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The Secret Pt. 18: Summer 2004

Please start with Part 1 of this series. If you don't understand Part 1, some of this content may not make sense.

Some readers may ask how I can remember all these events. I was a lawyer in another life and learned to keep outstanding notes. When I became Andi, I kept a daily diary of what was happening in my life. Some of the dialogue may not be exact, but the gist of it is correct.

Summer 2004

I called Susan and Charles back and told them I would accept their offer. Yes, I was moving to Paris. Susan was so excited that she gushed with enthusiasm. She told me that since I was coming, I needed to be there before June 21st so I wouldn't miss the Fête de la Musique. I didn't understand what she said, but I promised to be in Paris by then. Over the years, I have enjoyed this music celebration. But that's a story for another time.

Within two weeks of their wedding, Misty and Louis moved to Paris. I'm unsure if Misty's father was happy for her or relieved that she wouldn't marry me. I remained unaware that Misty and Louis shared an apartment in the same building as Louis' parents. Misty and I had mended any bitter feelings between us. I realized that she still loved me. We continued with our sexual relationship, but only when she initiated it without involving Louis.

I told Tina and Ned about moving to Paris. The first question Tina asked me was, "Do you have a job?"The Secret Pt. 18: Summer 2004 фото

"Tina, you wouldn't believe what a wonderful job I have."

"How did you get a fantastic starting job in Paris?"

"Louis's dad owns a large company and offered me a job. You won't believe me, but I can care for myself. You should be pleased that I am expanding my horizons.

"I am. I hate to see you leave."

"There are phones. You can call me anytime." I had to laugh. I was 10 miles away when I went to school, and she could have called anytime. She didn't. Ned agreed to take care of my beloved Grand Cherokee. He was going to drive it every week and keep it running.

I called my advisor at Indiana University. I explained that I was moving to Paris and wouldn't be enrolling this fall. I then called the professor I would work with as his graduate research assistant. I was astonished at how sad he sounded when I wasn't coming. I also called my future landlord in Bloomington and explained I wouldn't use the apartment. She was very understanding and told me she would only keep my deposit. I packed everything I wanted and stored it in my room at Tina and Ned's. I told Mary Sue and Bill they could do what they wanted with anything I left behind.

There was a lot more to do than I realized. I had to get a long-stay visa for France. It would allow me to stay as long as I wanted to. Charles agreed to "employ" me to help me get the visa. He also asked me not to bring too much clothing because he would care for anything I needed. Susan and Charles bought a first-class ticket from Cincinnati to Paris. I landed in Paris three days before the Fête de la Musique. I couldn't believe it, but Susan, Charles, Misty, and Louis met me upon arrival after I had gone through customs and immigration. I'm not sure who hugged me the most; all of them really seemed to be excited.

We went to the arrival pick-up; a big, black Mercedes limo drove up, and Charles said, "This is us." Even on a Saturday, it took us the better part of an hour to reach their building.

The building had a restaurant and a clothing store on the first floor. Susan and Charles occupied the entire second floor. It must have been 4,000 square feet. It was a sizeable space in the US, yet it seemed even more enormous in Paris. The building divided the third floor into two apartments. They told me I would have one apartment while Misty and Louis occupied the other. The fourth floor was occupied by office spaces, and the fifth floor had apartments, which they rented out. I was about to have life changes I hadn't had since I became Andi. But that's a story for another time.

A wooden door between the restaurant and the clothing store led to a hallway, stairs, and elevator. Charles handed me a key and said I would only need it before 6 AM or after 6 PM. The door was open to the outside during the day.

The hallway had a large mirror mounted on each side. It gave the effect of a larger hallway. The beautiful dark oak stairway hugging a wall spiraled up. The elevator cage was in the middle of the stairway. It could only hold three of us. This was a rather large elevator for Paris. As Susan, Charles, and I entered the elevator, Misty and Louis started to climb the stairs. Charles turned to me and said, "I had the stairway and elevator replaced 10 years ago." I found out later Charles had made many upgrades and remodeling to "his building."

The elevator stopped on the third floor. The elevator was slow enough that Misty and Louis were waiting for us. Susan turned to me, "This is your stop". Charles walked up to a door, put a key in the lock, and opened the door. He handed me the key and said, "Make sure you always keep your door locked." He held the door open for me to enter first. It opened up to a hallway. Charles pointed for me to keep going. I could describe the apartment, but not from the first time I saw it. I was overwhelmed by its beauty and spaciousness. The apartment was about 1500 square feet. A vast apartment by Paris standards. As I adjusted to my new environment over the first week, I noticed all the walls were painted a light cream. Ornate crown molding was in every room.

A large doorway opened up to the living room. Three large doors on the outside wall opened up to balconies. Because of its size, the living room was more of a "great room." During the day, the room had an abundance of light. The furniture was a mixture of vintage and antique pieces with modern furniture and art. The décor had Charles' fingerprints all over it. The longer I got to know Charles, the more I realized he had impeccable taste. The floors were all hardwood herringbone. A gas fireplace with a massive mirror and elaborate, gilded frame was on the outside wall. It made the room look even bigger than it was. Through a doorway was the kitchen. It was equipped with all the modern appliances, including a microwave, dishwasher, and washer-dryer combo. In the middle was a small table with only two chairs.

A set of glass French doors led to a dining room on one side of the living room. There was a solid wood table with six chairs, large gilded mirrors on two of the walls, and two large doors on the outside wall opened up to balconies. A wrought iron table with two chairs was on the balcony nearest the kitchen. I spent many mornings at that table, drinking coffee and greeting the day.

I was finally shown my bedroom. Against the inner wall was a king-size bed. The outer wall had two large doors that opened up to balconies. A substantial French provincial dresser was between the doors, and a matching chest of drawers was on the inside wall. There was also a large walk-in closet. I never thought I would have enough clothes and shoes to fill it.

Charles was anxious to show me the bathroom. In France, they call it an en suite. Again, it had large doors that opened up to a balcony. On one side, near the doors, was a copper bateau bathtub. Charles told me I could shower in it but to be careful not to get the wooden floor wet. The sink was oval and free-standing. Susan showed me the fully stocked linen closet on the inside wall of the bathroom. I noticed there wasn't a toilet in the bathroom.

As we exited the bedroom, Charles laughed and said, "I'll bet you were wondering where the les toilette was." He opened a door in the hallway, and there was a toilet and bidet. That was a great design. I didn't have guests trampling through my bedroom to use it.

The last door in the hallway was the guest bedroom. It was smaller than my bedroom but still very tastefully decorated. The bathroom was on the outside wall. One outside door was in the bathroom, the other in the bedroom. I had more guests visiting me than I expected. Everybody wants to see when you can provide free housing, some meals, and a tour guide (me). Tina and Ned (who never traveled) visited me numerous times. Mary Sue, and Bill also visited several times.

Charles said he would be up briefly to check on me. We all agreed to meet at the restaurant downstairs in our building. As they left, I heard Misty say, "Go ahead. I want to talk to Andi for a minute." As she came back into the apartment, she grabbed me and kissed me with as much passion as I had ever seen from her. Her tongue went deep into my mouth. One of her hands grabbed one of my boobs, and the other grabbed my crotch. "I have been dreaming about this for months; I need to taste you," she whispered.

"Let me get settled, unpacked, and showered, and we'll figure something out. I'm not going to fuck you in front of Louis. He tells his mother everything."

"After dinner, I'll tell Louis we want to catch up. He'll probably go out with Jean drinking. (Jean was Louis' best friend and best man at their wedding).

I decided to take a shower before dinner. I undressed and climbed into the tub. As I was soaping up, there was a knock on the bedroom door. I asked who it was. It was Charles. I yelled for him to come in. Charles was paying for all of this, and I had no modesty. I wanted to make sure he got his money's worth. He apologized but forgot to tell me the time for dinner. I noticed his eyes were looking at my crotch. I began to slowly massage my clit. Charles didn't take his eye off what I was doing. He slowly unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his enormous cock.

"Charles, would you like to fuck me?"

"I would, but not now and never without Susan present. I'll watch you and enjoy."

"When are you going to fuck me, Charles?"

"I was thinking Sunday afternoon. Is that good for you?"

"Charles, I am at your beck and call. Would you like to see me cum?"

"Very much so." I redoubled my effort. I turned the shower off, put the shower handle back in the cradle, stuck three fingers up, and stroked my g-spot while wildly jacking off my clit. I don't know if it was what I was doing to myself, Charles watching me, or the open window and breeze, but what a great orgasm. I decided to stop at one. When I opened my eyes, I saw Charles zipping up his pants.

"Andi, let's start our once-a-week agreement next Sunday. You look like you could use the rest."

"Thank you. What should I wear to dinner?"

"Get dressed and meet me at the shop in this building."

I finished my shower, climbed out of the tub, and dried off before the open bathroom door. Across the street, I noticed a couple seated on their balcony watching me. I ignored them while I took a little more time than usual to dry my boobs. I really did enjoy being watched.

I quickly dressed and went to the clothes store to hear Charles tell a saleswoman, "This is who I was talking about."

Charles turned to me, "Andi, this is Noele. She manages this shop for me. I told her you can have anything you want in the shop. Just make sure she's here when you pick out clothes."

Charles already had some items on his arm. He pointed to a dressing room and asked me to try them on. Both were beautiful white cable-knit clothes. Charles stepped into the room with me. He first handed me a pullover white halter cable sweater top. It was low-cut enough to show the tops of my boobs.

He said, "Take off that bra as I removed my blouse. Why would you want to wear it?"

"I wasn't sure if I should wear it."

He chuckled and said, "Everybody in Paris loves a beautiful woman with a beautiful figure. Don't hide it." Ever since I became Andi, I have loved showing off my body. I realized that Paris was the best place in the world to do so.

I pulled on the top; it was a perfect fit. Because it was knit, it was skin-tight. Charles then handed me the high-waisted knit mini skirt. I had worked hard to maintain my flat stomach. I dropped my shorts and wiggled into the skirt. I was wearing my bare cunt bikini underwear.

Charles noticed the underwear, "Andi, any time you wear my clothes, please wear a thong. Panty lines drive me crazy".

"I can't stand thongs, Charles." I eventually was able to tolerate a g-string.

"Then don't wear underwear."

"I can do that." That's when I stopped wearing underwear whenever I wore anything Charles' company produced. I saw the price tag for both items. I was shocked. "This is too expensive."

