An American In Paris

Submitted by: webmaster
Type: Story · Categories: Erotic Couplings, Interracial Sex · Tags:
Date: January 25, 2014 (7 years ago)

The air clung to me, thick with humidity. One of those oppressive Parisian days, hot, sticky and uncomfortable. Not a great day to go shopping, but a girl has to keep in practice.

I've lived in Paris for about a year. What a shopaholic's paradise. Someone with my addiction to spending money doesn't take long to find her way around. Rue du Bac has the exciting Conran shop, Boulevard Raspail is bursting with those typically French boutiques with their snooty ‘madames', and my favorite, Rue de la Seine is lined with the most fascinating antiques shops you will ever see.

Paris has a strange ability to look shabby and worn on the outside, but be incredibly exciting and vibrant when you get to know it. Unlike the men I've met here so far, who are just the opposite. Oh well, maybe I'm just too fussy, but it does explain why I often go home alone.

More often than not the carrier bags you get in the boutiques are more opulent than their contents – glossy red, matt black and silver, sunflower and white stripes, gold acrylic – the working girl's badges of office. By the end of the day my arms ached from carrying all my well-wrapped treasures. A lovely crisp white blouse, irresistibly divine lingerie and some exquisite jewelry: you know the kind of stuff – plastic-stretching comfort shopping.

Why comfort? Well, I'd been seeing a man up until yesterday. But then I learned what a complete bastard he is. And I also learned I don't want to see him any more.

We had met up after work for a quick drink, but both knew that quick drinking wasn't what either of us had in mind. We barely got back to my apartment with our modesties intact. As soon as we hit the stairs in the lobby our hands flew to each other's bodies.

"Terri, ma cherie, I have dreamed about you the whole day," the rat panted.

If you've ever tried uncontrollably kissing someone while desperately pulling at his shirt buttons, while trying to climb five flights of stairs, you'll know what I mean. The damned elevator never works. Eventually, we half fell through my front door, and, just barely remembering to kick it shut, collapsed half-naked onto my giant cream sofa. To give the bastard some credit, he is a great lover: he knows how to play my body like a violin – plucking here, scraping there – building me up to a crescendo of lust.

Even though I hate him, I have to admit that Pierre is a great looking guy. Lean and brooding in a typically French way, dark hair and dark eyes – nothing like the guys I normally go for back home in LA.

His mouth closed over my small breast, sucked my stiff pink nipple deep against his magical tongue while his lips squeezed and teased the flesh of my tingling tit. He flicked my tender bud mercilessly, sending waves of joy through my panting chest and down between my legs. The warmth of my arousal was like a fire between my legs as my inner lips swelled. I was wet and I wanted desperately to be touched there. He didn't keep me waiting long. His hand briefly stroked my flat stomach, fingertips teasing my neatly heart-trimmed blonde hairs for a moment before slowly running his middle finger down between my moist lips. My pussy wanted to be filled so badly, I pushed myself against his hand.

"Take your clothes off, Pierre!" I begged him. He didn't need to be asked twice. Pausing just long enough to lick his fingers and flash me a heart-stopping smile, he threw his clothes onto the floor. I was in heaven. His magnificent body was naked, that lovely long straight cock pointing right at me. My legs opened wide without any conscious effort from me, shamelessly exposing my smooth pussy lips. Pierre knew exactly what to do, and I closed my eyes in sheer joy as his clever mouth breathed exquisite pleasures into my cunt.

Pierre's tongue really does have magical properties. He can flick, stroke, caress and ravage a woman simultaneously. He was everywhere, sliding his lips in a slick mixture of my juices and his saliva. Knowing how much I love to be eaten, I was a bit surprised and disappointed when he gave my clit a final kiss and moved up my body.

"Don't stop, that feels so good," I groaned.

"Ma Cherie, I am too excited to wait any longer."

