her building.
Valérie turned the key in the lock and entered a quiet, dark apartment. She kicked off her shoes and dropped onto a chair at the small kitchen table. She realized that she had never been in the apartment when it was empty. The silence pressed on her; she was unaccustomed to it. No din of the children. Nothing.
She turned the handle to open the window and let in the sounds of the Paris night. She looked out at the night sky and neighboring apartments. Her head spun with the excitement of being with Oscar, and it spun with the wine. She was still slightly startled that he was…well…gone. Not that she had expected otherwise, she reminded herself….
She looked back into the dark apartment and noticed the red blinking light of the telephone answering machine. She sighed. She knew it was Philippe, but she wanted to remain in this moment.
Valérie got up, went to the bathroom, and then straight to bed. She couldn’t remember when she had last felt that rush of electricity and anticipation. It was exciting and exhausting.
Sightseeing
The morning was gray and rainy. She got up and showered, replaying the events of the evening with Oscar. She heaved a sigh out loud, knowing nobody could hear. After she dressed, Valérie dialed Philippe’s cell phone.
“Philippe! How was the trip? How are the children?”
“We called but you weren’t home! Where were you? Are you all right? Did you get the message?”
“Oh, I went out to a film and I had a sandwich in a café. I did a little shopping. And I didn’t want to call and wake anyone.” Her sense of guilt made her feel that even Oscar’s presence in Paris was contraband, and she quickly decided to avoid his name altogether. She knew that they had crossed lines, no matter what happened now.
“Understood. We’re all fine, and I think the sea air is good for the kids. After all the time at the beach and in the water, they slept like logs.”
They covered the news of the trip and of the children, chatted and soon had nothing more to say. “I love you, my darling,” Philippe said.
“I love you. Kisses to the kids,” she answered. And they hung up.
The buzzer rang. Their next-door neighbor, Therèse, came by most mornings to ask Valérie to watch her baby for a minute while she ran to the bakery for her morning baguette. “Yes, Therèse!” she called as she walked to the door and automatically opened it.
“Am I bothering you…?”
“Oscar!”
Oscar let himself in, and closed the door. “You’re so surprised! Should I leave?” He held up a bag. “You have a wonderful bakery just around the corner, and of course they make the best brioches and croissants. I just couldn’t help myself. If you’re busy, we’ll just have a bite and I’ll leave. Otherwise we can share a petit déjeuner.”
“Oh, no, I’m not busy at all! Of course not! Come in, come in. I’ll make coffee.” She was grateful that she’d already dressed, but wondered at the state of her unmade face and hair. She brushed her fingers through some slept-on curls and hoped they would fall right. “I thought you’d call, but that’s fine. You’re a rascal, aren’t you,” she teased. She took the paper bag and started ahead of him toward the kitchen.
“I can be….” And she suddenly felt his hand on her arm. He took it firmly and pulled her back toward him, so she gasped in surprise. He turned her to face him and tugged her body to his. One hand moved up to her head, and he didn’t hesitate before delivering a long, firm kiss. His fingers were entwined in her hair, and his other hand clasped her arm so that he held her close to him. His kiss was demanding, tantalizing and precise. She shivered. He smelled clean and yet musky. She drank him in. He stopped abruptly.
He held her shoulders and moved her away from him to look squarely in her eyes. “Let’s make sure we know what we’re doing here…. I want you, but we’ve got families….” He knew the significance of what they were heading toward, and he wanted their intimacy acknowledged, permitted. He gave her time to refuse, to have a second thought. One of his hands left her shoulder and ran through her thick, wild hair.
She met his gaze, but didn’t want to face real costs. Valérie didn’t care about his wife or why he was doing this; and she didn’t care about her own life at this moment. She simply felt intoxicated by him, and she wanted him. “Let’s just call it a holiday….” she whispered, putting an index finger to her lips. “From everything…and no strings attached…” And she moved swiftly to his mouth, kissing him and pulling him to her. Finally, she thought, running her hand over his chest.
“Oh, yes!” she murmured aloud. Nerves shot up from her deepest insides to the roof of her mouth. Her body remembered these long-dormant carnal sensations. She swiftly undid his shirt buttons and felt the hard curves of his chest muscles. “I want you!” she whispered in his ear as she gently bit his earlobe.
They connected with fierce energy. Their mouths played together, lips and tongues in a wild little dance. His hands began exploring her skin, and all roads of sensation led to her pussy, which was pulsing and throbbing with the tension of wanting. She felt his desire in the strength of his arms. His urgency, when he pressed her to him, made her gasp. His hard cock pushed against her. Her heart pounded and the blood rushed into her cunt.
Her moral compass spun with the gravity of what she was doing, yet she lacked any motivation to stop it. She had been drawn to Oscar from the beginning, and hadn’t synchronicity put them in the right place at the right time? She hadn’t felt such a pull to a man in decades. “I wanted this when I met you in New York. I wanted to touch you as soon as you looked at me,” she whispered.
