Chapter 8
Le Con cafe. A fitting ending to the fabulous time we had had in Paris. A place to really get drunk in, to laugh in, to sing in, to dance in. A crazy place, a wonderful place where everything is colors and movement and sound.
We arrived there at two in the morning, ready for a good, gay time, expecting anything and yet hoping for everything. From the moment we walked in we knew we had come on the right night. The night of the "Snake Dance."
It isn't often that Le Con has them, but when they do it seems as though half of Paris turns up. Vic and I have never quite figured out how they hear about it-we don't. It seems like telepathy: people simply "hear" that the "snake" is coming and they flock to the cafe in droves.
The "snake" is an Algerian. No one knows his name. He's short and dark with very delicate body features. Except for his prick. When it's limp it's enormous, but when it's erect-well, there's nothing in this world that can compare to it. All good meat. fve seen him stay erect for nearly an hour, and then some.
You could feel the tension building up in the cafe; everyone was waiting for him. Some people had already undressed and were sitting there chattering and sipping their drinks. The shades were down and the lights were off; a few candles had been lit in expectation.
Vic had sauntered off somewhere and I sat alone at my table. I heard a chair scrape and turned around. It was Myron Busehell, drink in hand.
"Would you mind if I joined you?" he asked, a catch in his throat.
"Sure, come and sit down."
"Ugh, could you tell me what's going on. I don't want to sound ... ugh... stupid, but...."
I turned to him full face and opened my mouth to say something when I noticed the expression in his eyes. You couldn't exactly call it lust-it wasn't that deep. Instead it was curiosity with a dash of desire. I wondered what his wife had told him about Vic and about me.
"It's the 'Snake Dance/ An Algerian comes here every so often and conducts it. Everyone gets undressed and forms a big circle around him. Then somebody starts to play a flute...." I hesitated.
"Go on," he said, "tell me. I'm old enough to know." There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, just a hint.
"Well, when the music starts his ... prick ... begins to rise. He doesn't masturbate-it just seems to rise on its own accord. Then everyone begins to dance, and he dances too. When the music stops everyone stops and the person his prick is aimed at has to go into the center of the circle. Everything's up to them: they can fondle it or lick it or put it in them ... whatever they want. When the music starts up again they have to go back to their place and then everything starts all over again."
"Oh," said Myron. He threw back his whiskey in his throat and sat there in silence. "Oh," he said finally.
Just then I noticed that the "snake" man had arrived; cheers went up. "Excuse me," I said feeling very amused. I stood up and began to strip off my clothes. I knew Myron was watching me, I could see it out of the corner of my eye. He whistled very low when I took off my bra and I deliberately tantalized him with my tits, bringing them close to his face when I bent down. When I took off my panties I thought he would fall over. His eyes seemed to search out my slit and I knew that he wanted to reach out and touch it. I tantalized him still further by sitting down with my legs spread wide open. Then I crossed them.
"You're some good looking lady," was all he could say.
I looked around me. In the dark I could make out people getting undressed, tits and asses and pricks suddenly flashing white in the candlelight. I turned back to Myron and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He looked up at roe and then he quickly downed his drink.
"Come on, Myron," I said, teasing him with the tips of my fingers. He, too, looked around, probably for his wife. When he didn't see her he got up and in a flash he took off his clothes.
I was pleasantly surprised to see how much better he looked without them. Fully clothed he looked middle-aged, but when he was nude I saw that he was still in very good shape. His prick was long and thin and his pubic hairs were dark and very curly. I "accidentally" touched it and it sprang up, ever so slightly. He put his arm around me and inched his body towards mine. I felt his prick touch me and then he rubbed it against the upper part of my arm. In seconds it was hard.
I turned to take it in my mouth but stopped when I saw a figure lurking about ten feet behind him. I strained my eyes and realized that it was Harold Palmer, the "ball scratcher." He was still fully dressed and from the way he was standing there it seemed that he was going to stay that way. I thought to myself that he was really going to get his kicks from this: the "Snake Dance" was a voyeur's Paradise.
Just then the music started and everyone scrambled to form a circle. I took Myron by the hand and led him over to where a cute Parisian girl was standing. In the half-light her body looked very inviting to me. She had small pointed breasts with enormous areolas, medium sized hips and a very full ass. What a dilemma!
Myron must have sensed this and he decided to take possession. He took me by one arm and pulled me in front of him. The Parisian girl danced on slightly ahead, her ass wiggling wildly. I could feel my juices beginning to flow and I rushed on, keeping myself sufficiently behind her so that I could have a good look at the movements of her body. 1 turned around and smiled sweetly at Myron and he smiled back. He no longer seemed that curious; there was out and out lust in his face.
When I turned back I realized that the Parisian girl was looking at me over her shoulder and staring at my bouncing breasts. A feeling of desire ripped through me and I shrugged my shoulders, dancing up and down to make my breasts bounce even more. I winked at her then and in return she kissed the tip of her finger, half turned around and touched my nipple, all without losing a step. