Chapter 6

After my encounter with Kit I felt much better. Even Vic noticed it and this made me feel as though I was walking on air. And I was ... in a way.

We arrived in Paris the next day, all of us looking forward to a really great time. Paris was beautiful in the spring and we had arrived at a perfect moment. Romance-with that slight undercurrent of Gallic lust-was in the air ... and I was horny.

You see, I adore Frenchmen and their mincing ways-at least it's a change from American brutes. I was determined to have one during our three days there, and my wish was rewarded that very first night.

We were scheduled to go to Sensualite-a new and popular "nudie" nightclub in the center of the city. I had been there only once before-and then only briefly-and I remember how I walked away thinking it was one of the most sensuous places on earth.

The decor was cushions, deep rugs, and private booths. It was dark except for .the candlelight. We all walked in together but dispersed immediately. I couldn't see where Vic went, but later I did catch sight of him talking to Sadie Sharp and (I could hardly believe it) Peter Poynter. There was a band playing romantic music and lots of very chic men and women looking as cold as the ice in their drinks.

Just as I sat down on one of the cushions-they were harder than I imagined, like mini-couches covered in fur-I was approached by a very dapper looking gentleman who introduced himself as Jacques St. Jacques, a staff writer for a local newspaper.

Jacques (we were immediately on a first name basis) was one of the taller Frenchmen I've met and one of the best looking I had seen on some of my previous trips to France. He had the charm of a viper: quick, sharp, and intelligent. And very stinging. He moved in on me with such rapidity that I was completely taken off my guard-as though I wanted to be on it anyway!

We had moved from our booth to one in the back, and on our way there he ordered a bottle of champagne from the gargon. By the time the boy arrived at the booth, both of us (Jacques and I, that is) were relaxing nakedly against the heavy back cushions. In fascination I watched the garcon take the bottle from the bucket of ice, put it between his legs, and open it. There was a loud "pop" and the cork came out, as did some of the bubbly liquid. Every time in France a bottle is opened I have to look, as the sight is so incredibly sexy. Would Jacques come with such a loud "pop"? I wondered.

The champagne poured and tasted and poured again, Jacques returned to amour, sweet amour. His speciality, I -gathered, was foreplay, particularly soixante-neuf. I happen to like soixante-neuf, but this was soixante-neuf with a Gallic difference. Jacques took the champagne glass from my hand and poured the contents over my breasts. Then he spread my legs and poured his partially filled glass on my pussy. "La Mime chose," he said. I filled my glass with champagne and dripped it slowly onto his prick. He began by being totally flaccid, but with each successive drop his prick rose higher and higher. It was a good-sized prick, even when it was not erect, but when it was, it was full and also sparkling from the champagne. Jacques then refilled his glass and drenched my pussy with the cool liquid. The first time I had hardly noticed the feeling as I was taken by surprise-total surprise. But this time I felt the shock of the cold liquid on my lips and wow! Did that ever feel delicious!

He shrugged, smiled, and dove in. The first thing he did was lick my breasts free of the champagne, and, once done, he drenched me and licked me all over again. My body went all tingly from the repeated shocks and the roughness of his tongue. He was like a cat with milk and his moans seemed like deep purrs. I purred back, excited as hell.

While he "washed" or "douched" me, as they say here in France, he was. working my clit with such madness that I was afraid I would come. I tried to tell him to go a little more gently, but all he said was, "Ah, you Americain women." Before I knew it ] felt the first shock of orgasm rip through me, thei another. My legs began to close but he forced them open, poured even more champagne on my clit and licked it till it hummed. "Stop, stop," I cried, 'pain and pleasure mixing together. The feelings I had were indescribable: my nerves seemed to be vibrating and shocks of cold ran through me. I lay there, shaking as though I had been electrocuted. I yelled and moaned and tore at him, but still he continued, my orgasm going on and on and on until I thought I would turn into the champagne he had so lavishly poured on me.

Just as the tension relaxed, he jumped on me in a soixante-neuf position. With one hand I took his flaming rod by the stem and with the other I reached over, grabbed the bottle of champagne and liberally doused his prick and balls. The bubbles "popped" on his pubic hairs. At the first shock, Jacques jumped, but when I put his prick in my mouth, sucking him all the way down to the base of his stem, he purred in glee. I drew him out by the folds of the skin, licked and sucked on his tip, and poured on more champagne. "Ah oui, ah oui," he called back to me, taking the bottle from my hand.

He spread my lower lips with his tongue and then with his hands, opening up my hole. He foraged deeply inside of me, fucking me gently with his tongue.

"Ah oui," he murmured into my pussy. "Tres belle, tres belle." He sighed in a typical Gallic way and said, "You have ze most preety puzzy, ah oui, c'est vrai."

With that he literally poured champagne into me and began to lap it up hungrily. I went alternately hot and cold, then numb. I grabbed the bottle back from him and doused his balls. Then I took them in my mouth and sucked on them, moving my tongue around their hairy circumference. He grunted and groaned, lapping me into a tremendous lather.

I could feel his hard prick by my cheek; it almost seemed to be resonating. I knew I was ready, but all he needed was the final touch. Excitedly I took his tip between my fingers and pressed on the sides. The slit sprang open. I took aim and poured in the champagne. Jacques bellowed loudly. I did it again. His moans were deafening.

He pushed his tongue back into my hole and whipped it up. I screamed, "Maintenant, mainte-nant," shuddered and came.

Dimly now I heard him murmur, "Ma belle, ma belle, maintenant" and with that he shot his load into my mouth, the taste of semen mixing with the taste of champagne.

"Maintenant" I cried. "I'm coming."

"Oiiiiiiiiii... ." "Ohhhhhhhhh... " ttAhhh oui."