Looking Back Ch. 11

When I awoke two hours later he was gone. I was still naked, but now covered by a blanket. I sat up and then stepped out of bed and walked naked into the bathroom, where I found a stack of fresh, warm, fluffy towels topped with a note from

Yves:

"Ma amant,

I have to go out for a few hours for another meeting, this time with the lawyers. It never ends. I recommend the shower followed by a long soak in the bathtub. We have a dinner reservation at 9:00 tonight. There are several dresses on the right side of the closet that I believe will fit you. I will be back by 8:00.

Je t'aime,,

Yves

I started with a lengthy session in his walk-in shower to wash the grime of New York and dealing with Jim Worthington off my skin and out of my hair, and then, following Yves advice, I moved on to a long delicious soak in his oversized claw-foot tub. I had really wanted to do this before I made love with Yves, but passion had gotten the better of us, as it always should.

The tub was delicious. I think I fell asleep, because when I decided I had been soaking long enough the water was getting tepid, and my fingertips were getting wrinkled. I got out, dried myself with the oversized towel that was conveniently placed at my disposal and then walked naked to the closet to check out the dresses mentioned in his note. I sincerely hoped there was something that would fit me, as I had brought very few clothes with me, and most of them needed laundering after my time in New York. My meeting with Jim Worthington was so unpleasant I was considering burning the dress I had worn. The bastard!

I picked out a lovely little black cocktail dress that fit me perfectly. I was naked when I tried it on, and after looking at how it thinly disguised my tits and hugged my butt, I decided it was the right dress and that I could get by without underwear for the evening. There was a strappy little pair of heels that fit divinely and made my ass look even better than it had before. Yves had clearly done some very effective clandestine research on me, or he had an ex whose body was an uncanny match for mine.

I spent the next half hour fussing with my hair and make-up. As I stood before a full-length mirror and pirouetted on my toes, I decided that the overall effect was satisfactory, very satisfactory. It was an outfit that would make men think about what you looked like naked on their first look, yet no one could say that I wasn't fully clothed. The dress, especially without bra and panties, covered me fully (except for a generous exposure of cleavage) and still gave a strong suggestion of nudity. Perfect. I added a pair of gold earrings, a string of pearls. A girl should never leave home without her pearls and a simple pair of gold earrings. Finally, a modest hint of perfume behind my ears and between my breasts.

Just as I was doing another turn before the mirror, I heard the key open the lock on the door to the living room, followed by Yves' voice, "Darling I'm home. I'm so sorry I had to rush off this afternoon, but the lawyers insisted . . ."

He stopped in midsentence as I walked into the room. I love it when I have that effect on a man.

"Oh my . . . you're stunning, simply stunning."

"You like? Thank you. I followed your suggestions and looked through the closet to see if I could find something suitable to go out to dinner in."

"But tell me, Yves dear, whose clothes are these? Is there another woman you haven't told me about?"

"Ah well, yes, those belonged to my ex-wife. She didn't quite take everything with her when she left, and now that the divorce settlement is final they are mine to dispose of as I see fit . . . and I love the way they fit, on you that is."

Nice answer, I thought, but I would bet a month's wages there are other women in his life beyond his ex-wife. But then again, who am I to complain about that? It's not like there aren't other men in my life.

"I would love to peel you out of that dress and take you to bed immediately, but it will have to wait. We have a dinner reservation at a lovely little bistro over in the Marais in an hour, so I have just time enough to grab a quick shower and clean clothes. I have been with investment bankers and lawyers since I last saw you, and I need to wash them off before I take someone as lovely as you to dinner." He was peeling his jacket and tie off and striding toward the bedroom and bath as he talked.

As we walked through the bedroom, he shed the rest of his clothes and tossed them at the bed, still unmade after our afternoon's romp. I followed him into the bath, listening to him chatter on about how annoying his meetings of the last two days had been. He was even more beautiful naked than he was clothed. I can't say that about every man I have loved.

As he chattered on, venting his frustrations, I learned that while he was the sole shareholder of his father's company, Montagne Enterprises, there were a variety of his relatives and his father's former partners who owned minority interests in a number of the subsidiary companies controlled by the parent. All of them wanted something, mostly money, and were pressing him with various plans to sell the parts of the company that would generate cash for them, or in some cases to sell the entire company. It was, "a fucking mess," as Yves put it succinctly.

He was still babbling on about specific individuals who were causing him problems as he emerged from the shower. I let him continue to vent, understanding that sometimes people just wanted someone to listen to them complain about problems without trying to suggest solutions. Eventually, as he finished toweling the water off his body, he paused for a moment. I stepped in close to his still naked body, warm from the hot shower he had just had. "Darling," I said as I caressed his dick, "it sounds like you've had a dreadful day. Now I want you to get dressed, and we are going to go out and have a lovely dinner, and I will help you forget about all of these problems for the rest of the evening. I could feel his dick swelling in my hand, but I knew we didn't have time to go any further now, so I stepped back and sat in a chair, my legs crossed and the dress casually pulled up to mid-thigh, while I watched him dress.

Dinner that evening was marvelous. Yves seemed to know all of the wait staff and the chef-owner. The owner was apparently on old friend of his father. The only problem was that by the time dinner was completed, the jet lag had caught up with me, and I was struggling to keep from falling asleep. The wine we had consumed with dinner hadn't helped things any.

When we returned to Yves' apartment I peeled off the dress and fell into bed naked. The stresses of the last couple of days appeared to have caught up with Yves also, as he did basically the same thing. We curled into a spoon position and both promptly crashed.

