Parisian Beauty

They sat in silence during the conclusion of the piece, as the sights and sounds of the ballet slowly swam back into focus. He surreptitiously put his hand to his face, savouring the aroma of her pussy before running it over his mouth, licking it clean.

As the curtain call ended and the lights came up, she leaned over and whispered in his ear, "That was the best."

Any thoughts of letting her escape vanished. He had to have her or let her have him. His desire was overpowering, intoxicating. Any idea of a sophisticated seduction was abandoned as well. That pink, slippery wetness between her legs was all he could think about, that and his own unsatiated desire.

He whispered something about his apartment but she batted him away. Later, she said, first she wanted a drink, she wanted to dance.

...

He took her to a jazz bar he knew, somewhere he didn't feel too old but that he hoped would be lively enough for her. He couldn't face a techno club.

There was a single couple on the floor as they arrived, dancing something like the tango. The man was in his fifties and the girl was no more than twenty five. She was large breasted in a low cut top and pushed her body up close to her partner. The club was hot and both dancers were sweaty. The dance was close, sensuous and passionate. Watching them dance was almost like watching them fuck.

"That's hot."

He looked over at his companion who was also watching the couple dance. The room was dark but he could see her eyes shining with lust.

She looked up at him, "Come with me," she said.

She took him by the hand and led him to the ladies, pushed past a couple of girls hanging around outside and took him into a stall.

"Poor baby," she said, taking hold of the lapels of his coat, "getting you all worked up like that."

She kissed him, her lips soft and warm, her tongue just darting out of her mouth and into his. She pulled her body up close to him as she did so and he could feel the heat of her body, feel her tits pressed against his chest.

Her hands were up against his chest but she ran them down until they were rubbing up against his cock. She gave a little moan of satisfaction as she felt his cock stiffen in response to her caress.

She kept lightly rubbing the front of his trousers, tracing the outline of his shape as it pressed against his fly, swelling and thickening to her touch. He reached round with both his hands and cupped her arse cheeks as she fondled his dick.

Keeping her hands down at his crotch, she flicked her hair back and looked him straight in the eye, her lips, a coral pink like he imagined her pussy to be, open and moist.

"Can I touch it?" she asked, and he could feel her hot breath on his neck as she spoke.

He nodded.

She responded by pushing him against the toilet door, making it bang, and seating herself on the edge of the toilet seat, facing him, her head at the level of his crotch.

Female voices giggled on the other side of the door but he was deaf to everything except her, looking incongruously dainty, even pretty, sitting on her perch. She gave him a wicked smile but she was cool and collected as she undid his belt and his fly, dipping her hands in his briefs and freeing his cock.

She looked at him, "Yummy."

The feel of her wet lips pressed in a light kiss on the underside of his cock was electrifying. He felt himself spasm like he was about to come all at once. He suppressed the feeling but it was sweet agony as she worked her way up the underside of his shaft, teetering between ecstasy and humiliation, and as she flicked her tongue in little licks against his cock head.

Finally looking up into his eyes, she opened her mouth fully and sunk her head down onto his cock.

He resisted for only moments longer, running his fingers through her blonde curls, as he came hard in her mouth, pumping his cum down into her throat, dizzy headed as he did so.

As an orgasm it was deeply satisfying but it had come so quickly and had been so little under his control that it left him flushed, dizzy headed and slightly unsure of himself.

He had an image of himself as a sexual maestro, bringing his lovers to a slow climax over a pleasurable afternoon of love making in his apartment or in a grand hotel in one of the world's capitals. Getting effectively jumped and sucked off in a nightclub toilet wasn't his style at all, not for decades at least. It was exhilarating but also a little frightening.

They stayed late at the club, mostly dancing, bodies pressed together. He drank only a little. He wanted to retain as much self-control as he could. She drank freely, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining.

Feeling her body pressed against his, her heat warming him, her breasts rubbing up at his chest, he knew his desire for her was far from slaked. He wanted to run away, to be back in a position where he was in control but he couldn't leave her without having her. No procession of sweet little things, no matter how endless, could ever replace this feeling with her.

No woman had had this effect on him since Gabrielle broke his heart in 1989.

He was older than his companion, by some decades, and, try as he might, he couldn't keep up. He had to sit out more than one dance, breathing hard on a bar stool, sipping his cognac as he watched her dance with men far closer to her own age.