"This is nothing. All the clothes in the shop are produced by my company. We sell overstocks and last year's fashion here. You should have seen the original price. Never let the price stop you from picking out clothes. I will dress you in fashions that cost one hundred times this. I took the liberty of putting some shoes in your closet. Pick a pair out for this evening." He told me we would meet at the restaurant at 8. I grabbed my clothes and underwear and headed for my apartment.

As I entered my bedroom to put away my old clothes, I saw myself in the full-length bathroom mirror. My outfit was breathtaking. As I turned to admire it, I was thrilled to see how incredibly sexy I looked. The halter accented my boobs, and the side view really made apparent the size of my boobs, topped off with my very prominent nipples. The top could be adjusted to show more or less cleavage by pulling it up or down. With the way the top hugged my boobs, I didn't need to show cleavage. One thing I liked about it being higher was that it showed off my flat stomach, and with the high waist skirt, I could show off the skin from my belly button to the bottom of my ribs. I so love a bare-midrib.

This brings up an interesting point. When I was Andy, I could tell whether a woman was good-looking. I couldn't tell if a man was unless it was somebody like George Cooney. When I first inhabited Andi's body, I hoped to be converted back into a man. That never happened, so I hoped I would start thinking like Andi. That also never happened. I feel like a man, have a sex drive like a man, can tell if a woman is pretty or not, but still have trouble telling if a man is attractive. I love kissing a beautiful woman, but I don't really like kissing men. I initially didn't like giving head but eventually started to enjoy the one thing that drives men crazy, swallowing. And as crazy as this sounds, I can get sexually turned on by just looking at myself.

Because of the closet's size, I hadn't noticed a dozen high-end shoes. I found the perfect match for my outfit. They had 3-inch heels. I had never worn heels this high, and there were heels even higher in my closet. I decided to practice walking around the apartment in the heels. I quickly learned some tricks. Shoulders back, chest out, heel first, then toe, and shorten your stride. As I walked around the apartment, I noticed how much this position accented my boobs, and when I looked at my legs, I loved what they did for my calves. I really looked sexy in heels. One thing I didn't realize was the cobbled streets. Paris has a lot of cobbled streets, and they are hard to manipulate in heels. I learned how to walk them in heels, but not before I nearly hurt myself.

I was about five minutes late. If you want to make a dramatic entrance, it's best to be late. As I looked around, I noticed many eyes on me, but I didn't see anybody I knew. Charles walked out of the kitchen a minute later and waved to me. I approached him and asked, "Where are you guys?"

"We're at the chef's table." I learned that some restaurants have a table in the kitchen for customers. The table was reserved for Charles and his family every night. If nobody in the family showed up by 8:15 PM, they would seat other customers. The head chef-owner rented the space from Charles, which was part of the agreement.

I tentatively followed Charles into the kitchen. The family was sitting at a table shoehorned into a corner in the kitchen. There were five chairs around the table. I watched all eyes on me as I sat down at the table.

Misty said, "My God, you look stunning. Is that a new outfit?"

"This old thing?" I turned to Charles and winked.

The chef said, "I see your beautiful guest is finally here. Are you ready to order?

Charles rattled off an order for all of us. Charles said, "Andi, I want to introduce you to Henri." He walked me over to the chef, who looked very busy. "Henri, I want you to meet Andi. She lives in my building. She is one of my family. Andi, Henri opens his doors at 7 AM. Just come back to our table, and he will cook anything you want with no charge." I can't count how often I went to the restaurant early in the morning. Henri served me a caffè americano, pastries, and, occasionally, eggs (not typically eaten for breakfast in France). Over time, I felt that Henri became very sweet on me.

Charles had ordered a family meal. A family meal is usually served to restaurant employees before the restaurant opens for the day. With five people, Charles wanted to make it as easy on the staff as possible. The meal was a little of everything. We ate well and drank more wine than we should have. At one point, I stood up and asked where the WC was.

Susan jumped up and said, "I'll show you."

She took me into the restaurant's main room and directed me to a narrow stairway that led downstairs to the women's WC. When we were in the small room, she locked the door, turned to me and reached under my skirt, and grabbed my clit.

"I'm going to fuck Charles and maybe you next Sunday."

"I don't want to wait till Sunday."

"What about Charles?"

"Charles doesn't need to know. I'll make it worth your time."

"You two have been so good to me. I have something you could do for me. I need a tour guide. I want to get to know Paris like someone who has lived here for decades."

"I would be glad to do that. My Wednesdays are always free."

"Susan, I've got an idea. Why don't we make Wednesday a tour and sex day? Part of the day you show me Paris, and I do you the rest of the day."

"That's a deal I can get into. Can we start this week?"

"I can't wait." With that, she pinched my clit and gave me a passionate kiss.

When we returned to the table, everybody was still drinking and laughing. Both in my former life and now, I have not been a wine drinker. That all changed when I moved to Paris. Over the years, I appreciated the differences in wine, both type and quality. As we got up from the table, Henri walked over and thanked us for coming. I walked over, grabbed his right arm, and pulled it to my boobs, looking him in the eyes and thanking him for everything. He gave me a polite smile and just nodded. I think I embarrassed him.

As we walked up the stairs, Misty told me Louis was going out with his buddy Jean that night. She would be over as soon as they left.

As I was hanging up my outfit, there was a knock on the door. Since I wasn't wearing anything under the outfit, I was naked except my heels. I decided to greet Misty at the door this way. I opened the door and was shocked to see Susan at the door.

"Love your outfit, Andi."

"I was expecting Misty. I thought I would shock her." What else was I going to say?

"I just came up to tell you to bring some Euros for Wednesday. And from the size of your clit, it looks like you want to do more than shock, Misty." With that, she turned and walked away.

I returned to my bedroom and put on the one robe I brought. I was going to ask Charles for a sexier one. There was another knock on my door. I was sure it was Misty. As I opened the door in robe and heels, I saw Misty in a very thin robe, obviously trying to hide something wrapped up in her robe. She ran into my bedroom, dropped her robe to the floor, and pulled out a huge dildo.

"Holy shit Misty. I have some questions. Where the hell did you get that?

 

"There's a sex shop a couple of blocks from here. They have just about anything you want."

"You have Louis; why do you need that?"

"Silly, it's not for me."

She almost ripped my robe, taking it off of me. As she started to suck on my nipples, she said, "I can't tell you how much I miss you. She threw me on the bed and began to suck on my clit. I could tell I was getting hard.

"I can't tell you how much I miss you." She started to cry.

In my previous life as a man, I never ever cried. I don't know if it was the woman I loved who declared her love for me, my estrogen level, or both. We lay on the bed just kissing and hugging until there was a knock on my door.

"Fucking hell. Who is that now?"

I put on my robe and told Misty to stay in the bedroom. I opened the door, and there were Louis and Jean, who were obviously drunk.

"What do you want Louis. It's been a long day, and I need to sleep."

He slurred, saying, "I told Jean what a great fuck you were and thought you could show him?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?' Leave now, or I'll tell Misty and your mom what you did."

"OK, OK, I just thought you being in this apartment." With that, they turned and left.

When I returned to the bedroom, I asked what Louis meant by being in this apartment.

"Louis told me this apartment was used by Charles' mistress for as long as he could remember."

"How long have you realized that I was Charles' mistress?" I had trouble even saying that.

"As soon as I heard you were coming. Louis even told me he lost his virginity on his 18th birthday to her with Charles' approval, and she would let Louis fuck her once in a while."

"What happened to her?"

"I have no idea. She left soon after I got here. I guess Louis ruined the moment. I'm going to kill him when he gets home."

I found out later the mistress wanted to go home, and I was the replacement. I had to decide if I was OK with this or should leave. It was a difficult decision, but in the end I stayed.

"He tells his mother everything. You shouldn't say anything that would get back to Susan. We should also not do anything that Susan could find out about.

"Come on, Andi, I really need your affection. Louis has changed since coming back to Paris."

"Misty, I don't think we start anything we can get caught at."

"Louis travels about every other week for a couple of days. He catches the train Monday morning and comes back Tuesday night."

"What does he do?"

"He's working for his father as a salesman. Learning the business, one job at a time."

"Here's an idea, after he leaves, come on over, and we can make a morning of it. Spend the afternoon exploring Paris and spend the night." My dance card was filling up fast.

Misty gave me a long kiss, tongue and all. She licked me, starting at my throat, stopping to suck my nipples, continuing down my body, and stopping at my clit, where she gave me a small head job.

She smiled and said, "I love your taste."

The next day, I woke up at mid-morning. If I sleep with someone, I always sleep in the nude. I love the feeling of skin on skin. If I slept alone, I liked to wear loose clothes. I had a tank top on. The tank top showed a lot of side boob, especially when my long nipples helped pull out the top. I thought I would give Henri a little bit of a show. I found my homemade cut-off jeans. They allowed me to wear something that showed off my legs and my butt cheeks without worrying about my clit showing. I ran a comb through my short short auburn and went down to the restaurant. As I went through the kitchen doors, Henri greeted me.

"Henri, can I get a Caffè americano and a pastry?" I could see Henri looking me up and down.

I did a little pirouette and said, "A little difference from last night." He laughed. I slowly turned to show him my ass and walked over to the chef's table, and sat down so that my side was to Henri. He made the Caffè americano and brought it over with a box of pastries.

"Take what you want." I noticed he took a long look at my side boob. As I was getting ready to leave, I leaned over to expose my boobs and buns. I looked over to Henri and winked.

"Thanks, Henri, for breakfast."

"Thank you, Andi. I hope to see you again soon." You can get most men and some women to like you with a bit of skin.

It was Saturday. I decided to stop at Susan and Charles' apartment to ask them about the Fête de la Musique. I knocked, and Susan answered their door. I told her I was curious about the music festival on Monday. As she closed the door, she turned me and put both hands in the side of my tank top and grabbed my boobs.

"I take it Charles isn't here."

"He always works Saturday and Sunday during the "season." I assumed the "season" was the fashion season.

"I stopped by to ask about the festival this Monday."

"What do you want to know?"

"What is it? When does it start? How long does it last? And most important, what should I wear?' The entire time I talked, Susan was squeezing my boobs and playing with my nipples.

"What did you say?"

"Are you alright Susan?"

"No, I'm not alright. I can't stop thinking about you. I'm horny than hell, and you act as if everything is normal. I'll answer anything you ask. Just help me."

