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I studied French at university. As part of the deal they sent us all to France and so, at the age of twenty-one, I found myself living in Paris for a year. Some people were teachers. I was a student, though, and I had a great time. But, being a student in Paris, I was anything but rich. Money was always a problem and one way that I tried to make some was by giving private lessons in English. There were often messages on the notice board at the university asking for people to teach somebody or other and, after I’d tried a couple of other things that were pretty hopeless, I decided to give it a go.
My first effort was disastrous, a creepy middle-aged so-called businessman who I went to see in his office and who wasted no time at all in making it horribly clear that there was rather more on his mind than just a bit of grammar and conversation. I managed to get out with my dignity pretty much intact, but it put me off trying that particular line of work for a while!
Meanwhile I went and found the man of my dreams, a gorgeous guy called Luc – tall, long dark hair, blue eyes, sensitive, intelligent, funny, everything you could wish for – and of course he turned out to be totally one hundred per cent gay and although we really got on well together he just wasn’t interested at all in anything physical, so that was another disappointment.
My Parisian hat-trick of crap experiences with men came with the lover of my next private student. This one (the student) was a woman called Danielle, who lived in a lovely flat in a wealthy part of town. Her husband was a businessman with a talent for making money that was bettered only by his talent for never being at home. She was tall, thirty-something, and very, very, attractive. Her talents were mostly for blowing his money as fast as he could make it. My job was to give her an hour’s conversation twice a week, for a payment that was no doubt small change to her but made quite a bit of difference to an impoverished student like me.
It didn’t take me long to figure out why Danielle wanted English lessons. She was bored to tears. No kids, no job, no money worries, and a husband who was either away on business or came home so late he might just as well still have been away on business. Not that I minded. She wasn’t the world’s most exciting person but she was nice enough and I suppose that for her our part-English part-French conversations were a break from her constant round of beauty salons, fitness clubs, shopping, lunches, galleries, and all the rest of it. Which, of course, included a lover. She loved talking about him, but he turned out to be a bit of a parody, actually, a hairy-chested macho imbecile with no buttons on his shirt and a mobile phone that kept going off at the most ridiculous moments. The first time we met he propositioned me the minute she was out of the door, and he wasn’t exactly subtle about it. I wasn’t very subtle in my reply, either, and from then on we would no doubt have been at daggers drawn if we’d met again, but I think Danielle probably knew him pretty well and made sure our paths didn’t cross.
I’m not sure why, but for some reason she took quite a shine to me and took it upon herself to introduce me to various aspects of Paris life that I wouldn’t have come across otherwise. Some of them were pretty interesting, such as one or two wonderful restaurants she took me to and some out-of-the-way places I’d never have stumbled across in a million years otherwise, but one of the real low points was the afternoon parties her group of female friends used to have, which were basically just rampant with bitchiness, jealousy, gossip and boredom. The format was pretty much the same at all of these, about a dozen of these very glamorous but generally nasty women being civilly unpleasant to and about each other but scared not to turn up for fear of what might go on during their absence, and after I’d been to two or three of them I was fed up to the back teeth and was all set to stop going, but Danielle was hosting the next one and I didn’t want to insult her and so I let her persuade me. And I’m glad I did, too, because that’s where I met Natalie.
Our eyes just met across a crowded room. It’s a terrible clichÃ©, isn’t it? In this case, though, it was absolutely true. I was just sitting quietly in a corner, drinking a cup of tea and minding my own business while trying hard not to focus too much on what the women closest to me were saying, something about who was fucking who at the sauna and how that showed that her taste in men was as bad as her taste in clothes, when I got the sensation I was being looked at. Know that feeling? I glanced up and there she was. “Stunning” isn’t a word I’d use very often, but it fitted her. Early ‘thirties, straight shoulder-length ash-blonde hair parted at the side, skin glowing with health and a deep tan the colour of caramel, and wearing a simple sleeveless knee-length white dress that showed off to perfection a nice slender figure and shapely arms and calves. Just beautiful. My eyes met hers. She saw me look at her and calmly looked straight casino oyna back, her lips slightly parted in a smile.
