Looking Back Ch. 11

In Chapter one our heroine, Kate, a successful businesswoman turning 60, has asked herself a troubling question. Is she a slut? Thus began a series of chapters in which she describes to her husband Henry (her fourth husband) her life beginning with her late teen years and her sexual activities at each stage. The portion in italics in each story is her recollection of some memorable sexual experience from her past. In this chapter Kate recounts the story of a lost weekend in Paris with Yves, her third husband to be.

It was midnight and cold in Carmel. Well, as cold as Carmel gets, which would be considered a heat wave in a Minnesota winter. It really didn't matter to Henry and me, given that we were sitting naked in a hot tub on the secluded back porch of the cottage behind my friends Carmel B&B. I was sitting on Henry's lap, my back to his chest, my legs spread wide, and his cock plugged firmly into my pussy. He was gently massaging my tits, both of us enjoying a long leisurely fuck as the completion of a marvelous day of "us time" in Carmel.

We had started our day with a picnic in bed during which we consumed an excellent bottle of wine while I related to Henry my story of how I had met my third husband, Yves, for the second time, some twenty years after I had first met him, and then engaged in some delicious oral sex with him before he had to run off to Paris. The story inspired Henry to the point that he insisted that he and I replicate, there in our cozy rented Carmel cottage, the oral sex that Yves and I had engaged in that evening long ago in New York. Then Henry and I slept, curled naked in each other's arms, and followed that with a walk on a windswept beach at sunset. It was an absolutely perfect afternoon, followed by a stunning meal in one of Carmel's finer restaurants and now, a nightcap and a slow languorous fuck in the hot tub. I was thinking life couldn't get any better, when Henry interrupted my reverie.

"Kate, my dear, you know you kind of left me hanging earlier this afternoon."

"Really? As I recall, you flooded my mouth with your cum and then ate me to a screaming climax. I was under the impression that we were both satiated. I hardly think I left you hanging."

"Oh no, no. The sex was great, as it always is with you, my dear. It was your story about your third husband I was referring to. As I recall, you picked up this fellow Yves up in the bar at the Plaza, let him buy you dinner, sucked him dry, and then he jumped in his private jet and ran off to Paris, leaving you with a promise of a jet to bring you up behind him the next evening. That's not like you to get left in the lurch like that."

"Hmm, you're sweet Henry, but I really wasn't 'left in the lurch' as you say. First, it was me who declined to go to Paris with Yves. Second, after I sucked him dry, as you so charmingly put it, he returned the favor to me, just as you did this afternoon. And finally, he did in fact send his plane back for me the next day so I could join him in Paris for what I planned to be a lost weekend."

"Okay, but I still want to hear about what happened in Paris. Some of the best sex I've ever had (present company excepted, of course) has been in Paris. It's so good there I sometimes am surprised that the French haven't claimed they invented sex."

"Not just yet," I said as I stood, letting his cock slip from my pussy. "I can't really focus on telling you the story accurately until we finish what we have started here. Your cock is just too distracting." As I spoke, I leaned over the coaming of the hot tub, facing away from Henry with my legs spread just enough so that so my ass was fully out of the water, and my pussy readily accessible to him. "Well," I said, looking back at him, "Are you going to finish fucking me or not? It's the only way you are going to get the rest of the story about my trip to Paris with Yves."

"You drive such a hard bargain," he said with a lewd chuckle as he stepped up behind me and grabbed my hips. "Oh God, you have such a sexy ass," he continued as he pulled me toward him.

I could feel his still stiff cock probing the entrance to my cunt. He had pulled me far enough back from the edge of the tub so that I was leaning on my elbows, and my tits were swinging freely beneath me. I reached back with one hand and guided his prick into my waiting pussy. "Oh fuck! That's so good," I said with a groan.

Henry groaned in response as he pushed forward with his hips and slid his hard dick to the end of my cunt.

"Oh, oh! Oh fuck! Yes that's it. Now fuck me hard. I need to cum! Now, god damn it!"

He paused, his cock half way into my pussy. "So if I do this, you horny slut, you promise you'll tell me about your weekend in Paris with your French lover?"

"Oh fuck, yes. I'll tell you anything. Just don't stop. That feels so good. You've got the greatest cock in the world."

I pushed back with my hips just as he rammed his hips forward. It felt like he was going to split me in half. "Yes! Oh fuck yes!" I yelled in surprise.

Now he really got into it, fucking me with a steady rhythm that I knew would bring both of us to a climax soon. That was one of the best things about my relationship with Henry. We both had this uncanny ability to time our climaxes so they were in synch with the other.

He took a hand off my hips and reached forward to grab one of my wildly swinging tits. Without a pause in the rhythm of his fucking he grabbed a nipple and began to pinch it and pull on it. It sent a shock straight to my pussy.

I could feel his cock swelling. He was getting close to cumming, so I reached back with a free hand and began to rub my clit, softly at first and then with more force and speed. Oh fuck, yes I was getting so close to cumming. I could feel it building towards a climax.

"Harder!" I yelled. "Fuck me harder. I'm almost there. Oh shit!"

Henry returned both hands to my hips and began to pound me with everything he had. I knew he couldn't last long at that pace, and within about five strokes or so I felt him stop, his cock fully rammed to the end of my cunt. He groaned, "Oh shit!" and then I felt that first hot spurt of his cum in my cunt.

That set me off, and I screamed as my cunt clamped down on his dick. I felt three or four more spurts of his cum while my own climax roared through my body in waves. And then we were spent, me collapsed on the deck along side the hot tub, my legs and hips still in the water, and Henry collapsed on top of me.

Eventually he lifted himself off of me, saying softly, "Mmmmmm. That was nice." He paused, as he collected his wits, I suppose, finally saying, "Let's take the remainder of this bottle of Sancerre inside, and you can tell me the story you promised about your lost weekend in Paris."

We bundled ourselves into the large fluffy robes we had brought out from the cottage with us and went inside where we poured ourselves another glass of the delicious Loire Valley white wine and snuggled together on a couch.

"So you want to hear about my lost weekend in Paris with Yves?"

"Oh, oui oui," he said in a mocking, badly executed, French accent.

"Okay, but first a bit more background on what happened in New York before I left for Paris. It was one of the worst days of my career in the publishing industry. First I had my lunch meeting with the author I was trying to recruit. It did not go well. He showed up with his agent in tow, always a bad sign. I think they just let me buy lunch, even though they had already made up their mind to go with another publisher. Nothing I could say would dissuade him—the worthless bastard. I hate losing."

"So I have noticed," Henry interjected.

"Then I had my meeting with Jim Worthington. I wasn't looking forward to telling him I had failed to land the author I had lunched with, but oddly, he didn't seem to care. I soon found out why. He told me he had just inked a deal to sell the company to a leveraged buyout fund from Chicago. His story got worse. He and Sandy were going to retire to their horse ranch in Connecticut, and the buyer wanted me to run the company—from New York. They had already made up their mind they were going to close the San Francisco office and consolidate operations in New York. 'Cost cutting' is a holy mantra for those kind of guys."

"I was shocked, so shocked I didn't know what to say. Jim thought I would be excited about moving to New York and getting to run the whole company, but I was dismayed at the idea that he and the new buyer wanted me to dismantle everything I had built over the last five years in San Francisco and move to New York to run a stripped down, over-levered company. 'No fucking way,' was what I was thinking, but I had the good sense not to say it. I simply told him that I was very surprised and that I had committed to go to Paris that evening to interview another author (a harmless lie). I told him I needed to think about his proposal, and I would be back the following week."

"Wow, that was quite an afternoon," Henry interjected.

"Yeah, it sucked, but as it turned out, my lost weekend in Paris was more like ten days, and somewhere early in that period, I sent Jim Worthington a brief cable that said, "Fuck you, strong letter to follow," or words to that effect.

"So your good sense deserted you after a bit of time in bed with your new French lover?" Henry asked.

"On the contrary, my good sense asserted itself with a good deal of force. I figured out that, with the option position I had in the company, which would be cashed out no matter what I decided to do about Jim's offer, some considerable resources I had inherited from my recently deceased Aunt Chloe, and the possibility of having a two-continent life with Yves based in San Francisco and Paris, I couldn't see a single reason why I should move to New York, a city I really never liked, to run a crippled version of the company I had helped Jim build. I could split my time between San Francisco and Paris, enjoying the resources I had accumulated, or I could live full time in New York working for a group of soulless financial guys. Duh! How hard was that choice? It was time to move on."