He stopped me from complaining any more by covering my mouth with his. The exotic flavor of my own wetness took my complaints away. His wet and shiny face rubbed against mine as his rigid cock entered me. Even though I was as aroused as I could be, my pussy still gripped him tightly. I experienced that wonderful feeling of fullness as he briefly hit bottom – his pubic bone ground into my clit and his big swinging balls slapped against my ass. That is a feeling like nothing else on earth.

I wrapped my legs tightly around him and encouraged him to pump harder and faster. This time I didn't want tenderness; I wanted satisfaction.

He arched his back and I put my small hands on his broad, well-muscled chest. His nipples are amazingly sensitive; so I raked my fingernails over them, bring a delightful groan to his lips. He loves to be teased there and his cock swelled even bigger inside me. A familiar itching/burning/glowing pressure began to suffuse my body: centered nowhere, centered everywhere. I could tell that Pierre was close to coming too – his eyes were squeezed shut and his whole body seemed to become as hard as his dick.

Then he came. He shuddered, forced himself deeper still into my willing flesh and bathed my insides with his hot sperm. I was so close. Not quite there yet, but near. Very near. I relaxed, expecting him to be a gentleman and keep going long enough to let me come too.

How wrong I was. As soon as his pleasure had subsided, he pulled out and, picking up the first thing that came to hand – my panties – wiped his sticky cock and started to get dressed.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I said, puzzled and rather hurt.

"My darling, that was beautiful," he replied, "but I am so late. I promised to meet Claude in Bar Miguel at 8 o'clock. I'll phone you tomorrow."

"What about me, you bastard? Aren't you even going to finish me off?"

"Cherie, I thought you came before me. I'm sorry; you'll have to finish off for yourself. Just imagine my cock inside you. You'll be fine. I'll make it up to you next time." The front door slammed.

Like I said. Bastard. Ex bastard. Ex boyfriend.

So I went shopping. Trying not to think about him.

I had finished in the boutique district but had kept the best treat until last: a stroll along Rue de la Seine to the river, window shopping in all antique shop Aladdin's caves on both sides of the narrow, cobbled street. I had really spent all the money I wanted to, but something inside me kept telling me that true satisfaction could only come from one obscenely large purchase. But what to buy? The clothes shops were behind me, and, much as I love looking at the antiques, I really don't know enough to buy any.

Then I saw him and fell in love. Not a vaguely interested flutter, you understand. This was full-on, jaw-dropping, stomach-clenching adoration at first sight. He was proud, tall and elegant, in the window of a tiny shop, surrounded by faded prints of Montmartre and eroded stone gargoyles. Just what I needed in my life: a beautiful giant brass telescope on a wooden tripod.

My grandfather had lived near the sea, and it was always my favorite treat to be allowed to spy on the distant ships through his permanently set up captain's telescope. I don't know if it was because I loved to see things so far away, or if it was just the sensual delight of the smooth long case, but I was hooked. I never dreamed of actually owning one, but I just knew that I had to buy this one.

"5,000 Francs," said the shop owner with finality. I drew in a deep breath and made a quick calculation. $750 in real money. It had to be done.

"Amex?" I muttered.

"Bien." Not much talk for such a big hole in my finances. I persuaded him to call me a cab and with that delicious feeling of guilt mixed with excitement made my way home.

My apartment is in a pleasant block on the 5th floor. Like most Parisian buildings it is anonymous from the outside, but beautiful inside. All the apartments face inwards around a central garden, which is lit up at night. Talk about romantic settings. I just wish I still had someone to stroll there with. But best of all, the air-conditioner made it wonderfully cool.

I struggled inside and dumped my bags in the middle of the room. All I could think about was setting up my wonderful telescope in front of the window. My one comfortable armchair was in the way, but it easily slid forward on the polished wooden floor to make a clear space. Perfect! My heart beat faster just looking at it. Grandpa would have been proud. Now all I had to do was wait for darkness so I could watch the stars.