It was a weird moment. It was as if all of a sudden there were just the two of us in the room. All the chattering women, all the gossip, all the clattering of cutlery and china, it all seemed to vanish, and in its place there was a wonderfully calm silence and just the two of us, me and this glorious blonde woman, our eyes locked together and communing on some abstract plane that lay way, way beyond words or anything like that. Of course, it only lasted a moment. Somebody said something to her and the spell was broken, but there seemed to be a kind of inevitability about the way that a while later we found ourselves side by side at a table laden with cakes. My arm brushed against hers as we both reached for something at the same time, and we both laughed and apologised at the same time.
“I’m Natalie,” she said in a soft musical voice, holding her hand out and leveling those grey eyes of her at me once more. They were very penetrating. It cost me an effort but I met her stare and took her hand without my gaze wavering for an instant.
“I’m Sarah,” I answered. “I noticed you across the room. You were looking at me.”
“Yes. I like to look.” She cocked her head and thrust her chin out in a determined way as she said this, and her eyes, still fixed on me, seemed to widen as she spoke, as if she was trying to force her words deep inside me. I could literally feel the electricity between us. I felt that if I touched her dress there would be great flashes of lightning, but when I glanced around the room nobody was paying any attention at all to us, so it was obviously not something everybody could notice. They were all wrapped up in their own concerns. I decided to play along with her. I was in the mood to play chicken a bit and wanted to show I could give as good as I got.
“It’s nice to be looked at,” I said, “especially by someone as beautiful as you.”
“Do you know what I am thinking when I look at you?”
“Yes, I think so,” I answered, trying, not very successfully, to keep the tremor out of my voice. “I think it’s the same as I am thinking when I look at you. Isn’t it?”
“And what’s that?”
“You tell me.”
“Oh no,” she smiled. “That is not the sort of thing to be talking about at a nice gathering of ladies – she curled her lip as she said the word ladies – like this. And anyway, this week I am, so to say, hors de combat. You are a woman too. You understand these things.” And with this she pressed her hands to her abdomen and shrugged in what I had come to recognise as a very French way. It didn’t matter, though. What we had to say had already been said. The rest would keep. We allowed the conversation to drift to other matters.
Sooner or later it touched on tennis.
“Do you play?” Natalie asked.
“Badly. And you?”
“So-so. Would you like to play with me?”
I resisted, for once, the temptation to say the obvious, but let her know it had crossed my mind with what I hoped was a comic expression. She smirked, so I guess it succeeded.
“There are courts just by where I live. If you like I can reserve one for us. Next week, perhaps?”
And so that was that. Natalie and I agreed to have a game of tennis together the following Wednesday. I didn’t think for a minute that either of us imagined tennis would be the only game on the agenda, though. There was something wonderfully exciting about the obviousness of that. Neither of us had said anything explicit, but somehow that didn’t matter. There was none of the uncertainty there’d been the first time I’d been with another woman. This time it was a different sort of excitement. I was going in with both eyes open and no mistake.
It was a lovely hot late spring day and I put on a pair of white shorts and a T-shirt before leaving the house. I put a change of clothes into my bag and went there by bus. It was easy to find the courts, which were in the corner of a park. Natalie was already waiting for me when I arrived, looking very glamorous in a tiny white tennis dress, her blonde hair gathered up in a ponytail. When she saw me she broke into a smile and came forward to greet me. We embraced and kissed each other on both cheeks in the French style. Just to let her know how I was feeling, I pulled her back to me when she made to break the embrace after we had already held each other for a split second longer than conventional politeness dictated, inhaling the scent of her hair and her perfume, aware that she was doing the same with me, and showing her exactly the effect she had on me by letting my hand brush over her buttock as we separated. It was discreet enough, but the conspiratorial look she gave me sent my pulse racing.
We played for about an hour, first just practising and then two proper sets which Natalie won; the first was close but the second was easy for her. She may have been a good ten years older than me but she was in great condition and had obviously canlı casino had a lot more recent experience than I had. It showed towards the end, when she had me running all over the court chasing balls I had no hope at all of reaching. She won the final point with a vicious smash I had no chance at all of reaching and walked up to the net to shake my hand.