"So now are you going to tell me about your weekend, or ten days, or whatever it was in Paris with Yves?"

"Okay, if that's what you really want, you lecherous bastard."

"Me, lecherous?"

"You know you are. That's why I married you. You have one of the dirtiest minds I've ever come across."

"Enough with the flattery. Get on with the story."

"I smiled and told the story:"

When I arrived at the private air terminal at Teterboro, there was a shiny new G-5 corporate jet waiting for me bearing the tail number given me by Yves the night before. We took off promptly and the crew efficiently served me an outstanding meal of Boeuf Bourguignon, side vegetables with a marvelous hollandaise sauce, flaky dinner rolls, and an outstanding Burgundy from one of Yves' family wineries. I drank a bit more of the wine than I probably should have, but it merely put me promptly to sleep. I got a good solid five hours sleep in the full-size bed that graced the back cabin of the aircraft. As I drifted off to sleep, I put Jim Worthington and his treachery out of my mind and dreamed of making love with Yves in the secluded back cabin of the aircraft—something that was to occur on numerous occasions in the future.

Eight hours later we were landing at the private air terminal in Paris, Le Bourget. Customs was perfunctory, as it always is at an air terminal that caters exclusively to business travelers on private aircraft, and I was soon in a sleek black Mercedes headed for the heart of Paris. The driver handed me a note from Yves explaining that his directors' meeting had run over for an additional half a day and that the driver would take me to the apartment he kept in downtown Paris where he hoped to meet me by two p.m. Yves' delay was fine with me, as I felt I could use a couple of hours of additional sleep to ward off jet lag for the evening.

Yves' apartment occupied the top floor of a 19^th century building on the fashionable Boulevard Saint-Germain-des-Prés. I used the key given me by the driver to gain entry to the building and then the apartment itself.

The apartment was an eye opener. The walls were decorated with very large pieces of what can only be described as erotic artwork. There were naked women, their legs lewdly spread, some openly masturbating and the remainder lewdly displaying themselves, naked men stroking rigid erections, couples of all gender mixes, and a variety of threesomes and foursomes, all engaged in a wide range of graphically depicted sex acts. Not everyone was nude. Women might be dressed in heels, stockings and various other under garments, men in anything from jockey shorts to business suits, but in all cases, the garments were arrayed in such a way that they were obscenely exposing the wearer's breasts or genitals.

Most of it was photographic, but some pieces were drawings or paintings, fully as graphic as the photographic pieces. There were also pieces of sculpture, equally lewd in nature—typically a stone carved fragment of a human form such as an erect penis, or a female vagina, its outer lips spread lewdly with a carved hand fingering the top of the lips obviously stroking the clit. There was even a sculpture of male and female hips joined together by an erect cock two-thirds inserted into the woman's cunt. I suppose that some people might have been offended, but being my usual randy self, I found the whole thing highly erotic.

As I browsed his bookshelves I found Yves had an extensive collection of erotic fiction in a wide range of languages, much of it illustrated with more erotic pictures and drawings. The thought of catching a nap was long gone by now and I sat in a comfortable armchair reading an illustrated piece of erotica. By the time Yves showed up a couple of hours later, there was nothing I wanted more than to pick up where we had left off when he left New York for Paris 48 hours earlier. The erotica had successfully pushed thoughts of that son-of-a-bitch Jim Worthington out of my mind.

"Yves!" I exclaimed as he walked in the door. I jumped from my chair, strode quickly across the room and threw my arms around him.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't meet you," he said. "Directors. Mon Dieu. They just love to hear themselves talk, on and on and on. As one of my English lawyers told me once, Board meetings are 'a great deal of sound and fury signifying nothing'."

"It sounds like your day was not a great deal better than mine," I said. "But now I want to help you put it aside while we pick up where we left off 48 hours ago. I had a truly crappy day in New York on Friday, but I have put it all out of my mind and you should do the same." As I spoke I dropped my hands to his hips and pulled up on his ass so his rapidly swelling prick was pressing against my belly and I rubbed my tits against his chest.