"Take off your clothes, and let me get you off."

"I thought you would never ask." She led me to a spare bedroom and took off her clothes in a couple of seconds. "Now you."

"Only if you do exactly what I tell you." I didn't know how good she was at oral sex. "You get me off first, and I will more than take care of you." I dropped my cut-off jeans. No panties today. She lifted my loose-fitting tank top and pushed me down on the bed.

"How do you want me to do this?"

"Treat my clit like you would a cock. Lick it, suck it, and flick it with your tongue. Stick three fingers up my pussy and slowly stroke my G-spot. Don't stop till I tell you." Susan must have sucked a lot of cock in her day. Her mouth and fingers brought me off quickly and often. I finally signaled with my hand to stop.

"Did anybody tell you your pussy really tastes good?"

"Yes, I've heard that before."

I remembered how exceedingly gentle Charles was with my nipples. I decided to use the same technique with Susan. I engulf her entire nipple in my mouth, licking the length and flicking it with my tongue. I don't know if it was my technique or she was that horny, but she started to groan, and her hips started to move. I moved a finger to her pussy. She was ready. I placed my head just above her pussy. I flicked her clit, running my tongue around her opening.

"Stop teasing me. Give me what I want."

I slowly pushed my entire hand up her sloppy cunt. She raised her hips to meet it. I slowly started to suck her clit, flicking my tongue while stroking her G-spot. Susan came loudly yelling "Je jouis" for anybody who would listen. She pressed her head and shoulders hard against the bed. The first time I went down on her, she had a normal refraction period. She needed time between orgasms. I decided to try to speed that up. Some women, including me, can have multiple orgasms with only a couple of seconds to load back up.

I slowed down my stroke of her G-spot. I left my tongue on her clit, barely moving it. Susan started to move her hips again. I matched the seed of my tongue and fingers to her hips. As she sped up, I sped up. It was only a couple of minutes till she was yelling "Je jouis" again. I followed this pattern until she literally pushed my head away from her pussy. She lay there for several minutes, recovering.

"Wow, that was crazy. I may have come four or five times.

"It was five. It looked like you enjoyed yourself."

"You have no idea. That's the second time I've gotten multiple orgasms, and you were also there for the first. I can't get more than one, even with a vibrator. I know some women who pay a lot for this."

I laughed to myself. I had a good business doing just this. I decided if I was going to perform oral sex on women, it would be on my terms.

"I might be interested. I would do this for someone who is good-looking, thin, and under 50 years old."

"Let me talk to some of my friends."

She agreed to meet me in the shop down stairs to shop for the festival later that day.

Susan met me at the shop door.

"From your outfit, it looks like you're familiar with the shop."

"Charles' (fashion) house has a specific look. It was apparent you got it here." Later, I learned that the different fashion houses had different looks.

"Tell me about the festival. I want to know what to wear."

"The Fête de la Musique" is on or around the first day of summer. It's a day of music. People play music in their neighborhood and several free concerts by professional musicians who play for free. It usually starts around 5 PM and ends around 2 AM. If you plan on participating, you should wear something that keeps you cool. Make sure you wear tennis shoes. The weather looks like it's going to cooperate. If I was your age, I would wear a skimpy outfit. Nobody will bother you."

"Let's see if your shop has anything I can wear."

I found a cute short denim pleated skirt and a pair of matching blue lace, low rider, see-through boy shorts. My ass should look great in this outfit. I couldn't find a top I liked.

"Susan, is there a shop nearby that specializes in swimwear?"

"About two blocks over. What are you looking for?"

"I'm not sure, but I'll know when I see."

I found it in a high-end swim shop: a white, front-tie, crochet halter bikini top. Unlined, its tight, intricate knit promised an intimate acquaintance with my skin. In the dressing room, the soft crochet clung the moment I slipped it on, molding perfectly to my full C-cup breasts. My nipples, already hard with anticipation, strained against the delicate threads, their darkened peaks boldly visible, a delicious, barely-contained secret pushing through the white.

The real power, though, was the front tie. I pulled the strings, cinching them tighter, then tighter still, watching with satisfaction as my breasts were crushed together, swelling upwards and inwards. The cleavage it created was breathtakingly deep, a lush valley spilling upwards, transforming my already generous curves into an overwhelming, utterly irresistible offering. Knowing the devastating effect this tiny white weapon would have, I sauntered out, ready to command attention. Susan looked at my chest and said, "Oh, to have young tits."

When I saw the price, I gasped. "I can't believe the cost. This may be the most I have ever paid for an item of clothes."

"Did you look at the label? They make the best swimwear in the world. You will be the talk of Paris in that."

Back in my apartment, a specific, delicious kind of mischief began to brew. I had the perfect new outfit in mind, something I knew Misty would appreciate. The white crochet halter top, that tiny masterpiece of tease I'd found earlier, was first. Unlined, the tight knit molded itself to my C-cup breasts the moment I slipped it on, a soft friction against my skin. I cinched the front tie with a wicked little tug, watching in the mirror as my breasts swelled upwards and inwards, creating that breathtakingly deep valley, my long nipples straining against the delicate threads, their dark peaks boldly visible, a blatant invitation.

Next, the skirt - a crisp, white tennis skirt, already scandalously short, its pleats flaring just so. Beneath it, I wore only the barest whisper of fabric: a flesh color, thread-thin G-string that settled almost invisibly between my legs, doing absolutely nothing to conceal the already noticeable prominence of my large clit, which seemed to throb with a life of its own in anticipation.

Experimenting in front of the full-length mirror, a playful impulse took over. I gave the skirt a little hitch upwards. Then another, higher still. A thrill shot through me as I realized that with just the right adjustment, the lower curves of my ass cheeks were gloriously, daringly exposed, the tiny G-string disappearing completely into the cleft between them, leaving nothing but bare, inviting skin. Oh, this was definitely a look.

A slow, knowing smile spread across my face. This simply had to be shared.

Heart pounding with a mixture of audacity and arousal, I crossed the hall and knocked on Misty and Louis' door. When Misty answered, her eyes questioning, I offered no words, just that same knowing smile. Then, with a slow, deliberate turn, I gave her a little spin. I let the ridiculously short skirt flare out just enough to showcase the cheeky reveal of my bared ass, the nearly invisible G-string, before settling back down. The movement also offered her the full impact of the crochet top, the deep cleavage, and the hard points of my nipples pressing against the white threads. I held her gaze, letting her take in every detail of the deliberate, unadulterated offering. "This is my outfit for the festival Monday".

"My God, Andi, I'm getting turned on."

"So you like it?"

"Get in here so I can grope you." With that, she pulled me into their apartment, grabbed me, moved both her hands to my ass, and gave me a wet, sloppy kiss.

"You really know how to accent your best parts. I'm going to look like the ugly stepchild next to you."

"Misty, you are among the most beautiful women I have ever seen. You could wear a potato sack and still be noticed by everybody. Wear an outfit that shows a little tit and a little ass."

"Louis wouldn't like that. By the way, Louis would like you to join us for the festival."

"I was hoping we would go out together."

"Louis is bringing Jean."

"Great, but I'm not fucking that asshole."

"Andy, you would be surprised what a great fuck he really is."

"Oh my God, Misty, are you fucking that asshole."

"You'd be proud of me. I made Jean be tested to make sure he was safe to fuck. And I only fuck him as a ménage à trois. Louis suggested it, and I agreed. At first, I didn't know if I would like it. I now love it." I had to laugh, it was the first time I had heard Misty speak French and it wasn't a commonly used term.

"How often do you three fuck?"

"Every chance we can. I was hoping we could try a foursome."

"Misty you've been here less than two months. How is that possible?"

"I didn't want to tell you this, but Louis convinced me during our honeymoon. Once I tried it, I was hooked. Have you ever tried double penetration?"

"I haven't, and don't really want to."

"The feeling of having two dicks up you the same time is intense. It's a mixture of pain and pleasure, but mostly pleasure. What about just Jean, is a hell of a fuck"

"We'll see." And I left it at that.

As we were walking down our building's stairs, I said, "Let's go into Charles's shop."

I don't usually go there. The prices are too high."

"Louis doesn't get any discount?"

"He said he hasn't worked there long enough."

That's when I realized Misty had to pay full price. Interesting.

Her copper hair, the color of a sunset, framed a face with skin like alabaster, smooth and almost luminously pale. Tall and statuesque, she carried herself with an effortless grace that made even the simplest movements captivating, her height emphasizing the delicate contrast with her pale skin. We continued our exploration through the shops, and her eyes landed on a section promising daring delights. She zeroed in on a pair of shorts, seeking the perfect blend of brevity and boldness.

The ones she chose were a whisper of white, crafted from a fabric so fine it seemed to melt onto her skin, clinging to her curves with an almost magnetic force. They sculpted her body with breathtaking precision, cupping her posterior so provocatively that its every swell and curve was breathtakingly emphasized, a tantalizing contrast to her height and pale skin. The thin material offered little to the imagination, the outline of her form pressing against the fabric with an almost explicit clarity, hinting at the valley between her thighs, accentuated by the way the shorts hugged her, drawing the eye down her long, tall legs and to her distinctly concave midriff.

A playful smirk touched her lips as she noted the revealing fit. "You know," I remarked, a low murmur escaping me, my eyes tracing the line of the fabric against her alabaster skin, "you're leaving very little to the imagination there."

Her response was a soft, confident purr, the sound a warm counterpoint to her cool skin tone. "Exactly the intention. And I plan to wear these without a single stitch underneath," she confessed, her gaze holding a promise of even more daring display, her tall frame giving the outfit an even more striking presence against her pale form.

Her next discovery was a white bustier, a confection of lace and structure, but clearly a size too small. Instead of merely supporting, it seemed to strain, the fabric pulled taut across the lush curve of her breasts, highlighting the delicate bones of her concave midriff just below. The push-up cups, though inadequate for their task of containment, instead created a dramatic, almost spilling effect, her cleavage a breathtaking display of abundance pushed enticingly high. At the very edge of the straining lace, a tantalizing hint of her areola was just visible, a pale pink against the alabaster skin, adding a touch of daring vulnerability to the sight. The strained lace hinted at the pressure, adding a touch of delicious tension to the sight, drawing the eye to the generous curve that threatened to escape, and the subtle, almost accidental reveal against her tall form.