The precipice they’d been on last night was crumbling beneath them. His hands were exploring her skin and she felt his mouth on her neck, then on her chest…and then his tongue on a nipple made her leap and gasp with delight. His hand kneaded her breasts and clutched her to him. “Ahh!” she sighed loudly. Her knees felt as if they would melt. She hadn’t felt such abandon and joy in someone’s body for so long!
“Let’s get comfortable,” he murmured in her ear. He looked up and saw the bedroom and led her to it—to Valérie and Phillipe’s marriage bed—where he both pulled and pushed her onto it. They fell together onto the still-unmade mattress. Every nerve exploded as her blouse was pushed up and away by Oscar’s hands. He lightly skimmed her skin with the palm of his hand, and she strained and arched her back to meet his touch. She gasped. After so many years of lovemaking to the same man, her senses were in shock.
/> Oscar smelled different, a musky, sweaty scent coupled with a foreign cologne. He was firm and exigent, where Philippe was tender and tentative. Oscar made love, while Valérie’s marriage bed had become a rote exercise. She reveled in his body as his mouth moved across her breasts and he sucked and bit her straining brown nipples. “Oh!” she cried without even realizing it.
“Baby…” he replied, pinching her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
For a single moment she felt a pang of self-consciousness about her body. How long had it been since a stranger felt her like this? The last time a stranger ravished her she’d had taut skin and the firm breasts and flesh of a young woman. But they were here, now, and Oscar showed no signs of stopping for dinner conversation. They explored each other like new lovers. He palmed the curves of her body everywhere; his hand slipped over her back and her ass. His fingertips trailed down the backs of her thighs and into crevices of olive flesh. She moaned with pleasure.
She pushed him away so that she could discover his sinewy form, which was as rippled and muscled as she had hoped. His cock was long and thick, and it strained while she ran her hands over his chest, down his slim hips and over his thighs. Then he growled from his throat and dragged her panties down, off her hips and down her legs. She helped by kicking them away. Finally, he flipped her over on the bed and opened her legs with his own. So fast, she felt his hands squeeze her ass, and then his finger search for her opening. She was wet and he slid his finger in.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you since I first saw you,” he whispered in her ear, on top of her. He lift himself and grunted with pleasure. He had his cock in his hand, and opened her legs wider to mount her. He dived deeply into her, and when he stopped for a second she felt as if his cock touched every nerve her body. He began to rock and pump. She cried out, overtaken by waves of pleasure as he moved in and out, in and out.
“Baby, baby…I want to fuck you….” he murmured, lowering his head to nip at her earlobes and tongue her ear. His deep whispers made his fierceness even hotter. She had a fleeting reflection that she had taken someone into Philippe’s bed, and struggled for a moment with the reality of it.
But Oscar interrupted those fleeting thoughts. “Do you have a vibrator, honey?” he asked, breathing hard.
“Uhh…” she stammered, lifting her eyebrows in shock. Talking to this man about intimate sex toys of her marriage…?
She stared blankly, and he whispered, “Married men know what works!” Valérie laughed and pointed to her bedside table. He laughed, too, but he wasn’t fooling around. He pulled out of her and went directly for the drawer, opening it so roughly that he brought the whole table crashing to the floor, with the lamp following. There, in the mess of spilled contents, was indeed her plastic, pink-hued vibrator. Oscar smirked, grabbed it and turned it on.
He flipped her onto her stomach and slid his straining cock back into her. “Honey…” he said, pumping again. He lifted her hips. He grabbed a pillow to make a cushion between her cunt and the vibrator head. Then he put the vibrating unit against her while he pumped his cock. She could feel all her nerve endings climbing. She felt her orgasm coming, and the sensation was that she was flying off that cliff that they had leaped from. The buzz of the vibrator registered like a plane engine.
And that was the end. She came with a crash that exploded deep inside, and her clit growled like a cat ready to pounce. When it did, she saw a kaleidoscope of colors so vivid that she gave an openmouthed cry. Did it last a second or an hour? She lost track of time, and came out of it sweating and heaving.
But Oscar wasn’t done. He pulled out of her, sweet sex honey running everywhere, and turned her over. She had a chance to look at his cock. It was bigger and thicker than Philippe’s, which accounted for its performance, she guessed. Oscar slid himself into her, face-forward, and devoured her with his mouth. His tongue explored every part of her tongue and, still pumping, he bent over to suck her nipples, first one, then the other. Finally, he emitted a grunt that began quietly, then grew to almost a shout. She felt as if she was fucking a tiger. She was thunderstruck.
It was over. His cream streamed out of her and onto the tangled mess of sheets. He flopped over onto his back and lay there, sweating and panting. Beads of sweat shone on his olive skin. She looked at him naked for the first time. His skin was darker than Philippe’s, and he was hairier, but it suited him, since he was like a wild animal, she thought.
