Discovering Giselle

Everyone in this story is over eighteen. Don't let the theme, male domination, be an excuse for the sort of disgusting jealous rage that makes some men abuse women. This is a different kettle of fish – and an essential part of it is willing, eager submission by the girl concerned.

Over the hill? Perhaps I was, but still just short of my sixtieth birthday, and pretty fit with it, I didn't feel quite ready for the slippers-by-the-fireside bit. Anyway, I didn't have anyone to put them there for me. I wasn't sorry for myself on that score – opportunities to 'settle down' had not been scarce, though things had, fair to say, dried up a bit of late. I had retired early from my job as an interpreter, on a decent pension, with my little apartment in the elegant sixteentharrondisement paid for, my previous married life in England now a distant memory, fifteen years on. From time to time, the reputation I had built up brought me bits and pieces of work to supplement my pension, and it was when I followed up such an invitation that I first cast eyes on Giselle.

As one of my unwritten rules had always been to avoid contact with the very most attractive women, and as I was, I reckoned, thirty years her senior, I should perhaps have just enjoyed the view – but the old hormones.......

It was an open-plan publisher's office, where I had come to offer my services translating articles from French into English, Spanish and German. As I sat awaiting the arrival of my contact there, this vision of loveliness passed before my eyes, not once, but at least four times, glancing more than once in my direction – or was it wishful thinking? She seemed to drift weightlessly along, a dream-quality about her, this Bohemian-looking girl, slim and around medium height, looking taller, I thought, because she wore a long Indian cotton multi-coloured skirt. Above that, an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, under which the barest hint of movement suggested she may not be wearing a bra. My eyes took in all that, but it was her angelic oval face which really caught my attention, devoid of make-up, framed by thick, soft brown hair, which fell, in a straight heavy mane, down practically to her waist. The only decoration she wore was a pair of long, heavy Spanish filigree pendants in her ears, and a tiny, glinting stone set into the side of her pert nose.

I was doing my best not to stare at her receding form when Alain Beauregard, my contact, wheeled into my line of sight, carrying a sheaf of papers. He quickly introduced me to the sizwable stack of articles, then said, 'Come on, I should introduce a few people to you.' He led me around the office, presenting first the accountant – 'keep the right side of Jean-Pierre, or you'll never get paid' – and then a couple of admin assistants, before ushering me into a cubicle at one end of the office.

'I'd like you to meet Giselle,' he said, 'she is a biologist by training, and will help you with any technical points you need clarifying.'

And I found myself shaking the proferred, cool, long-fingered hand of the beautiful creature I had seen walk past. Her voice matched, a slightly deeper-than-usual timbre to it, an accent which may have been Provençal. She looked at me evenly and said, 'We need to get to know each other, Monsieur Loxley.'

'Andrew,s'il vous plaît,' I told her. Her eyes were big and dark, like pools of chocolate, and her soft lips parted to show rows of good white teeth when a smile lit her face. I was reminded suddenly of a stupid phrase from my college days – 'I'd crawl twenty miles naked over broken glass to throw stones at her shit.' But it was as close as I could get to an opinion of Giselle. I left, wondering who was the lucky guy who possessed her, took her in his arms, kissed her................I sighed and decided I'd never know – some lucky bastard! – anyway, I was past it, wasn't I?

I set myself to work on the mound of translations, then, one evening as I was about to call it a day, the phone rang.

'You probably won't remember me. I am Giselle, from the office.' I was in shock. Not remember her? Jesus, I didn't think I'd ever forget the most gorgeous human being I'd ever laid eyes on. 'Yes, of course I remember you,' I managed to blurt out, 'wh...what can I do for you?' Fuck, I could do just about anything for her.

'I have some revisions on two of the papers. Can I bring them around to you?' Just hearing her voice had me getting excited.

'Of course, but do you know where I live?'

'It's on the agreement.' Of course it was. I agreed that I'd be waiting for her in an hour's time. Shit, I'd been waiting for her all my life.

I set frantically to cleaning the apartment, and, when it was half-decent, I still had time to change from a disgusting pair of shorts and sloppy tee-shirt into a pair of chinos and a button-down shirt.

The doorbell rang, and there she was. She was wearing a shorter skirt this time, knee-length, and pleated green cotton, with a white silk blouse, under which she was definitely not wearing a bra, as I could see clearly her nipples pointing at me through the thin material. I tried hard not to look. She wore leather thong sandals, and a different pair of long ear-rings completed her outfit. Her hair was scraped back and caught up in a pony-tail. Dressed differently, she had exactly the same effect on me, and as I sat her down at the kitchen table with a coffee ('decaffinated, if you have it') her radiant smile followed me to the coffee machine.