Leaving the shop, a delicious anticipation hung in the air. We practically skipped back to my apartment, a shared sense of mischievous excitement bubbling between us. Once inside, we became like co-conspirators, shedding our day clothes to slip into our new, electrifying ensembles, her copper hair shimmering as she moved, each movement a playful strut, a tantalizing preview of the night to come, the outfits showcasing her tall form to perfection, the too-small bustier a bold statement of her ample curves against her pale skin, with that captivating, subtle glimpse.

"Andi, I don't think anything turns me on as much as wearing sexy clothes and having people look at me. I have a feeling that after the festival, Louis and Jean will need to take care of me. You should join us."

"I might be up for watching, but I'd like to go slow with this."

Misty's outfit was such a turn-on. She was parading around with a top that really showed her tits, but the camel-toe shorts were too much. As I walked around in my mini skirt and bikini top, I asked Misty where I should wear the skirt. I could wear it on my hips and expose my stomach, or wear it above my belly button and show some ass.

"I told you earlier you should hike it up to expose a little ass. Act like it's supposed to be worn that way."

And that's what I did.

Monday was the day of the festival. I really had no idea what was going to happen. We had decided to wait till it was getting dark to go out. Misty had decided to get dressed in my apartment and have the boys meet us on the street. She figured Louis wouldn't make a big deal about what she was wearing once in public. She was right. As we exited the front door, I was delighted with how Louis reacted to Misty's outfit. He hugged her and gave her a kiss. Not to be outdone, Jean started to grab me.

"Don't do that. We are here to keep Misty and Louis company. When we return, I'll go to my apartment, and you three go to yours and do whatever you do."

I could tell Louis was surprised when he said, "You told her about the three of us?"

"Just like you tell your mother everything, Misty tells me everything."

Louis laughed, "I sure didn't tell Mom about the three of us."

I looked at Louis and Jean and said, "Don't you dare ever talk to me like you did a couple of nights ago."

 

Louis looked sheepish and told me he was sorry. He and Jean had too much to drink, and it wouldn't happen again. Jean also apologized and said he would like to start over. I gave him a big hug and said, you're still not fucking me." Everybody laughed, and we were off for a night of fun.

Our neighborhood placed us a short walk from several of the best venues, and as we headed out, a sea of male eyes tracked Misty and me. Damn, we knew we looked sexy. Street corners pulsed with unbelievable music from small bands and solo performers, filling the air with vibrant sounds. We picked up drinks along the way, and I kept nudging the boys to pace themselves. Predictably, given how we looked, the rude comments weren't far behind. I quickly lost count of how many times we heard "montre-moi les seins"--'Show me your tits'--shouted from the sidewalks. I even teased Jean about maybe just flashing them, but he shut that down fast. He warned I'd have a parade of horny men following us all over Paris.

We stopped at four main venues, dancing, laughing, and drinking. We walked less than two miles and finished up at the Louvre. I had no idea my boobs bounced that much in my bikini top. Misty was intentionally teasing Louis by exposing the top of her tits so that her areoles showed. I kept Jean close. Several times, I felt uncomfortable by things being said to me. I didn't understand, but by Jean's reaction, they were probably sexual.

Walking back to the apartment, we went along the Seine River. As we were walking, Misty handed both guys a Viagra pill and said they may need this. It was basically group after group of musicians. As we approached the door, Misty asked me if I would like a drink. I knew what she really was asking: if I would join them in a four-way.

"I'll take that drink, see what it tastes like, and decide if I want any more."

Misty took her clothes off as soon as we got into their apartment, followed by Louis and then Jean. I got my first look at Jean's cock. He wasn't nearly as big as Louis, but who is. He was also circumcised. I have noticed uncut guys have a foreskin to help stimulate the cock when fucking, but cut guys tend to pump harder and faster to cum. Jean might be able to give me the pounding I liked so much, but not tonight. I was going to make him work for this pussy.

Misty served us each a glass of wine. She started with Louis, got on her knees, and briefly licked his cock. Next, she handed Jean a glass, got again on her knees, and literally deep-throated his dick. This was something she learned since coming to Paris. Sometimes there's a benefit to not having the biggest dick in the room. When she got to me, she said I had to take off my clothes to get the drink. I undid my bikini top and could see Jean really eyeing my boobs. I slipped off my short mini and said, "That's it."

"How am I going to suck on your clit with when it's covered?"

"Suck on it through my panties." I had a substantial erect clit from all the naked bodies and seeing Misty's performance. As she was sucking on me, I had a choice: peel off my panties and have Misty finish me off with tongue and fingers or have her stop what she was doing and stay worked up. I decided to have her stop sucking and watch the three of them in action.

"Are you going to let me watch you guys?" Misty rubbed her boobs in my face and said come on, let, with the two guys following her like she was a bitch in heat. Misty and Louis had a huge container of lube, which she gave the guys. They both slathered their dicks with it. Misty also used some, mostly on her asshole. I was sure her pussy was already wet. Jean laid down first. Misty sat on Jean's abdomen, positioning his rock-hard dick up her asshole. Once Jean was up her, she laid her back on him. I carefully watched her face. She really seemed to enjoy the penetration.

Louis was kissing her boobs. She came very quickly. I think that was the first time I have seen anybody orgasm from just anal intercourse. Louis positioned himself while stoking his dick. He slowly inserted his dick up her pussy. From her face, I could tell that there was some pain involved. Misty had a lot of dick up her. Jean was bigger than average, but Louis was the size of a pony. I was afraid they might tear something. The three had worked out the logistics well. The guys slowly pumped her at the same speed. The pain had started to change to pleasure. Between loud moans, she asked me to kiss her. As I was kissing her, she whispered, "Pinch my nipples." My nipples are very sensitive and give me great pleasure, but not from pinching.

I pinched her nipples. In just a couple of seconds later, she moaned."Harder, harder." I pinched her nipples harder and actually pulled on them to the point of having Misty cry out a little. When Misty and I were together, I noticed that a bit of pain really intensified her orgasms. With what I was doing to her nipples and the two guys really stretching her, she was definitely feeling pain. Misty took some time to get where she wanted to go. Her body completely tensed up as she started to yell, "I'm, cumming, I'm cumming.

The last time I was with Misty, she would take a little time to get her next orgasm. I don't know if the situation or if she had changed, but she had one orgasm after another with very little time between. In fact, I wasn't sure if she was having just one very long, very intense orgasm. Louis and Jean had cum during this but kept pumping until Misty finished. Louis was the first to pull out. He rolled over and collapsed on the bed. Misty rolled off of Jean in the other side of the bed. As I looked at Misty's pussy, it was covered in cum, with more leaking out of both her holes.

Finally, they all got up and made their way to the bathroom. Their apartment had a large walk-in shower. As I followed them in, Misty called for me to join them. I still hadn't taken off my panties, even though I had a clit so hard it was pronounced. After the three helped each other clean up, they turned their attention to me.

It wasn't long before my panties came off. The feeling of three sets of soapy hands feeling, grabbing, probing, is indescribable. I didn't cum, but I came very close. Misty turned me so I faced her and started to passionately kiss me while jacking off my clit. I began to feel a cock slide into me from behind. I realized it was Jean from the size. It felt great, I was just glad it was in my pussy, not my ass. I leaned over to let Jean slide up his entire length. I wanted him to hit my cervix. Misty continued to jack me off while I was now sucking on her nipples. Louis had positioned himself behind Misty; she rose up on her toes, and I realized he was penetrating her.

Jean grabbed my boobs and started to gently roll my nipples. I was sure Misty told him how to play with my nipples.

Jean continued to fuck me with his rock-hard cock. Misty told me she got the guys to take 2 Viagra pills (not recommended). With Misty jacking my clit off and Jean fucking me, I had several really good orgasms. Because of Misty's boobs in my face, I hadn't noticed Louis had finished. I eventually got all I wanted, grabbed Jean's dick, and pulled it out. He didn't complain.

After we finished showering, I dressed, and we all kissed. Misty turned to me and said, "Why don't you take Jean home with you. This really caught me off guard, but I hadn't fallen asleep with anybody in months. I asked Jean if he wanted to come home with me. He quickly said yes.

As I walked across the hall to my apartment, Jean followed me like a lost puppy. As soon as I closed my door, he grabbed my boobs. I spun around and said, "Don't you grab me without my permission."

I'm sorry, I just thought after what we did in the shower.

"If you were my boyfriend or even a steady fuck-buddy I'd love you to put your hands all over me, but you're not, or at least for not."

"Aren't we going to bed together?"

"We are going to bed together, not to screw." I'm taking you out for a test drive. If you pass, I'll let you back in my bed."

"Didn't you like the way I fucked you?"

"You were good, but so are a lot of guys."

"If it isn't sex, what do I have to do to pass?"

"I go to bed to sleep. You can't bother me when I sleep. No snoring, involuntary jerking, sleep apnea, touching that can wake me up, and no trying to fuck me while I sleep."

"Some of that I can do other things I don't even know if I do."

"We'll find out tonight. If you pass, we can make this a regular thing; if you don't, this is it. If you do pass, I have another list of dos and don'ts when it comes to sex, but first, we'll see if you pass this first test. One question: How did you learn to speak English so well?"

"I was an exchange student. My host family lived in a small college town in Ohio."

I thought he was talking about Oxford, my hometown. What was the town?

"Kent. I spent my Première grade there."

"What's Première grade?"

"It's like your 11th grade."

I took off all my clothes to get ready for bed. Jean stripped to his shorts. "You're not getting in bed with me wearing anything. "Peal the shorts." As he dropped the shorts, he had an impressive hard-on. "If I hadn't made myself clear enough, I'm not fucking you again tonight."

If you want to sleep with me, here are some rules: We will sleep with you spooning me; your hand will rest between my boobs: your dick will rest on the crack of my buns, and no moving." He smiled and shook his head yes. And that's how we slept that night.

I woke up around noon. It was the longest I'd slept in months. When I got up to use the bathroom, I noticed Jean had morning wood. I should throw the dog a bone.

"Give me a few minutes, and maybe we can see what you can do in bed." When I got back, he tried to use the bathroom but really struggled to pee with his erection. When he finally got back, I was on my back with my knees up, exposing my pussy.

"Now, to see if you can pass the next test. How good are you at eating pussy? Before you answer, let me tell you what I love. I love having my clit sucked like a little dick. Suck it in and out while you flick to end with your tongue. Slowly insert three fingers up me and stroke the front inside of my cunt. Do my nipples just like you did in the shower last night. Don't stop until I tell you."

