A Paris Encounter

When you're separated from your lover by six thousand miles, two marriages and several kids, a vivid imagination turns out to be very useful! Paris is a city I know well and, once upon a time, our paths very nearly crossed there. We often like to wonder how things might have been different. For now, Leila and I are restricted to imagining how it might be when we do finally meet.....

This is the first fantasy I wrote for her. Her response is included at the end.

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Lei, I couldn't get this fantasy out of my mind. Hope you like it.

It's early evening, Paris in July. The sun has been hot all day and, although the shadows are now lengthening, the heat continues to radiate from the pavements and the walls of the grand Beaux-Arts buildings. You and I are in a tiny bistro-cafe buried in the Latin Quarter just a few moments on foot from the flat I rent. For these imaginary moments all time and obligation has been suspended - there is only us, and the streets of Paris humming with scents of restaurants, and people about their business, work and play.....

You are wearing a simple man's shirt, starched pristine white. It's too big for you of course, gathered and tied at your waist, the neckline casually open to expose your throat and the swell of your breasts. Beneath the shirt, and the simple taut black mini-skirt, you wear nothing. In Etimesgut Escort the dusty shadows of the bistro we are close and intimate, the wine on the table half-drunk and neglected. When we talk we keep our lips close to the other's ear, murmuring our flirtations. Under the table your skirt is riding high, my hand stroking your thigh provocatively, sexually. Arousal is in your eyes, your swollen lips, the way your nipples threaten the fabric of the shirt....

Time to leave - you sway through the crowded, animated tables, your half-smile focused on the exit. You are emanating sex and you know it. The men see it and want it. The women see it and envy it. I follow behind, unable to take my gaze away from your slender form. Outside it's more dark than light and we risk a heavy kiss in the half-glow of the cafe illuminations, hands roving, my fingers in your hair. You open your throat to me and my tongue drags across it.

I take your hand and we walk, with slow-burning intensity, the few yards to my apartment block. The building is in the older style with a narrow staircase, poorly lit. I make you climb first, fixated by the swell of your hips, your satin thighs, those strappy fuck-me shoes all at eye-level in front of me. You half-look back. Your sensual movement taunts me and I catch you, pressing your breasts and hips into the Etlik Escort wall. My cock is urgent and hard and you feel it against you through the clothes. I spin you around and tear open your shirt, roughly force up the fabric of your tiny skirt and drive my fingers into your soaked centre. Groaning you scrabble at my belt, freeing my cock and working it feverishly with your hand. We kiss hard, the sounds and smell of wet sex whirling away up the staircase. There are noises down below, locks clattering, mailboxes being checked, food being prepared. Not bothering to cover our dishevelled state I grab your hand and pull you the last few steps to my front door. We are through in an instant, clawing at each other. I use my strength to overwhelm you and, spinning you around, your wrists are tied behind you with my belt. Fisting your hair I pull back and your throat is once again exposed to me. I lead you stumbling to the sofa and bend you over. You sense rather than hear my trousers falling to the carpet and arch your back wantonly. Then your skirt is roughly pushed up to your waist and I am in you to the hilt, fucking, fucking, fucking........

N

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Leila's response

Babe,

You've painted such a vivid picture in my head...thought I'd Eve Gelen Escort take this fantasy further:

I feel a slight, delicious burn as I feel you awaken all those sensitive nerve endings with your assault...it feels dangerous and smells dangerous and the danger drives you deeper and deeper into me. Suspended against the sofa, I'm almost impaled standing on tippy toes, calf muscles straining, back arched (Pilates principles forgotten!). Random thoughts enter my mind, the feeling of Paris, the burn in my pussy, the thought that this illicit weekend has finally arrived after these hundreds of fantasies about it. I laugh out aloud, the wine still swirling around in my head so overjoyed at being fucked by you for real.

I say "Nathan, I need you in my mouth...I need to taste you".

You pull out and force me to my knees with one strong hand on my shoulder and say "now I'm going to fuck your mouth sweet Leila"

And that you do...deep into my throat, my eyes watering, mascara in rings around my eyes, lipstick smudged on my face.

I love the feeling of your velvety thickness in my mouth, eating my nectar from your cock, feeling the heaviness of your balls in my hand...smelling your acrid arousal deep into my nostrils.

"This is my favourite part" I say to you, as I start working on your head, tongue swirling around as I move your head rapidly in and out of mouth...you want to go all the way but I don't allow it.

For a second I think about what this looks like...I wonder what my friends would say if they had to see me now...nipples hard, wet pussy throbbing and red hair dishevelled wanting this man's cock like I've never wanted anything else in the world....I smile...

L

xxxxx