"Right now," I said, continuing my chatter. I want to get a quick shower to wash the filth of New York off me. I would have done it sooner, but I was distracted by this rather unique art collection you have here."

"Oh, so you like it," Yves said pulling his upper body back to look at me, while still leaving our hips pressed together.

"Umm, yes. Very much." I pulled one of his hands off my ass and put it on my tit, which he promptly began to massage. "I suppose some people might be put off by it, but I'm not that type," I said. As I spoke I unbuttoned my blouse and released the front clasp on my bra, allowing him to massage my tits.

"And what type are you?" Yves asked.

"Well, some people have said I'm a slut, but I don't think so." I slipped out of my blouse and the bra fell away so I was naked from the waist up. Yves dropped his head and began to nuzzle my tits, soon taking one nipple and then the other between his lips.

I groaned in delight at what he was doing to me. "No, I've never thought of myself as a slut. I just like sex. A lot. A whole lot! And I've never been very good at saying no." As I spoke, I reached down and began to stroke his very erect dick through his trousers.

"I certainly hope you aren't going to learn to say no this afternoon."

"Hardly," I responded. "We still have unfinished business from Thursday night." Now I had his zipper down and his beautiful cock released from his boxers so I could stroke it more effectively, while he continued to suck on my nipples.

He stood up looking down at me and used his hands to lift both of my tits while I continued to stroke his cock. "And what kind of unfinished business might that be?" he asked.

I released his cock and stood on my toes trapping it against my bare stomach and whispered in his ear, "I want to fuck!"

"Oh really," he said, his hands now cupping my ass and pulling me into him. "I wouldn't have guessed. I think perhaps we are overdressed, and perhaps we should go to the bedroom. I've always found it an excellent place for fucking," with forceful emphasis on the last word.

We stumbled toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of shoes and clothing behind us. By the time we flopped down on top of the bed we were both naked. "You aren't one of those men who only like to do it under the covers in the dark are you?" I asked in a teasing tone.

He laughed. "Certainly not, but right now we have unfinished business from Thursday night, and this bed seems the most convenient place to resume."

I rolled to my back and spread my legs in invitation. "Oh yes we do. Let's fuck!"

Yves crawled between my legs and soon had his rigid cock inserted in my slippery wet cunt. "Oh, you are very wet," he said as he began to pump his cock in an out of my cunt.

"It's all that porn you left me alone with for two hours," I said.

"Oh, and I thought it was just me," he said as he began to stroke his dick in and out.

"Oh god. That's so good." He had the perfect sized dick—big enough to make me feel really full without being so big it was painful.

Yves was on his knees with the remainder of his weight on his arms on either side of my shoulders, fucking me with a long, firm, rhythmic stroke. I reached down with my hands and grabbed my knees, pulling my legs back and rocking my hips up. Oh fuck, it felt like he was going to split me in half when I did that. So fucking good!

I couldn't keep quiet now. I was babbling, "Yes, yes, yes . . . Oh yes, that's it. . . Oh fuck yes . . . fuck me . . . fuck me harder!"

"Yes, you are a slut aren't you? You've been wanting this ever since I left you on Thursday. Didn't you? You horny slut!"

"Oh, oh, oh. Fuck yes. Yes I'm your slut. I've been so horny, and this is what I wanted. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. That's it. So fucking good!"

I knew I wasn't going to last much longer. I am usually able to resist a quick climax like the one I felt coming, but there was something about Yves that was rapidly causing me to lose control.

"Oh fuck! God, I'm cumming. I'm cumming now. Aaaaahhh!" As I screamed, the muscles in my pussy clamped down on his cock. I felt him freeze deep in my cunt, fully extended as far into me as he could get, and then I felt the heat of his cum squirting deep within me, again and again, as I heard him groan in ecstasy and felt him ejaculate at the core of my being.

Yves collapsed on top of me, and then we rolled on our sides, still coupled, but both satiated. Now, perhaps, the shower I wanted, I thought, but then we both fell asleep.