"You do this right, and I will fuck you like you have never been fucked." Some men are like puppies. They will perform if they get a treat at the end.

Jean was a fast learner. It wasn't the best oral sex I've ever had, but for the first time, it was great. After three intense orgasms, I grabbed his hair and pulled his head off of my pussy.

"You passed your test with flying colors. Now I really want to fuck you. Here are some more rules" You are never to stick anything up my ass. Don't ever put your dick in my face. If I am going to suck it, I'll initiate it. Pump me like you did in the shower last night. One last thing, which is the most important, is that you are never to say a word to anybody about what we do here. I may lose this apartment if this gets back to Louis' parents. Are you good with that?"

"I promise not a word to anybody."

I smiled and said, "How would you like me to fuck you like you have never been fucked before?"

"Get on top of me and bounce. I want to see your tits bounce."

I offered Jean the fuck of a lifetime, and all he wanted was to see my boobs bounce. I figured if I played with my boobs while bouncing on his dick should get him to cum quickly.

As I swung a leg over Jean, I came down of his dick. I rubbed it as hard as I could on my dripping labia. The good news for me was that it was also my clit. I wanted to really tease him so I could get him to cum as fast as I could. I rose up on one leg, grabbed his dick, and really jammed it up me. As I settled down on it, I started to bounce quickly. I could feel my boobs bounce. As I looked at Jean, I could see he was getting close. I grabbed one of my boobs, raised it up, and started to fondle it. Jean came as soon as I did that. I'm not sure if it was his dick pounding on my cervix, the autoerotism of playing with my nipples, or both, but I also came.

"Congratulations, Jean, it's official."

"What's official?

"We're fuck buddies. Now, some ground rules. I don't want you showing up unannounced. You call me. Or I'll call you. Don't come over drunk. I wouldn't let you in. If you sleep with anybody else, please wear a rubber. Take Viagra before you come over. You've got to fuck me longer than you just did. Let's make at least once a week a sleepover."

"That all sounds great, but what do I get?"

"The best fucking you will ever get."

We decided on Friday nights for our sleepover because it would allow us to sleep late. Jean decided we should go out for dinner. He wanted me to experience some of the great restaurants of the world. He always paid. When I found out who his family was, I realized money was never a problem. But that's a story for another time. Not to give too much away, but we kept this up for several years, and Jean became an incredible lover.

Early on, Charles asked me what kind of car I wanted. I said a Citroen 2cv.

"Andi, they haven't made those in almost 15 years."

"I did my research. Citroen 2cv are economical and reliable, have a rollback roof, parts are easy to find, they're easy to repair, and they're cute."

"I know a guy that specializes in Citroens. You need to talk to him."

"I'm working on my French, but if he doesn't speak English, he wouldn't do me any good."

"I don't know, but I can get a translator."

Guy could speak English well enough for me. He was an old-time mechanic. He had a garage that employed six other men. I noticed he only had Citroens in his shop. He was the guy I needed to talk to. I explained that I wanted to buy an 89-90-year model 2cv. It needed to have a straight frame with no rust. Everything except the engine needed to be in great shape. He asked me why not the engine. I told him I would buy a completely rebuilt engine and swap it with the old one. I would buy an engine with an overbore kit, sports cam, intake, and exhaust manifold. And install a free-flow exhaust system. I told him I hoped to increase by 50% over the original.

I could see I got his attention.

"You seem to know a lot about cars."

"I plan on doing some of the work myself. I don't know how it works in Paris, but most mechanics must supply their own tools in the US.

"Same here in Paris."

"Guy, I'd like to use your tools but may need your help. I'll pay you well."

It took Guy a month or so, but he found a great car that was very straight and had no rust. It was an ugly green. He located the rebuilt engine I wanted. I went to one of Paris' used clothes stores and purchased several tiny overalls and long-sleeved shirts. I also bought a large box of rubber gloves. I would ride the Paris subway to and from Guy's shop. When I rode home on the subway, I got strange looks from some of the riders. Seeing a young woman covered in grease riding the subway was unusual.

I heard from Charles that Guy wished he could hire me as a mechanic. Guy was surprised by my mechanical ability and knowledge.

It was slower than I wanted, but Guy and I removed the old engine from the Citroen. We then sent the body without the engine to a body shop that Guy said was good with Citroens. I chose a two-tone paint job: maroon and black. I also replaced the canvas pull-back top and reupholstered the seats with leather.

When I finally worked out the kinks of my new car, I drove it to my building. Charles and Susan couldn't believe how beautiful it was. Charles said it might be the nicest 2cv he had ever seen. Charles had arranged for a reserved spot in an underground parking garage. I bought a locking cover to keep the dust off my beloved "Deux Chevaux", French for "two horse". Cars are taxed by a formula based on horsepower. The 2cv was taxed on two horsepower. Every Sunday morning, when possible, I took that car out, sometimes around Paris neighborhoods and sometimes to the countryside. It was a great me time. I loved and kept that car until I finally returned to the US.

Early in Paris, I wanted to start a service like I had in the US. I could use the money, and I really enjoyed having sex with couples or just women. Almost every Wednesday, Susan and I got together. She would take me to a new spot in Paris in the morning. I had heard of some of them; others were tiny treasures that most people never saw. If it was a paid site, Susan had a card that she would show a worker, and they treated us like royalty. We never waited in line and often had our own tour guide.

We would always stop at a restaurant and have a light lunch. We would then go back to my apartment, and we would pleasure each other. Charles was a meat and potato guy when it came to sex. I would fuck Charles the same way over and over again. Susan, on the other hand, was very adventurous when it came to sex. I had bought a large quantity of sex toys and clothes at a neighborhood store.

I had laid out a large assortment of dildos, butt plugs, vibrators, restraints, nipple clips, harnesses, lubricants, paddles, and whips in several of my drawers in my bedroom. It only took a couple of Wednesdays before Susan would come into my bedroom, strip off her clothes, open up the drawers, and pick one or more items to use on her or, once in a while, me.

When I complimented Susan on her adventurousness, she told me, "I'm making up for lost time. I was born in the South and grew up in a very repressive childhood. I went away to college and got my first orgasm when I learned about masturbation. When I married Charles, I was a virgin. I thought all men had horse cocks. I really had to work at cumming from fucking. Charles insisted that I was present when he would fuck another woman. You were the first person to give me an orgasm orally. Now is my time to find out what I like."

"That's something I wanted to talk to you about. I want to find clients who would like to learn to orgasm. I really think I could help them and I could make some money. If you know anybody who might be interested, let them know I'm available. I'm interested in women under 60." Word of mouth would get me more clients if I could get a few clients.

"I might. I'll talk to them and see what they say." And she left it at this.

Less than a week later, a woman called me and told me she had talked to Susan. Arrange for her to come to my apartment to talk. I was happy to see her. Ms. X was mid-40s, very thin, tall, and pretty. She was an American expat who came to Paris to work as a model. I explained what my service was. When I questioned her about her sexual likes and dislikes, she said she had very few. She had never got much pleasure from sex and never had a boyfriend. I told her Ms. X would have to have a recent STI (sexually transmitted infection) test at one of Paris' free clinics. I showed her my sex toy draws and asked if there was anything that interested her. She picked out two dildos, a vibrator, and nipple clips. The nipple clips caught me off guard. I also asked her if she wanted me to wear any specific clothes. She just wanted me naked.

About a week later, Ms. X called. She said she had the test and was anxious to get together. We met at her apartment early Tuesday afternoon. At the door, Ms. X met me in a matching black sleeping shirt and pants. The tight shirt accented the lack of breasts. Her small, erect nipples were the only curves she had. As she led me to her bedroom, I noticed some glamorous pictures of her on the wall. One in particular was very well known. Ms. X is on a runway wearing a very narrow bandeau top and baggy shorts. She was the 90's icon for heroin chic.

"I knew I recognized you."

She smiled, a cryptic curve of her lips that offered no hint of what lay beneath the surface. As soon as we crossed the threshold into her minimalist bedroom, Ms. X turned to me, her voice direct and devoid of any coyness. "I understand you can make any woman cum. I've never... I've never experienced it." Her words hung in the air, a stark challenge and a desperate plea rolled into one.

 

Without another word, she began to disrobe, her movements swift and economical. As her clothes fell away, I was struck by the almost sculpted starkness of her thin frame. The sharp angles of her hip bones and the surprisingly pronounced curve of her pubic mound were thrown into sharp relief by the absence of any body hair below her scalp. It was an almost alien landscape, smooth and bare, emphasizing the delicate architecture of her pelvis.

"Your turn," she stated, her gaze unwavering.

I followed suit, shedding my own clothing. As my top, shorts, and underwear landed in a soft pile, I felt her eyes drop immediately to the prominent bulge between my legs, the sheer size and shape of my engorged clit an undeniable focal point. The heat of her gaze alone was enough to tighten my nipples, the sensitive tips hardening into eager peaks.

A soft gasp escaped her lips. "My god," she murmured, her voice laced with surprise and something akin to awe. "You have a fantastic body. You have curves where I... where I don't have places." Her eyes traced the swell of my breasts, the curve of my hips, a stark contrast to her own angularity.

"What would you like me to do?" I asked, my voice a low purr, the anticipation building within me.

"Make me cum," she repeated, her voice urgent now, a raw need breaking through her earlier composure. "I just... I just want to cum."

I began my exploration of Ms. X's body with slow, deliberate kisses. Starting at her lips, I savored the delicate taste of her skin, then trailed downwards, my tongue a warm, lingering caress along the slender column of her neck. I paused at her small nipples, gently teasing them with my mouth, flicking them with the tip of my tongue before continuing my descent.

My lips and tongue finally reached the pronounced curve of her pubic mound, the smooth, bare skin offering no resistance. I nuzzled against her, inhaling her unique scent, then ran my fingers gently around the delicate outer labia, noting the distinct lack of any natural lubrication. A flicker of concern crossed my mind, but I pushed it aside, focusing on the task.

I lubricated two fingers generously and slowly slid them inside her, exploring the dry, tight passage. There was no yielding, no welcoming moisture. It was like entering a parched desert. I continued to gently stroke the inner walls, searching for any sign of arousal, any hint of response. Nothing.