“Thank you very much,” she said. “Shall we go to my flat and recover?”
“I hope it’s not far,” I answered. “I’m tired and I’m hot.”
“Just over here,” she said, gesticulating to an apartment block no more than two hundred yards away. We picked up our bags and walked across grass dappled with afternoon sunlight to the front door, then into the building’s cool interior. A quiet lift whisked us up to the fourth floor, where Natalie undid a series of locks and threw open a tall wooden door to reveal a spacious and very luxurious-looking living room.
“So who lives here?” I asked.
“Just the two of us, me and my husband,” she answered. “But he’s in Spain right now.”
We kicked off our sports shoes, put our bags down, and went through to a kitchen that, while perhaps a few square inches smaller than the living room, was still bigger than the whole of the little flat I had to share with two other students. Natalie opened the fridge and brought out a tall jug of lemonade which she poured into two tall glasses full of ice cubes. We drank in silence for a minute, enjoying the cool and the rest after our exertions.
“Would you like a shower?” she said after a few moments.
“Mmmm, I’d love one.”
“So, the bathroom’s through there, the second door on the left. You’ll find a towel and everything else you need there.”
I picked up some things from the bag in the living room and found the bathroom. It was enormous, with a huge sunken tub in one corner and, in the other, a shower area. I stripped off my sweaty tennis things, stood underneath the nozzle, and turned it on. The water, when it came out, was colder than the lemonade had been. I howled out loud, I couldn’t help it, and leapt out of the icy stream. A moment later the door opened.
“What’s the matter?” Natalie asked, putting her head round the door.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I forgot to tell you, it’s a bit tricky. Here, let me help you.”
She came into the room, over to where I was standing and shivering by the still-cold shower, and played around with the controls for a minute, after which the water started to come out hot and steaming.
“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” she said, and turned to me with a smile. I think it was only then that both of us realised that I was stark naked. Her smile broadened as in frank fashion she looked me up and down. “Mmmm, much better,” she added quietly, those clear grey eyes of hers fixing themselves on mine.
I said nothing. I had nothing to say right then. I just looked straight back at her, daring her psychically to make the first move, willing her with my eyes to do something and break the frozen tableau we were in. Slowly, without taking her eyes from mine until the last possible moment, she turned round and walked over to the door. She closed it with a precise click and turned once more to face me.
On bare feet, she padded over towards me, reaching with her hands behind her back as she did so and undoing the zip of the tennis dress. One shrug of her shoulders and she was out of it and clad only in a simple white cotton bra and the briefest of briefs.
“Can I join you?” she asked in a quiet voice. Without waiting for me to answer, she undid the bra and tossed it to one side. Then she hooked her thumbs through her high-cut white panties and in a simple but elegant gesture removed them to stand in front of me as naked as I myself was. She was lovely. That toffee-coloured tan covered every delicious square inch of her. An astrological symbol (Capricorn), supported by a thin gold chain round her neck, hung between her smallish breasts, which were crowned with very protuberant nipples the colour of cooking chocolate. I let my gaze slide down to her abdomen, where it came to rest on a neatly-trimmed dab of hair, just a little exclamation mark was all it was, only a shade darker than she had on her head.
“I see you’re a natural blonde.”
“Yes,” she said, running one of her manicured fingertips up through the little tuft that barely obscured the groove of her sex. “Do you like what you see?”
“Oh yes,” I murmured, and moved forward to her. I encircled her waist with my arms and she put hers around my shoulders. Her skin was cool against mine. She was a few inches shorter than me and stood on her tiptoes as she brought her face up to mine for our first kiss. As our mouths brushed together I clasped her buttocks in my hands. Her lips parted and her tongue snaked out to trace the line of my top teeth. I met it with my own. Our eager mouths duelled for long slow sensuous minutes, our greedy hands encircling one another, each pulling the other closer, the soft contours of our breasts, kaçak casino our bellies, our thighs pressed together as we gyrated gently to and fro. The texture of Natalie’s skin, the feel of her against me, the scent of fresh sweat and perfume that clung to her; all these, added to the things her clever mouth was doing to me, made me dizzy with desire. I could tell from her laboured breathing that I was having the same effect on her.