When I awoke the next morning, the sun was streaming in the windows off the bedroom. It was a beautiful fall Sunday morning. Yves was lying next to me on his back, most of his naked body no longer covered by the blanket. I propped myself up on an elbow taking in the view of his body, and then I had the most deliciously nasty idea. It was something I had never done with a lover before.

I sat up and leaned forward, using one hand to softly pick up Yves cock and guide it to my mouth. It was soft, but began to respond to my ministrations quickly. As it grew, I heard Yves begin to wake. Now he had his head up and was watching me with a sleepy dreamy-eyed look. His cock was fully erect now, and I was taking it as far in as I could and sucking hard on it as I withdrew.

"Mon dieu! What a way to wake up."

I released his cock from my mouth and looked at him with a lascivious smile over the top of his prick, which I continued to jack with my hand. "You like?" I asked.

"Oh fuck, yes!" he responded.

I continued to look at him and jack his cock, now with two hands. Then I swung a leg over him and arranged myself on my knees so I was poised over his prick. I had been dreaming about fucking him before I awoke, so I was good and wet and I simply let myself down onto his prick. I gasped a bit as I sank on to him and he filled my cunt.

"Good morning lover," I said. "I wanted to do this last night, but the jet lag just did me in even before we finished dinner."

I was sitting on him, his prick fully impaling me, but making no effort to begin really fucking. Then I felt his cock twitch inside me. He followed that by flexing his hips to drive his prick even further into me.

"Oh fuck!"

He did it again, and again. Not really fucking me hard, but establishing a rhythm of short thrusts of his prick further into me. I still didn't move my hips. I just let him continue his slow rhythmic pumping, while I began massaging my tits. It was a delicious low voltage fuck, but I knew it would lead to something stronger.

Finally I leaned forward and began to rub my nipples across the light hair on his chest. God that feels good I thought. The light varying pressure of his chest hairs on my nipples was so erotic. I could feel my pussy warming up, getting ready for the climax to come, but not in any particular rush.

When I leaned forward my hips had risen away from his, allowing his cock to come about half way out of my cunt. Now he began to use his hips more forcefully, energetically driving his rigid prick into my cunt, and then letting it withdraw to half or even mostly out as his hips sunk down. Each withdrawal was followed by a forceful thrust of his cock back to the limits my cunt could accept. I rose just a bit so my tits were swinging just over his chest and then I began to use my hips in rhythm with his thrusts, doubling the force with which he drove his cock into me on each thrust.

Now we were seriously fucking, and I was becoming verbal about it. "Oh fuck! Fuuuuuuck! So good, yes, yes, yes! That's it, fuck me!" and a lot of unintelligible moaning. I wasn't really close, but we were in a good rhythm, and I was just enjoying the fuck.

After a couple of minutes, I said, "Behind. Fuck me from behind." We repositioned ourselves with me on my elbows and knees, my ass lewdly in the air, and Yves on his knees behind me. He grabbed my ass with both hands and then I felt that delicious cock of his intrude into my cunt again. Oh god, it went so deep into me in this position. He began to fuck me slowly, and then faster and harder.

I could hear him groaning now as his climax approached. I reached back with one hand and began to stroke my clit. "Oh fuck! I'm close! I'm going to cum!"

He said something in French I couldn't follow, and then I felt him squirt his hot cum deep into my pussy as he groaned loudly. That did it. I screamed, an involuntary scream. I don't even know what I said. As I screamed my cunt cramped down on his spurting cock and the orgasm ripped through my entire body, or it at least felt like it. We held our position for what seemed like an eternity as our mutual climax wound down and then collapsed sideways, where we lay while our bodies recovered.

Finally I said sleepily, "Bonjour. It's a beautiful Sunday morning."

"Eh oui." He was silent for a moment. Then, "Sunday! What time is it?"

I felt him move as he looked at his watch. "Oh, oui, oui, it's Sunday! If we hurry and get dressed, we will just have time for a coffee and croissant before Mass."

Mass? He expected me to go to Mass with him?

"Yves," I said. "I was raised a Catholic, but I haven't been to Mass for about twenty years or so."

"Then don't you think it's about time? Come on, we will go to St. Germain-des-Prés. It is the oldest church in Paris. I have been going there since I was eight years old when my father first moved the family to Paris from Bourgogne."

So I went to Mass for the first time in twenty years. I wore the clothes I had worn to dinner the night before with a black silk scarf over my head and draped down so that it covered my bare back. The décolletage was probably a bit much for church, but I seemed to get away with it. At least no one asked me to leave. The coffee and croissant at a near by café were delicious, but hurried, and the Mass, well, it might have been better if my French were better, but it still wasn't as bad as I remembered Mass being. Maybe it was the company I was keeping.

As we emerged from the church, the elderly priest who had said the Mass greeted Yves effusively with a bear hug and a kiss on each cheek. They chattered in French for a moment as other parishioners slipped around us. Eventually Yves politely introduced me as his friend Kate from California, and the priest quickly switched to excellent English. It seemed that he had lived in the Bay Area for a few years as a young priest. He wanted to know if the Giants were going to win the World Series this year.

Afterward Yves and I stood in the plaza before the church, his arm casually around my waist, joined together at the hips. I was thinking about how I would screw him this afternoon. Then Yves spoke up.

"Today is the last day of the summer concert series in Jardins de Luxembourg. They will have a full symphony orchestra. We must go. Yes, yes, it is a day for a picnic!"

So I went to a picnic in Luxembourg Gardens on a warm Paris fall afternoon, still wearing my slinky black cocktail dress and my strappy little black heels. We had a tasty vegetable quiche, a bean salad, rolls, sweet melon balls wrapped in prosciutto, and a delicate Rosé while we listened to the symphony. It was lovely. Afterwards we returned to Yves' flat and made love again. A truly marvelous day.