When I hd sat down opposite, both of us furnished with a coffee, she explained the revisions she had brought to me, and then complemented me on my apartment.

'I'll show you the rest of it,' I said, a trifle gauchely.

'You wouldn't be trying to get me into your bedroom, would you?' she asked, and I saw she was teasing me, as she laughed – a pretty sound. But I was flustered, and spluttered an apology.

She reached over and put a hand lightly on my arm. 'I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Andrew,' she said, 'silly me. But yes, I'd love to see around your apartment.'

It took very little time to show her the place, but she was charmed by the rooftop view, with a distant sight of the Eiffel Tower, and admired the geraniums I had only just picked the dead heads from.

I looked at my watch. 'I suppose you're going back to the office now?'

'No, I've finished for the day.'

I hoped there was an opening, though always realising the hopelessness of any move. 'Then would you care to have dinner with me?'

You could have knocked me over with a feather when she replied, 'That would be lovely, but I can't go like this, I've been working in these clothes all day.'

'You look perfectly lovely to me.'

'That's sweet of you, but I'd like to go home and change. I live very close by, in fact.'

I felt as if I'd won the lottery when she left, and wouldn't have been surprised had she had second thoughts and not come to meet me a couple of hours later, at the bar on the corner, as we arranged.

It was hot, so I stayed with the chinos, and slipped on a brown silk short-sleeved shirt. So I was sat toying with a gin and tonic, nervous as a kitten, when she appeared. She stopped conversation as she threaded her way through the tables to my corner. She had changed – and how! Her lustrous black hair was now loose, and she wore a scarlet, halter-neck, backless dress, the loose top of which allowed her breasts to jiggle as she walked. The knee-length skirt was, however, skin-tight, and I glimpsed red, very high-heeled sandals as she neared my table. I stood and pulled out a chair for her, but first she pecked me on each cheek, that magnificent hair brushing me, and I caught the heady scent of....of what? – Guerlain? I was, in any case, thoroughly intoxicated by her.

When she sat down, I saw she had put in different ear-rings, simple, long silver chains that brushed her shoulders. She also had a broad silver amulet decorating her upper right arm – it looked painfully tight – and wore silver rings on her left middle finger and the thumb, as well as two tiny rings on the second joints of two fingers. I couldn't remember seeing them before. Her long nails were varnished red to match her dress.

'You look wonderful,' I said, my voice coming out strained, I thought.

She smiled. 'You like the way I look?' It sounded almost like a challenge.

'Any man who didn't would be a little....strange.'

'There are many kinds of men,' she said, enigmatically, then, 'where did you plan to take me?'

To bed, I thought, now. But I mentioned a nice restaurant, and we left, eyes boring into her as we negotiated our way around the tables and left.

More attention came Giselle's way as we entered the restaurant, but she seemed oblivious to the eye, both male and female, that tracked her to our table. It was hard to concentrate on the food in her company, and several times I caught her amused glance, as if she knew what was going through my mind. As we relaxed with coffee, she quite deliberately placed a hand on mine, on top of the table.

'You've been watching me, all through the meal, Andrew.'

'I'm sorry, it ....it....well, I had hoped it wasn't so obvious.'

'I think it's lovely,' she said, and there was the faintest pressure on my hand. I could feel a burgeoning erection getting started – and she was scarcely touching me.

'I'm old enough to be yo......' She put a cautioning finger to my lips.

'I like older men,' she said, but didn't offer any further comment as we finished our coffees and a brandy apiece.

I walked her to her door, which wasn't indeed very far, and we stood, a trifle awkwardly, on the sidewalk.

'I can't ask you up, Andrew,' she said , 'the Concierge, you know, and besides, I'm rather tired.'

'I understand,' I said, and was about to wish her goodnight and turn away.

'Aren't you going to kiss me?' she asked, in a little girl voice.

I took her in my arms, as she tilted her head up, and kissed her lips, first tentatively, then, as she responded, more ardently. She opened her lips, and her tongue flicked into my mouth. For the first time, I realised that her tongue was pierced, and the little stud excited me beyond belief as it toured my mouth. Her body had moved closer to me, and I was embarrassed to feel my now-fully erect cock pressing against her belly. It was, howwever, a moment I never wanted to end. When we eventually parted, I walked home with my balls on fire, and had to relieve myself as soon as I arrived.