Shopping in a hot, humid city does nothing for a girl's personal hygiene and I was dying to try on my new clothes, so I figured I'd have a nice hot bath and wash my hair to make myself beautiful again. While the tub was filling, I slid my jeans off of my long legs, pulled my T-shirt over my head, letting my little pink-tipped breasts jiggle free, and wriggled my g-string down to the floor. I love the feeling of being naked. I can't pretend it is the sense of freedom and closeness to nature, the truth is, it just feels so sexy.

The warm bubbly water caressed me and soaked away the cloying stickiness of the day. When I finally emerged from my bathroom, clean, fresh and dry, and with my pussy lips deftly shaved free from stubble, darkness had fallen. I couldn't wait any longer to examine all my lovely new purchases.

The crisp white-and-yellow bag contained a single pair of white silk stockings. The feeling of silk tight against my skin made me tingle with excitement as they slid up my legs and gripped tightly around my slender thighs. So did knowing how much they cost.

Next, from its tiny matt black and silver wrapping came a white lace suspender belt. Tiny, sexy and very expensive! I snapped it around my trim waist and fixed the straps to the tops of my stockings.

From the red bag I took out the divine crisp white blouse that I hadn't been able to resist and slipped it on, rolling up the sleeves in that nonchalant Paris-chic way that French girls manage naturally, but the rest of us have to work at. I left the buttons undone to make myself look and feel even sexier.

Finally, a tiny gold bag gave up its treasure: a wonderful silver choker that set off the remnants of my California tan to perfection.

I had to smile at myself as I paraded in front of the mirror. I looked like a high-class hooker standing there with my blouse open and my pretty pubic heart framed by the sensual white lace. I looked like I belonged in the movie Emmanuelle. I felt incredibly sexy, standing there all on my own, and in no time gave in to my wicked urges.

My hands stroked up my body, coming to rest just below my tits. I could feel my nipples brushing the crisp inside of the blouse in such a wonderful way that not only had they sprung to attention, but the whole of my breasts had become incredibly sensitive. Goosebumps sprung up with every slight movement I made. My fingertips slowly traced their way around my breasts, cupping them and stroking the sensitive undersides. I love to be touched there – the skin is so soft and smooth. My nipples were screaming to be touched, but I resisted, knowing that as soon as I felt my caresses there I would never stop until I had satiated myself totally. Anyway, I had other plans.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. Looking across the room at my window I saw that darkness had descended and lights had started to come on in the apartments across the courtyard. I switched off my own light and settled down in my chair, adjusting my lovely new telescope to just the right height.

Then I set about spying on my neighbors. One of the benefits of living on the 5th floor is that it is really easy to see into all the apartments on the floors below.

I'm not really naturally nosy, but what's the point in owning such a wonderful toy if you don't use it. Besides, who cares about stars! I laid back, eye to the optic and started to watch the life going on in the apartments opposite. The voyeur in me came out bigtime. Although I was only seeing everyday things going on, I found it an incredible turn-on. My left hand slid down my body, pulling my blouse part. Cool fingers touched my stiffening nipples, squeezed for a moment and moved on down. My legs naturally fell apart and I realized how wet I had become from the sudden feeling of cold as the air hit my sensitive moist lips. Relishing the sheer naughtiness of the situation I teased my puffy labia, spreading the moisture and preparing myself for more fun.

Through the telescope I could see Monsieur Le Blanc emerging from his bathroom, stripped to the waist, drying himself on a towel. Next door was old Mme. Goyet, sitting quietly listening to her ancient radio. A young family whose names I don't know ate their evening meal. They all seemed so close. How intimate this watching game was. It was like actually being in their rooms with them.

By now my middle fingertip was slowly slipping inside me. I moved the focus one more time and froze. There was my man, Pierre, (ex man, ex boyfriend, bastard), kissing a pretty brunette. What the hell!! My hand jerked away from my body like it had received an electric shock. I was dumbstruck, but I couldn't look away. So this was his friend Claude. More like Claudette!