Undeterred, I reached for the nipple clips I had brought, carefully attaching them to her small, pale nipples. Then, I turned on my trusty Hitachi Magic Wand to the lowest, most gentle vibration. The subtle hum against her breasts finally elicited a reaction. Her breath hesitated, and I saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Slowly, tentatively, her hips began to move, a slight, almost imperceptible shift against the bed.

I focused my attention internally, my lubricated fingers now gently probing, searching for the elusive G-spot. I found it, a small, slightly raised bump along the anterior wall, and began to stroke it slowly, rhythmically, in tandem with the gentle vibrations against her nipples.

Gradually, the small movements of her hips grew more pronounced, a subtle rocking that hinted at building tension. I increased the intensity of the vibrator, the powerful pulsations now directly stimulating her nipples. The combination seemed to be having an effect. I continued to stroke her G-spot with deliberate, focused movements, the subtle contractions of her vaginal muscles against my fingers the first tangible sign that the long-sought-after sensation was finally beginning to awaken within her.

Ms. X was more animated about getting her first orgasm than when she got one. She waved me over to her and held me tight. She made no effort to pleasure me. Ms. X walked over to a dresser and handed me a new bill. I was shocked until I looked at it and realized it was a 500 Euro bill.

"Is that enough."

"You're more than generous." This was strictly a business deal. I dressed and said, "Let me know if you want me to come over again."

"I would like to make this a regular thing." How does every week sound?

"That works for me. Same time every Tuesday?"

"Almost every Tuesday. If I'm walking the runway, I wouldn't be available. I'll give you a copy of my schedule. If I'm open, I hope to see you. Are you interested in new clientele? I have some friends who may be interested in your service."

"Just give them my phone number. I'll be glad to talk to them." I had no idea how much that helped my business. I tried to keep the number of customers to five a week, but sometimes that number would balloon to as many as ten a week. I just felt it wasn't good for my business to turn down beautiful, horny fashion models.

Ms. X used me for years. Her career waned and waxed. One year, heroin chic was in; the following year, it wasn't. She finally got tired of the Paris fashion scene and went home to the US.

As I started to pleasure more and more fashion models, I noticed some common characteristics about them: there wasn't a hair on their body below their waste; they were very tall, thin, and toned; they spoke English very well, flawless skin, most had husbands or boyfriends, many were either bisexuals or lesbians and tended to be very good tippers and when not working, slept in late.

I was getting more and more calls from models for my service. We would meet at my apartment and tell me what they liked and disliked. They looked over my increasingly large sex toy collection. The single most significant sticking point for some was a recent STI (sexually transmitted infection) test. I don't know if they felt insulted, embarrassed, or didn't want to be seen going to a clinic. I suggested they could use their doctor. I lost more than one who seemed interested in my service but never got the test.

I always made house calls. I became proficient at using the Paris subway and traveling from client to client. I really wanted women who wanted to make this a weekly thing. It would allow me to plan my days better. It took a while, but I finally got it down to five regular customers with a few irregular ones.

Surprisingly, a couple lived in high-end hotels, not apartments. I suspect it was the conveniences like daily cleaning, laundry services, and amenities like a concierge service. They didn't have to worry about an empty apartment when they traveled.

Sunday afternoon with Charles and Susan felt like the movie "Groundhog Day." It was always the same thing with Charles. Saturday afternoon, a package would arrive with some incredible high-end lingerie. I eventually ended up with a world-class collection. I would put the lingerie on early Sunday afternoon, cover it with a coat, and go to Charles and Susan's apartment. Susan would greet me at their door in a nightgown peignoir set. Always in one that I had never seen before. Charles would make his entrance in the same robe over and over again with his huge cock sticking out. I would lie down on the bed without even being asked; Charles and Susan started at my clit, with Charles moving to my nipples. I would get my first orgasm, which was a signal for Susan to lie on her back, exposing her pussy. I would knee, lower my face to Susan's cunt while raising my ass to offer my cunt to Charles' huge, rock-hard dick. Charles would slowly fuck me to a couple more orgasms. Susan and I decided she could get better orgasms if she didn't orgasm. Sunday, she would be horny for our Wednesday get-togethers. So Susan got really good at faking orgasms. To get Charles off, I would always have to mount him and jack off my clit. I would always get intense orgasms. I love big cocks, but Charles was so big that once a week was about all I wanted to take. Charles would finally orgasm by shooting a massive load of cum up me.

Early after one of our Sunday sessions, Charles told me French authorities questioned him about me. To get my visa, Charles had to claim me as an employee. He wondered if I could start working part-time at his fashion house. We agreed I could work in the mornings three days a week. He told me he would pay me the going rate for his workers. I had no idea what a great deal this was for me.

The following Monday, I walked with Charles to his fashion house. He told me to wait at the storefront. Walking around the showroom, I realized all the clothes were ready to wear. I later learned that the Haute Couture fashions were created and made on the second floor of the building. Haute Couture and Couture create exclusive, custom-fitted, high-end fashion designs, with Haute Couture paying incredible attention to detail. Ready to wear was made off-site. Charles decided all of his clothes were going to be made in France. His fashion house had a massive building on the outskirts of Paris where all the ready-to-wear garments were made.

While Charles was the creative director, he had a woman named Colette, who ran day-to-day operations. I was to be her aide. Colette spoke English better than I spoke French, but not by much. She was a stocky, gray-haired woman in her mid-50s. Collette appeared at the door Charles had gone through. She was wearing a white smock, two sizes too small for her. I'm sure, at one time, it fit her well. As she walked back inside the door, she had a limp and hip roll that told me she had hip problems. It turned out that's why I was there. I would cut down on her walking by doing many daily menial tasks.

The building had two elevators, one for clients and the other for a freight elevator. Employees were to only use the freight elevator. Using the stairs was faster and helped keep me in shape. We slowly went up to the fourth floor, which was filled with tables with seamstresses cutting and sewing clothes. This is where Haute Couture and Couture were created. I followed Colette to a room in the back that had lockers. She showed me my locker, had me raise my arms, and smelled me up and down. She told me to shower before coming to work and never wear perfume or makeup. She then handed me a smock with my name on it. She returned to the floor and said something that got everybody's attention. I was able to understand a little of what she said. The very last thing she said was my name. Everybody seemed to smile and went right back to work.

My duties were minimal initially, but as my French improved and Colette felt more comfortable with me, I started doing things that mattered. These could range from checking the progress of a project to going up to the 6th floor to check inventory.

Once in a while, I would get to go to the 2nd floor, which was the atelier where all final fittings and tailoring took place. It was also where Charles worked. It took me a while to figure out how the floor was laid out. There were small rooms around the outside walls and private final fitting rooms for high-end buyers.

In the front of the room, also on the side, was a well-appointed lounge for high-end clients. Lounges offer a more intimate setting for clients to view collections, receive individual styling advice, and even make special orders. One of my duties was to make sure there was food and drink for the clients. From the refrigeration in a small room next to the lounge, one or two tins of beluga caviar were brought out depending on the number of clients coming. Two or three bottles of several types of champagne were iced down. Early every morning, the fashion house delivered several platters of hors d'oeuvres. They were kept in the refrigerator until needed. At first, Colette set up the food for the clients. She let me help slowly, and eventually, I did it without her supervision.

I usually left the fashion house around noon. One day, when I was getting ready to go, Colette asked me to help her clear the tables in the lounge. I asked her what we would do with the leftover food as we cleared the table. All she said was "Garbage". With that, she took a small scoop of caviar and ate it. She motioned to me to do the same. It was the first time I had had caviar, let alone beluga. She ate a few of the hors d'oeuvres, I was selective, but I also ate a few. Colette then went over and poured a small glass of champagne and sipped it. I followed her lead. This was the day I learned to love beluga caviar, high-end hors d'oeuvres, and French champagne. This didn't happen often, but I was glad to work late when it did. Colette told me she had been doing this for years. It might explain her fireplug figure.

Over the years, I noticed very few overweight people in France. Years later, I read that France had the lowest obesity rate in Europe; Colette was an exception.

Bastille Day fell on a Friday. Every business shut down for the celebration. There were actually two parts to the day. Early in the day, a military parade started at the Arc de Triomphe and went down the Champs-Élysées. The Champs-Élysées was only a couple of blocks from my apartment. In the evening, the events were concentrated around the Eiffel Tower. There was a rock concert followed by a fireworks display.

Misty and I decided not to wear anything crazy for the parade, but we thought we would crank it up for the concert. Neither Jean nor Louis was interested in accompanying us to the parade. Still, they were all in on the events around the Eiffel Tower.

Misty chose a stylish cotton sundress. A midi-length A-line dress in a cheerful small floral print. The fit skimmed her figure comfortably, hinting at her slender build without clinging, and the length showcased her long legs gracefully without being revealing. She looked incredibly sophisticated.

I wore tailored high-waisted trousers in a lightweight crepe, in soft blue, paired with a tucked-in blouse. The high waist of the trousers emphasized my narrowest point and created a long, elegant line, showcasing my height and slender build while being entirely covered. Misty was almost shocked I was so "covered up." I told her to wait for tonight.

The Bastille Day Parade in Paris, known as the world's longest continuous military parade, was an overwhelming spectacle, especially for a first-time viewer like myself. I was surprised to spot The Grenadier Guards among the ranks, only to learn they were special guests from the UK, invited by the French government to mark the 100th anniversary of the Entente Cordiale, that treaty of friendship signed back in 1904. Not to be outdone, the French showcased their impressive mounted soldiers alongside large contingents on foot, roaring past on motorcycles and rumbling by in tanks. Experiencing all of it packed onto the Champs-Élysées was incredibly intense, and the heat was stifling - it turned out that July 14th was the hottest day Paris saw in 2004. Honestly, it felt like a miracle that no one had collapsed on the spot.

Leaving the heat of the parade and the promise of the evening's concert, Misty and I headed back to my apartment, shedding our clothes the moment the door clicked shut. The city's energy still hummed in our skin, and the best way to wash off the day and dial up the anticipation for the night felt obvious. We stepped into the shower together, the warm water cascading over us as we began to frolic, soap slicking our bodies, hands exploring curves, a playful dance of touch and sensation. Misty, knowing exactly how to flick the switches that send pleasure coursing through me, reveled in drawing out the shivers and soft gasps, and I, always eager to ride that wave of arousal, leaned into every touch.