But after sleeping with thoughts of her constantly in my mind, it was as though my feelings for Giselle somehow transcended sex – I had loved talking to her, and just wanted to be in her company. Come on, Andy, I thought, you're an old fool, and there's no fool like an old one! But I knew for sure that, if she'd agree, I'd marry her, whenever and on whatever terms, and you can't get sillier than that – I was seriously in love.

I had work to do next day, but was itching to phone Giselle – even if only to hear the sound of her voice. At that stage, I couldn't, wouldn't let myself, believe that she, someone so beautiful, was unattached – surely some young stud was servicing her regularly?

So when she called me at about three in the afternoon, I was amazed.

'I wondered if you were free this evening?' she said.

Free? Does the Pope say his prayers? I tried to sound casual. 'Yes, I think so – what have you in mind?'

'Whatever you like, Andrew, but of course, if you'd rather not.........'

Hurriedly I dropped the casual bit. 'I'd be delighted to see you, Giselle. Why don't you let me cook you a meal?'

'That would be lovely – see you about eight, then?'

A trip around supermarkets and delicatessen was now essential, and I had to decide what to cook that was pretty sure not to be a disaster. I settled on boeuf bourguignon, with rice and a green salad, and made sure I had a couple of bottles of a Moulin a Vent.

By seven thirty, I had everything nicely under control, and put on a different pair of chinos and a clean shirt.

She arrived promptly at eight, and my heart leapt at the sight of her. Her gorgeous hair was once again loose, framing her pretty face, and she wore a simple silky green pleated beltless dress, with a gathered neckline, which fell straight from her breasts to the hem at mid-thigh level. On her feet were strappy stiletto-heeled sandals.

'You look fantastic,' I said, and meant it.

We took our time over the meal. I was aching to kiss her – just to kiss her, would you believe – anything further would have to take its course. But as we ate the tiramisu I had bought for sweet, I was suddenly aware that her ankle was against mine under the table. At first I thought it was accidental, and moved my leg slightly away, but her leg was soon back, now rubbing quite deliberately up and down mine. I looked up at her, and she opened her mouth a fraction, then the studded tip of her tongue emerged just a fraction from between her teeth – it was an unmistakeable gesture, to which my cock responded instantly, leaping to attention.

I reached for her hand across the table, and she leaned over. Our lips met, just a brush, then she said, 'have you got any coffee?'

I fought to get my erection under control as I got up to make the coffee, and thought I caught her looking at me, amused at my efforts. When I got back from the kitchen with the coffees and cognac, she was sitting on the sofa, so I drew up a small coffee table, and sat beside her. I flicked on the stereo with the remote – an old Commmodores album.

'That was a lovely meal, Andrew,' she said, 'and I feel so comfortable with you.'

I looked at her. Comfortable? Was that what I had to settle for?

But she went on, 'I know you like me – I see it in your face.'

'I think I'm in love with you,' I blurted out – silly old idiot.

'You don't know me, Andrew.'

'But I can't get you out of my mind.'

'Oh Andrew, kiss me, like you did last night!'

I obliged, and she threw a slender arm around my neck as she opened her lips to me, and set me on fire as her tongue darted in and out in a parody of sex.

She pushed me gently away, then looking me in the eye, said, 'Fuck me, Andrew, please!' I could scarcely believe what I heard, but she rose gracefully to her feet, right in front of me, and, swaying gently to the music, slowly raised the hem of her dress, until her neat hairless pussy came into view, then, parting her legs slightly, and holding her dress bunched in one hand, she slid the other into her crack, opening her labia with her first two fingers, so that I was looking at eye-level, straight into the damp, pink depths of her cunt. I struggled to free my now rampant cock from my trousers, and she uttered a little murmur, as she straddled my legs, and eased her slender body down, impaling herelf on me. She moaned as my length slid easily into her moistness, then took my hands and placed them on her breasts – they were firm under the flimsy material, nipples as hard as rocks as she began to move, riding me as my weapon slid up and down in her ready depths. I had to fight to stop myself from cumming in seconds, but her knowing hand helped when she grasped my shaft tightly, to prevent a quick finish. I now drove into her, matching her rhythm, and she groaned ever louder until I could hold off no longer, stiffened and shot a huge stream of hot spunk deep inside her.