He felt his blood boil with jealousy and desire as he watched her press close to her dance partners. Images of her fucking these young men filled his mind, almost as arousing as awful. She always made sure to throw him these hot little glances as if to say, she was only toying with these boys. He was the man for her.

At last she wanted to leave. He hadn't wanted to suggest it before but was relieved when she did. It was a warm night and his apartment not far, so they walked, hand in hand down the banks of the Seine, like curiously chaste lovers. He noticed, as he almost never did, how beguilingly, deceptively beautiful Paris could be at night.

...

Alone in his apartment, he offered, and she accepted, a final drink. He left her to fetch them and came back to find her facing away from him, leaning over a high set desk in his living room, bottom pointed in the air towards him.

She had found a large scale book of Renoir prints on his shelves. It was open at the page of the seated nude they had been admiring in the Musee d'Orsay. She appeared to be studying it intently.

He moved up behind her, placing both drinks down on the desk.

"Elle est belle, non?"

She had lost her coat, and bent over as she was, her arse cheeks were clearly visible, pushed against her very short skirt.

She murmured something unintelligible but he wasn't really listening. He was staring at her arse instead, admiring the way its firm, young contours were so precisely delineated by the clingy, dark fabric. He was hardly aware of anything else, barely even aware of the deep ache of his own longing.

He found his hands outstretched, running them over her skirt, tracing the outline of her arse cheeks beneath her skirt. She moaned, soft but appreciatively, as he slowly peeled away the material, exposing the firm young fruit beneath.

Her bottom was smooth and almost dazzling white in the dimly lit room. Her legs were slightly parted and he could see blonde wisps of hair from her bush, the shape of her labia and the beginnings of that dark, infolding line that would open to the touch to the sweet, wet pleasures within.

For a moment he just paused, staring at it, breathing in its beauty. He looked up at her head but she was still facing away from him, still apparently deep in study of the naked beauty he could just glimpse over her shoulder. He could, however, hear her breathing quicken in anticipation.

There was a pause, an expectant hush as if the room itself were waiting, eager and hungry for what would come next. Time seemed to slow. All he could hear was her breathing and the tick of the clock, each second apparently taking longer than the last. It was a sweet agony that he almost didn't dare to breach.

Breach it he did though, something suddenly snapped and he brought his hand down hard, palm open, slapping her on the arse with a load smacking sound.

He was almost as surprised as she was. This was not his usual thing, but was instantly rewarded with a loud, orgasmic cry from his partner, louder and more impassioned than he could have dared hope for.

He took his hand away, uncertainly, looking at the red hand print imprinted on an otherwise perfect arse.

It was unplanned and he almost lost his nerve but for her crying out, "Again, oh God, again."

He spanked her again, more gingerly this time.

"Harder, fucking harder."

Whatever impulse had initially driven him to spank her now took over completely and he spanked her hard and repeatedly. He was rewarded not only with her increasingly enthusiastic shrieks but with the vision of a perfectly manicured finger slipping inside her hot pink cunt.

He had never felt release like this. He had played around with S&M before. he had tried most things, but never taken to it. But this was different. All afternoon and evening as his desire, lust and attraction had risen, it had been matched by an equally powerful rising sense of panic. He was falling under this young woman's spell, losing all control.

Spanking her, taming her arse, leaving his imprint on her, making her come, felt like taking back control, reclaiming his masculinity.

He almost didn't notice when he stopped spanking and started fucking. His rock hard dick almost jumped from his pants and buried itself deep inside her juicy, wet pinkness.

No cunt ever felt so sweet. If the spanking was all fire, this was a dousing, refreshing slouch of water. His cock, her cunt, slip sliding like a well oiled piston.

Their bodies felt perfectly in sync, her arse cheeks braced against his pelvis as he moved hard up inside her. He leaned over her, his chest close to her back, his hands running up her front, squeezing her tits through her blouse before ripping it open, buttons popping, for unfettered access, hard pink nipples squeezed between his fingers.

Still gliding deep in her slick inner spaces, almost deafened by her moans now almost shrieks, he had his head down by her shoulder. Looking past her blonde ringlets he could see the naked mysterious nymph displayed on the page before him, her soft, wondrous beauty filling his eyes.

His companion looked up at him and followed his eyes down to the page. Her cunt swelled and tightened, his cock surged and stiffened, spasming together, giving and receiving in equal measure. At the moment of climax they both seemed to be under the spell of this long forgotten beauty. They could almost smell the summer meadow and the perfume of her flesh as, rocking together, they both came.