We lingered under the spray until our skin was flushed. Tingling, then stepped out, not bothering with clothes, just lounging around the apartment, letting the air cool our damp skin, basking in the aftermath of our shared heat. The charged quiet was broken when Jean and Louis showed up; the look on their faces when they found us there, naked and glowing, spoke volumes. The air crackled with sudden, intense desire; they wanted us immediately. The pull was mutual, a potent wave hitting all of us, but the main event at the Eiffel Tower was still to come, and the delicious anticipation of 'that' blowout made us agree to wait, letting the tension build even higher for later.

Stepping out for the Bastille Day concert, Misty, with her fiery copper hair and pale, luminous alabaster skin, was a walking, talking fantasy in white. Her white shorts were practically painted on, hugged her ass so tight you could read the dimples, with a shot of camel toe right up front, just the way she liked it. Her white bustier was way too small, pushing her breasts up and practically spilling out over the top, the straining lace barely holding on, giving you a clear, unavoidable peek of cocoa-rose areola against that pale skin.

I chose a little white halter top that clung to every curve and felt incredible on my breasts. My subtle plum-tinted areola topped by my nipples... they're just right there. Long, dark, and hard, pressing their distinct shape through the thin white material, a constant, exquisite friction. I loved this top because it puts them on display. My skirt rode low on my hips, barely there, just enough denim to cup the swell of my ass and leave the rest to the imagination - or not. No panties, obviously. The denim is rough and perfect against my skin, a constant, low-level tease that keeps that warm feeling deep in my belly. I can see the slightest hint of the rise at the top of my thighs, that knowing little curve.

I met Misty and Louis at their apartment and headed to the Eiffel Tower for the concert and fireworks. I asked where Jean was and was told we would meet him at the concert. I could tell Louis couldn't keep his eyes off me and finally said how daring my outfit was. I just smiled. As we walked to the "La dame de fer," as locals call the Eiffel Tower, I realized I was starting to attract too much attention. Once there, we finally found Jean wandering around. He took one look at me and complained, "I don't think you should be exposing yourself like that."

"I guess I didn't get the memo about you being my boyfriend," I shot back, a little heat in my voice. He just stood there, jaw slightly slack, so I spelled it out for him plainly: unless he held that title, he had no say whatsoever in what I chose to wear.

As the concert roared to life, Jean and Louis pulled out flasks, passing them around. I had no idea what they were pouring, but it hit just right - smooth and potent. My personal mantra has always been "be in control by staying in control," and I rarely drink much, seldom getting drunk. But tonight was shaping up to be a wild exception. The pulsing music, the oppressive heat of the Parisian night, and the alcohol all merged into a powerful aphrodisiac, leaving me insanely aroused, a constant hum under my skin.

We were really 'dancing,' lost in the crowd's energy when I started grinding against Jean. Later, he swore I actually hitched up my skirt and rubbed myself right against his leg. I don't remember the exact moment, but he showed me the undeniable stains I left on the sides of his shorts. What *does* stand out vividly in my memory is the suffocating heat and how my white halter top was soaking wet with perspiration. That top left nothing to the imagination; sweat beaded in my cleavage, and my long, dark nipples were front and center, pushing aggressively through the damp, thin fabric. Below the cropped top, my concave midriff glistened with sweat, leading down to that ridiculously short denim skirt. It rode low on my hips, barely there, and with the heat, it was sticking just enough to emphasize every damn curve. The denim was so brief that with every wild move, you caught more than a hint of my ass cheeks, glossy with sweat, peeking out from underneath. Jean later claimed I was even walking around with a little of my clit peeking out, bold as you please.

After the spectacular fireworks show, a group of young men approached us as we walked back. Out of nowhere, two huge men confronted the group, and the young men ran off, and just like that, the two men disappeared.

 

"What the hell was that about?"

"Those were my bodyguards, Andi."

"Do you have bodyguards often?"

"I always have bodyguards. My mom insists."

The concert finally wrapped, leaving us all buzzing and drenched, so we made a beeline straight for Misty and Louis's apartment. The moment the door slammed shut, Misty just collapsed onto the nearest couch, groaning about her shorts, which were glued to her like a second, very damp skin. "Louis," she practically wheezed, her voice thick with exhaustion and a hint of desperation, "help me get out of these damn things!" Watching them struggle was a pure comedy show. He'd tug, she'd grunt, and they'd both lean back, the material resisting every inch like a stubborn lover. It took both of them, huffing and puffing, for those skin-tight, sweaty denim scraps to finally concede defeat.

We followed suit once those impossible shorts were vanquished, peeling off our sticky clothes with sighs of pure, unadulterated relief. I'll admit, seeing the boys, Jean and Louis, standing there stark naked, I was genuinely surprised by the impressive erections they were sporting. I figured with all the celebratory booze we'd been pouring down our throats, they might be less than at attention. But nope, those dicks were practically saluting.

Before Misty fully untangled herself from her shorts and adjusted on the couch, Louis, clearly operating on pure, unadulterated instinct, wasted precisely zero seconds. He was on her in a flash, his immense cock, standing at full salute, plunging right into her. No preamble, no fuss. And Misty? She took him, deep and easy, her body arching, already slick and ready, making a soft, satisfied sound that rippled through the room. I could see Louis's dick pulling back, glistening wet with her juice, before he drove back in, the sound of flesh slapping on flesh a new rhythm for the night. This night was just getting started.

As I was lost, mesmerized by the primal show Misty and Louis were putting on, Jean was already on his knees, his mouth hot and wet on my soaking pussy. I was so incredibly turned on, even with the sweat running everywhere. It was a surprise, though, how much he really wanted to devour me right there, given how boozy we all were. Jean knew my body and learned how to use his tongue, but the alcohol had wrapped a kind of thick, hot veil over my senses, muffling the edges of pleasure. Even with his gifted tongue circling and plunging, it was clear he wasn't going to get me to that edge just with his mouth tonight. I grabbed his head, pulling him up for a breathless kiss. "Time to take me for a ride, lover," I whispered, lifting my legs to give him full access, needing that brutal penetration.

Jean was beyond excited, his dick already throbbing against my thigh. He mounted me in a rush, plunging inside with a hard, deep thrust that made me gasp. He started to pump me, brutally hard and impossibly fast, burying himself to the hilt with every stroke. My body tightened around him, trying to grab onto the pleasure, but it was too quick, too wild. In just a couple of minutes, he groaned, stiffened, and came in a hot rush inside me, leaving me utterly spent but, to my utter frustration, still insanely turned on and nowhere near my own climax. I rarely have trouble getting over that finish line, and the ache was maddening.

By then, Misty had finished with Louis, who was still fully hard and ready for more. She saw the look on my face, a mix of panting arousal and utter dissatisfaction. Without a word, she motioned to Louis, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Finish her off," she murmured, her voice husky with her own recent pleasure. Louis immediately flipped onto his back, his massive cock already straining towards me, a thick vein pulsing along its length. I straddled him in reverse cowgirl, aligning myself with his immense shaft, and began to bounce, taking him deep, feeling his colossal size stretch me deliciously. Even with him inside me, the pleasure was a slow burn, a teasing warmth, building, but not the explosion I needed. That's when Misty, with a low groan of pure sensuality, straddled Louis's face, positioning her pussy right over his mouth, ready to give him his second course. Then, she reached around, her fingers finding one of my full breasts, gently kneading it, and playing with my nipple. At the same time, her other hand went straight for my huge, hard clit, jacking it off with relentless, knowing strokes.

The intensity became magnificent, a four-person symphony of raw desire. Misty's body leaned into mine, her breath speeding up as Louis devoured her orally, bringing her off with powerful sucks and licks, all while her fingers teased my nipple and worked my clit into a frenzy. Below me, Louis's massive cock pounded against my cervix with every bounce. I've always known the harder you work for an orgasm, the stronger it hits. Time absolutely stopped. I don't know if I came first, Misty did, or if we all just exploded at the exact moment. Still, the next thing I knew, we were a tangled, panting pile of limbs, sweat, and spent desire, utterly collapsed. I've never experienced anything like it before or since.

Misty chuckled, a low, satisfied rumble. "Thank God for 'daddy's little helper,'" she murmured. I gave her a quizzical look. "The boner maker," she explained, giggling. "Popeye's spinach, Colonel Hard-on. Viagra, Andi. The boys took a couple of Viagra before we left the fireworks show. If Louis is drunk and doesn't take Viagra, he's Mr. Limp Dick."

As I continued my work at the fashion house in Paris, together with the February and September ready-to-wear fashion weeks, some brands presented their Haute Couture collections twice a year in January and July. I didn't start working until after the July show. The ready-to-wear shows allowed the brands to get their fashions out in public. Catalogs were made, and orders were taken. This year, the house had scheduled their spring/summer fashions for October 12th. The house needed to have a well-received show. Charles was preparing for the spring/summer fashion shows. The process of transforming sketches into actual garments is fascinating. All the clothes being created are size 34 or 36, equivalent to US sizes 0 or 2. The models are typically between 5'9" and 6' tall, ideally around 5'10" to 5'101/2". Most have small busts, with only a few being full B cups.

I was surprised to learn that many outfits for Paris Fashion Week are based on a generic model. Models would come in for fittings, but the outfits were chosen based on how well they suited the model who wore them best. Top models had outfits explicitly made for them, and if a model had a larger bust, they were more likely to showcase cleavage.

This year, Charles had around 40 different outfits for the show, so he brought in 40 different models to be fitted at various times. I particularly enjoyed the fittings when the models were undressed. A significant amount of skin was displayed, highlighting multiple body shapes and forms.

Jean asked me what I was doing for les grandes vacances. Les grandes vacances is the French concept for summer vacation. It starts for some in late June and runs into September. Most people take off in August. Paris has a mass migration of people who could afford to leave. Jean's purpose in asking was to find a date for me to visit his family's villa. His family was old money and had a spectacular villa in Cap d'Antibes that had been in the family for generations. I had never heard of Cap d'Antibes. It turns out that it is where billionaires have villas. It was only then that I realized how wealthy Jean's family was.

Let me tell you about those two weeks in the South of France, a trip that turned into quite a sensual education. I was 24 at the time, already a self-described nymphomaniac and, as some called me, "the cum whisperer," living a rather adventurous life in Paris as the mistress of a fashion designer. My "fuck buddy," Jean, invited me to his family's opulent villa in Cap d'Antibes for a summer holiday, and that's where everything truly ignited. My visit became the catalyst for the explosive sexual awakening of Jean's 18-year-old sister, Danni.