She couldn't have been more different to me. Her shoulder-length dark hair was flowing and wavy in a typically French way. She wore bright red lipstick whereas I prefer a more natural look. She looked to be much shorter than my 5′ 9″.

My eyes were riveted as Pierre slowly unbuttoned the woman's blouse, opening it wide and sliding it off. She had on a black lace bra and a short skirt. Unbuttoning the skirt, she said something to him and they both laughed. I could see in such detail that I could even read the label in her underwear. Cheap bitch! He unfastened her bra from the front, and her large breasts fell free, each tipped with a dark brown nipple. Two more big differences to me. Her head went back in delight as he individually sucked her nipples to attention.

I could clearly see the wetness of his saliva on her tits as she finally pulled away and slipped out of her panties. She stood proudly naked in front of him, hands on hips, while he removed his own clothes, exposing that body I knew so well. I could see every vein in his hard cock, and despite my loathing of the bastard, couldn't help but wish he was standing next to me.

He was a bastard and a rat, and she was no better than a whore, but I was as excited as hell watching them. This was better than those tacky porn videos I had seen once or twice back home.

‘Fuck it,' I thought, ‘I might as well get a kick out of this. Nobody will know.'

My hand went back between my legs. To my surprise I was even wetter than before. I slid my fingertips along the folds on each side, being careful not to penetrate myself yet. I wanted to make this last!

Through the eyepiece I could now see them holding each other in a passionate embrace. They kissed deeply and long, while their hips rocked back and forward, pressing his hard cock between them. A pink flush suffused her chest as she kissed him with unrestrained passion.

Still standing, he put his hands on her butt and lifted her. As if choreographed, she opened her legs wide, wrapping them around his waist as he lowered her onto his rigid cock. I could se her mouth open wide in a scream of lust as he licked her throat and jerked upward into her very wet pussy. Jesus! I didn't know he could do that.

My own hand was acting out the events I was watching. Two fingers curled into my tight, wet cunt and my thumb was rubbing hard at my erect clit. With my other hand I transferred my pussy juice to my nipples. I knew I would come soon, but I wanted to watch the bastard and his whore reach their peak first.

He lowered her into a chair and began to fuck her in earnest. The position they were in gave me an excellent view and I adjusted the focus so that I could see every inch of him thrusting deeply between her black-haired, sodden lips. Her hand slid between them as she applied pressure to her own clit. Suddenly I saw the cheeks of his backside clench tightly (so that is what it looked like) as he erupted into her. As his shiny, slimy cock slid out I focused on the rivulet of their combined juices running out of her still open pussy and onto the chair.

A wicked thought hit me that I would so love to lick his come from her relaxing hole. Where did that come from? I've never felt that way about a woman before.

Pierre was no more a gentleman with her than he was with me. Even though she hadn't come yet, he casually moved to her head and pulled her face to his wet cock, clearly telling her to lick him clean. She was only too happy to oblige. Her tongue snaked out and lovingly lapped up every last morsel of their combined juices.

While she did that, her left hand was busy. She did the same as I was doing watching her – snaked two fingers deep into her sopping cunt and fucked herself with abandon.

The more she thrust in and out, the more of Pierre's copious come seeped out around her hand, giving her enough lubrication to slide a third finger in with the others.

I felt so close to this woman. We were enjoying the same wonderful feelings and each building to our own delicious orgasms.

The woman took her mouth away from Pierre's cock for a moment and appeared to look right at me. Surely she couldn't see me in the darkness? I didn't care. At that moment my own orgasm burst. Starting deep down inside and quickly expanding to every nerve ending in my body. I was wracked with pleasure at the divine sensation. And as I came, I watched her shudder with her own joy; simultaneously reaching that height where nothing else matters.

As I slowly came down and began to approach reality again, I continued to watch. Pierre walked across the room to fix himself a drink, and while his back was turned, the woman walked to the window and, using her wet, spermy finger, drew a heart on the glass. She looked right up at me and winked.

End of Story
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