She stayed where she was, with me inside her, and kissed me tenderly.

'That was lovely, Andrew,' she said.

'For you too?'

'For me, but really for you,' she said.

'But you?' I insisted.

'Next time will be for me,' she said, mysteriously.

There was already a stirring in my groin, and I thought that 'next time' could be soon, but Giselle had other ideas. She got to her feet, smoothed her dress down, and picked up her little purse.

'I'm a little weary now, Andrew, and I'm sure you could do with a nap too. See you in the morning?'

'In the morning?'

'Yes, tomorrow's Saturday – we can go out together if you like.'

I wondered if I'd died and gone to heaven. This magnificent creature was offering to go out with me. This young girl who wore no panties, and asked me to fuck her.

'Sure I'd like. Where d'you want to go?'

'You decide, I'll be round about ten – OK?'

In the event, I took her to Versailles, where we sauntered around the palace and the grounds, ate ice-cream, held hands, talked and kissed. She was wearing a flared white skirt and a pale blue silk blouse – her hair tied back in a pony-tail, different huge ear-rings, comfortable flat sandals.

'How come you are single? You must have loads of offers,' I asked her as we strolled through fragrant flower-beds.

I've had offers, yes, and I lived with a guy for a year, then with a girl for almost the same time.'

She saw me staring at her.

'Now I've shocked you, Andrew.'

'No, no, I'm not shocked,' I managed to say, but I was, a little. We strolled on in silence, then ate, not very satisfactorily, in a bistro near the palace gates.

I drove us back into Paris in my Peugeot, and expected that Giselle would want to be dropped off at her apartment, but she said, 'Can I come up to your place?'

I made coffee, and when I came back with it into the lounge, she was standing by the table, quite naked, save for a fine gold chain which encircled her tiny waist, her clothes neatly folded on a chair.

'As I told you, Andrew, now it is my turn,' she said, and dropped to her knees in front of the sofa, and pulled a cushion into the seat, resting her head on it. She signalled me to come around behind her, then used both hands to spread her buttocks wide. Her arsehole was an open invitation – she was no anal virgin – that was apparent. My prick was throbbing with anticipation, and I lost no time in pulling it out, dropping to my knees, and thrusting my knob eagerly into the waiting portal.

'Slowly,cheri!' she said, and wiggled her arse to help me ease into her velvet passage. She took me, right up to the hilt, and gave a deep groan as I buried my length in her. I had never felt such a sensation before, and my own pleasure was heightened by hearing her moans as I drove in and out, her peristaltic tightness a thrill beyond belief. I held her lovely breasts as I tore into her with all the force I could muster, and she screamed

wildly as I inevitably released my load of hot cum deep, deep within her.

'Oh Andrew, that was, indeed, trulyfor me, darling – I came so very...very... strongly.' She had difficulty finding a word to describe what she had felt, and I couldn't find strength to speak. When I had recovered sufficiently, and we were sat together on the sofa, I said, 'If I died now, I'd die happy.'

'Don't, please,' was all she said.

My mind was in a whirl. I had fallen in love with a lovely girl – and I now knew that I had done so without beginning to know her. She had shown me an amazing sexuality that left me speechless

'We should talk,' I eventually said.

'Not now, love,' she said, 'I'm tired. Let's have a bite to eat, then I need to go home and sleep.'

We went down to the bar, had a snack, and then I took her home. She raised herself on tip-toes and kissed me, saying, 'I'll come around in the morning – eleven OK?'

'Of course – I'll look forward to learning more about you.'

'Oh Andrew, I don't know what to tell you.'

'You can tell me anything,' I said, and went home wondering just what secrets she harboured. Giselle occupied my mind all evening, and I'm pretty sure I dreamed about her as well.

The morning dawned cloudy and cooler, so my planned trip to Fontainebleu wasn't going to come off. I decided we'd just play it by ear.

Once again promptly, my doorbell rang, and I buzzed her up. I was used to her ringing the changes, but her appearance that damp Sunday morning took my breath away. Casting aside a little bolero jacket she had worn to walk over, she revealed – and 'revealed' was the word – herself in a black transparent blouse, buttoned up the back, so that her firm, young, uncovered breasts were wholly visible, Below that she wore a knee-length black satin skirt so tight she could scarcely walk. Her seamed stockings must have been hold-ups, as a garter-belt would have shown through the skin-tight material. On her feet were the highest stilettos I had ever seen, with metallic needle heels and platform soles. In them, she matched my height.