Meanwhile the shower, still switched on, was filling the room with clouds of steam. Our skins were running with sweat and condensation when at last we came up from our kiss.
“Let’s get cleaned up,” Natalie said. “Would you like me to wash you?”
“Why don’t we wash each other?”
We climbed under the jet together, luxuriating in the heat of the water. Then we turned the shower off. Beginning at my shoulders, Natalie’s hands, filled with flower-scented bath gel, made their way down my back, paying special attention to my ass, and then on down my legs to my feet. Coming round to kneel in front of me, she cleaned between my toes and then moved her hands up my calves to my thighs. Filling them once more, she lingered lovingly in my armpits and then started to soap my breasts, her hands moving in rhythmic circles which gradually centred on my nipples. She tugged gently at them until they were stiff and sticking out like the top joint of my finger, then took more gel and moved her hand down over my stomach to my mons, working up a rich lather with the heel of her hand while her fingers sought out my pussy. I groaned out loud as her fingers touched me, probing my cleft and flicking over my clitoris.
“Is that good?” she whispered into my ear.
“Oh yes, oh yes,” I moaned. “Please, don’t stop. Make me come.”
I was so worked up it was just a matter of a few short strokes and a few seconds before that sweet sensation washed over me and I convulsed under Natalie’s deft touch, my knees going weak. She kept an arm round me and supported me as the orgasm coursed through my body, then, as it ebbed away, brought up her hand from my pussy to turn on the shower once more and then cup my chin. We stood under the hot water and kissed some more, softly and sweetly.
“You now,” I said after some time. I turned the shower off and put some gel in my own hands. Natalie stood there, arms outspread, as I covered first her arms and then her back in fluffy clouds of lather. Next I did the same with her legs, enjoying the smoothness of her skin and her muscle tone as I did so. Her breasts, when I touched them, were soft and supple, and she started to gasp and nibble her lip and roll her head from side to side as I rolled her nipples between my soapy forefinger and thumb.
“I want to eat you,” I said into her ear.
“Not here, not now,” she breathed. “Later. In bed. Now just make me come. I’m so close. Please.”
She was close, too. I slid my hand, slippery with gel, between her legs and it seemed that I had hardly touched her there before she was shuddering and giving little soft cries of pleasure as her dam burst, her fingernails digging into my shoulders.
“Oh, yes. Oh, yes!” she howled, clinging to me as her orgasm hit her.
We held each other close for a while after that, kissing gently, and then Natalie turned on the shower again and we washed off all the suds. Wrapped in big terry bathrobes and with towels like turbans on our heads, we left the billowing steam of the bathroom and went to the kitchen for more lemonade and to dry off. Sitting at the table diagonally across from me with her knee up on a bench, Natalie was positioned so that her pussy would be clearly visible if I just moved my head a bit to one side. I moved it. She noticed the movement – well, she’d invited it, hadn’t she? – and moved her leg to help me, then smiled as I drank in the view. Apart from the little strip I’d seen when she took off her panties, she was completely hairless, so that the details of her vulva were plain. She had very prominent inner lips that protruded well beyond the outer ones, I noticed.
Natalie moved her right hand and started to play idly with herself, running her fingers lazily up and down her slit, then using them to open it up like the petals of a flower and toy with the little button of her clitoris.
“Do you still like what you see?” she asked.
“Yes, and I still want to eat you.”
“Come on, then,” she said, standing up and taking me by the hand as I stood up too. She led me through the living room, across the hall, where there were still wet footprints, and into a bedroom dominated by a huge double bed. She tugged the towel off her head, shrugged the bathrobe off her shoulders, and fell backwards on to it, her hair forming a halo round her, her breasts flattened against her ribs, and her legs spread wide with the knees drawn up and her feet up against her ass. Deliberately taking my time, I unwound the towel from my head and used it to rub my hair. Then I opened the belt of the bathrobe and allowed it to fall in a heap on the floor. Kneeling at her feet, I put one of my hands on each of her knees and forced them as far apart as I could, then in one gliding movement I brought my face to her pussy and buried my nose as far in as I could to inhale her fragrance and dampness.
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