My journey south set the tone. I stopped in Lyon, where I met Gilles, a young, endearingly innocent hotel worker. I took pleasure in initiating him into sex, an encounter Danni later heard about, and I suspect it piqued her curiosity about what I could teach. When I arrived at the villa, Danni, who seemed so shy and inexperienced despite recently turning 18, was quickly influenced by my overt sensuality. Discovering her father's hidden collection of erotic novels only fueled her burgeoning desires. It wasn't long before her voracious curiosity led her to ask for my help in exploring her own sexuality, our first foray being anal play with dildos.

Danni's sexual awakening was nothing short of explosive; she embraced it with incredible speed and enthusiasm. I often found myself guiding and orchestrating experiences for her, with Jean frequently becoming a reluctant but increasingly aroused observer, sometimes even a participant. She dove into a series of encounters, including one with a young pool attendant and several with Enzo, the impressively well-endowed Italian gardener, who became a particular favorite. Danni quickly developed an obvious preference for what she called "big girl cock" and eagerly explored everything, from receiving oral sex to giving it with a skill that seemed almost innate. Her journey included a carefully orchestrated first-time anal experience with a man named Marco, whom Jean and I recruited for the "audition." This escalated to a mind-blowing double penetration scene with Marco taking her anally and Enzo vaginally. This experience left her reeling with multiple intense orgasms. Throughout all this, Danni's confidence soared, and she became wonderfully uninhibited, vocalizing her desires and her pleasure without hesitation.

Amidst orchestrating Danni's adventures, Jean and I's bond deepened, and we became passionate lovers, sharing incredibly intense moments of mutual pleasure, teaching, and intimate conversations about our desires. The villa's atmosphere grew even more charged with the arrival of other guests, including my former lovers, Misty and Louis. This led to new, complex group dynamics and more sexual encounters, including Danni, with her newfound boldness, initiating a threesome with Misty and Louis. A visit from five models also gave Danni more "conquests" to achieve her stated goal. I had my sensual interlude with Giselle, a fiery redhead model. Our adventures weren't confined to the villa; we even made a risqué trip to a nude beach, picking up two men for an impromptu foursome in the family's limousine while he drove. An evening at the Monte Carlo Casino followed, which, after a surprising winning streak at the craps table, ended with Jean and me having passionate sex on the trunk of his Ferrari under the stars.

A crucial turning point came with the arrival of Jean and Danni's mother, Juliette. I'd initially perceived her as stern, but she soon revealed her awareness of all our activities. She explained it as a "family curse"--an insatiable, hereditary sex drive particularly potent in the women of their lineage, a trait she openly admitted to sharing. Her unexpected acceptance of our lifestyle, with a simple request for discretion, contextualized Danni's intense libido and shifted the entire dynamic of the household.

That two-week vacation concluded with Danni profoundly transformed from a hesitant girl into a sexually empowered, confident, and delightfully voracious young woman. She decided to move in with me in Paris, a thrilling prospect. I saw in her not just a lover and roommate but, with her rapier wit and boundless curiosity, a best friend and perhaps even a partner in future "sensual landscapes" and other as-yet-undefined endeavors. Our drive back to Paris, detailed in the epilogue, was filled with Danni's continued sexual boldness and her recounting of her model conquests. I teach her the joys of self-pleasure, solidifying her incredible journey into her new, uninhibited self.

If you want to read a detailed account of my sexcation in the south of France you can read "Two Weeks in the South of France".

When we finally returned to my apartment in Paris, I showed Danni to the spare bedroom. Her eyes flickered around the space, a playful pout forming on her lips. "I thought I was in the same bedroom as you," she said flirtatiously.

"You need a room for all your things," I replied, though the thought of her in my bed was already tempting. Then, a question I hadn't considered popped into my head. "So, Danni, where exactly are you going to school?"

"The Sorbonne, of course," she answered with an air of casual confidence.

My eyebrows shot up. The Sorbonne. Even back in Ohio, I'd heard of that prestigious university. "Danni, that's a tough school to get into."

"Oh, I was the top student in this special program," she explained nonchalantly. "Guaranteed admission if you complete it. And, with my family name, even if I hadn't qualified, they probably would have let me in any way."

Danni wrapped her arms around me as she spoke, her body pressing close. "Andi," she murmured, her breath warm against my neck, "my car is just sitting there, begging to be driven."

I sighed, a familiar weariness settling in. "Danni, we can't have sex every single time you feel like it."

"Why not?" she asked, her eyes wide and genuinely confused.

"Because," I said, trying to sound patient, "I have other things I need to do." That's when it truly hit me. Danni was a fascinating, albeit perplexing, mix. Rich, intelligent, beautiful, and incredibly sexually active, yet with a level of maturity that often felt more akin to a child. If this living arrangement worked, I knew I'd have to gently guide her toward more self-reliance.

"The first thing you need to do," I began, leading her to sit on the edge of the bed, "is take responsibility for your own pleasure sometimes." "Do you ever masturbate?" I asked gently.

"I used to," she replied, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "But not really in the last two weeks. I mean, with so many people happy to please me..."

"I know, honey," I said, taking her hand. "But you need to start again. It might actually calm you down a little." I gestured towards the bed. "Take off your clothes and lie down."

I went to one of my drawers, overflowing with various toys. I pulled out a substantial, realistically shaped dildo and my trusty Magic Wand vibrator. Handing her the vibrator, I showed her the power button and the high-low switch.

"I've never used one of these before," she admitted, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

"Start on low," I instructed, "and just explore. Touch it to some of your erogenous zones. Your neck, your breasts... slowly work your way down to your nipples." I watched as she tentatively followed my instructions, a soft gasp escaping her lips as the vibrations buzzed against her skin. "When you feel aroused, really turned on," I continued, "slowly work your way down your body, teasing your stomach, your inner thighs... until you reach your pussy."

Her eyes were wide with anticipation. "And then?"

"Once you're really ready," I said, my voice dropping to a suggestive whisper, "slowly insert the dildo while holding the vibrator right on your clit."

Danni followed my instructions with a focused intensity. As the low hum of the vibrator vibrated against her neck, a delicate flush spread across her chest. She tentatively touched it to her breasts, her nipples instantly hardening beneath the gentle pulsations. A soft moan escaped her lips as she moved it lower, tracing the curve of her stomach. When she finally reached her swollen clit, she pressed the vibrator against it, her breath catching in her throat. The buzzing sensation was immediate and intense, directly hitting her most sensitive spot.

With her other hand, she slowly guided the smooth head of the dildo to her moist entrance. She gasped softly as it slid inside, the fullness a familiar yet still exciting sensation. As the dildo settled within her, she pressed the vibrating head firmly against her clit. Her back arched slightly off the bed, her soft moans escalating into sharp cries. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, a symphony of buzzing pleasure both inside and out. Her hips began to rock rhythmically, her fingers pressing the vibrator harder against her throbbing nub.

Her breath grew ragged, sharp gasps punctuating the air. Her body tensed, her muscles clenching and releasing in a frantic rhythm. Then, a strangled cry tore from her throat as her first orgasm hit her with a raw, untamed force. Her body convulsed, her cries echoing in the room as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over her. The vibrator buzzed relentlessly against her still-throbbing clit, prolonging the exquisite torment. Her legs trembled, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as she rode the crest of each wave, her entire being consumed by the pure, unadulterated sensation. A second, even more powerful orgasm followed quickly, leaving her breathless and utterly spent, a sheen of sweat glistening on her flushed skin.

Danni, catching her breath and with a knowing smirk, "Well, I think I just gave a masterclass on how to make a girl cum... starring me and co-starring these two overachievers. Pretty sure my clit's still giving them a standing ovation."

I had designated the spare bedroom as Danni's personal pleasure palace. In this space, she could freely explore her insatiable desires. That room saw more action than a Times Square peep show for our first several months together. The walls practically vibrated with the energy emanating from within. I lost count of the times she'd disappear in there, only to emerge later with a blissful, slightly dazed expression.

"How do you even attend classes with your... 'needs'?" I once asked, genuinely curious.

She just shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Necessity is the mother of invention, Andi. I've got a little travel kit - a discreet vibrator and a small dildo. Whenever I have a spare moment between lectures, or even during a particularly dull one, I find a quiet restroom and take care of business." She winked. "Multitasking at its finest."

Her mother's words about the ever-increasing female sex drive often echoed in my mind: "Like mother, like daughter"? It certainly seemed to hold true in Danni's case.

Danni and I were embarking on something truly unique. Her rapier wit, sharp and insightful, often cut through the mundane with a brilliant observation, leaving me both laughing and slightly in awe. She was quickly becoming more than just a roommate and lover; she was evolving into my best friend, a fellow explorer of sensual landscapes, and perhaps even a partner in some future, as-yet-undefined endeavors. The possibilities, much like Danni's seemingly boundless libido, seemed endless. And I felt our adventures were only beginning, fueled by her quick mind and insatiable curiosity.

The following two weeks found me back at the fashion house, even as most Parisians were still enjoying their final vacation days of August. Colette, ever the workhorse, was already there, as was Charles, who commuted from his rented villa in the South of France on weekends. With our spring/summer fashion show slated for October 12th, there was an immense amount to accomplish, compounded by a steady stream of high-end clients requiring custom designs. My responsibilities grew steadily, and thankfully, no one complained.

A few of my regular top model clients were also back in Paris for the latter half of August. I'm always overwhelmed by their beauty; these women meticulously cultivate their appearance and sexuality, as their livelihood depends on their looks. Their interactions with me generally fell into two distinct categories: some wanted me to pleasure them, a straightforward service. The others sought a more profound connection, enjoying kissing and fondling, with a select few even taking pleasure in pleasuring me.

 

As August drew to a close and Parisians officially marked the end of summer, I focused on ensuring Danni was fully prepared for school. Danni's mother, Juliette, would swing by late Friday afternoons to check-in. Knowing Danni wouldn't be around, Juliette felt free to be completely honest with me. It was then I truly grasped the incredible safety net she'd meticulously built for her daughter, but that's a story for another time.

Since Charles wasn't around on Sundays, I got a welcome reprieve from our weekly sex sessions. While I certainly love to fuck, Charles had absolutely no imagination in bed, just a truly massive dick.

The fall had so much to offer and so many surprises yet to come.

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