“I love your body…” she said quietly. His arms were muscular. He wasn’t big, but she was right about the sexual power he held. He was hard and sinewy, his muscles taut. But she couldn’t reconcile making love with him in Philippe’s own bed, so she put it out of her mind.
“The timing was right,” he said. “It was meant to be.”
He circled the curves of her breasts with his fingers as they lay on the bed. “I forgot how lovely it is to lie together after making love,” she said.
“Your hair is wild. It reminds me of an exotic queen,” he replied, twirling a lock with his thumb.
She put thoughts of her husband out of her mind and instead chose to experience the moment, as if time was just stopping briefly. “I love your body….” she repeated, running her palm from his curved biceps, over his strong chest and down his stomach, where she stopped and kissed him.
“Maybe I’ll make coffee…?” she asked, looking up from his chest.
He laughed and sat up, and grabbed a bedsheet to wipe some of the sweat from his brow and then his chest. “Yes, yes…and those croissants now. I’m famished. Can I jump into a shower?”
He came into the kitchen in his boxer shorts. He smelled faintly of her family soap, which confused her senses. He sat down at the kitchen table, where she had breakfast things laid out. “Please,” she said, gesturing to the table.
He poured her espresso, then his own. “Sit down, sit down,” he said, grabbing her hand as she moved back and forth in the small kitchen. “You’re okay with this…?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. I just wanted you…I wanted you ever since I saw you,” she said, sitting down across from him. “Sometimes you meet someone, and then if you’re lucky, you get a moment with them, I think…and this is my moment with you.”
“That’s how I feel,” he said. “And wonderful things can happen even when you only have that moment.”
He reached under the table and stroked her thigh. “No strings, just a…a short vacation from our lives? And nobody needs to know.” He drank his espresso and tore a croissant.
“It’s a deal. I never knew it could be so easy.” They smiled at each other. “Have you done this before? Since you were married?”
“Maybe once or twice… I’ve been married a long time,” he answered with a wink. “So it’s a deal. It’s between us.” He extended his hand.
She took it and he pulled her toward him for a kiss. She laughed and drew away. “This won’t get us far in Paris,” she said.
“I don’t care. You’re what I want to see in Paris, baby,” he answered, lifting her shirt to stroke her breast. “Come back to bed with me,” he said, kissing her neck. He led her by the hand, and they fumbled their way back to the bedroom. They fell on the bed and he kissed her body, making his way down to her pussy.
Philippe hadn’t bothered with oral sex for years. Now a soft stroke of Oscar’s tongue on her inside lips made her quiver. His tongue found her clit and he sucked it gently. At the same time, he slid a finger in and out of her rhythmically, and in minutes her body rose in a tide of sensation.
Before she could come, he moved up and pushed his thick sex into her. Every nerve she possessed was now riding the white water of body bliss. “Taste your sweet honey,” he whispered. “Give me your tongue.” She parted her lips and he licked her tongue, and they exchanged her juices as they kissed again. He pumped her sopping wet cunt, and when she began to cry out, he let himself come, bursting into her with shivers of pleasure.
They lay to
gether in a sticky mess of sweat and cum, and finally came apart. But it didn’t last long. They began to kiss again, fondling and stroking each other’s body.
“How about a shower…again?” Oscar suggested. “And this time you come with me. Then we’ll get out and enjoy the city, like we planned.”
“I am enjoying the city,” Valérie said, “since you’re in it.”
He led her off the bed and into the shower. Water flowed and they soaped one another, sending bubbles running down and around and across hard and soft flesh, over breasts and taut muscles, soft curves and asses. Valérie soaped Oscar’s soft penis, pumping it with her warm, wet hand, and it came to life again, hard and hungry.
“Turn around,” he whispered in her ear. “I need to fuck you again….” She turned, and he entered her from behind, pumping hard while the warm water fell between them. He stroked her tits from behind and she caressed her own sex. “I want you to suck me before I come again,” he urged. He pulled himself out, still hard and straining.
She went on her knees on the floor of the tub and took him in her mouth. He was bigger and wider than Philippe, and when she couldn’t hold him in she sucked the purple tip of his cock, and licked it like candy. He moaned and grunted, spurting over her face. She caught some cum with her tongue and he groaned again. He dropped to his knees and kissed her deeply, tasting himself in her mouth.
“Okay,” he laughed, when they had recovered from the moment. “Now let’s really get out of here.” They finally cleaned up, dressed and prepared to leave the apartment.
Tourists in the City
They decided to visit the Centre Pompidou. Valérie hadn’t gone in years, and Oscar, always more interested in athletics, had toured few galleries. The diverse and modern collections gave them much to talk about, and they continued their conversation over lunch in a casual bistro where they ordered steak frites and a bottle of light rosé. They shared clafoutis aux cerise for dessert like lovers. They walked through the old neighborhoods and admired buildings that Valérie hadn’t looked at in years. Who admired seventeenth-century architecture with two tired, arguing children in tow? she thought to herself. Who stopped to study the details of medieval gargoyles while hauling bags of groceries?
A Paris Affair Page 3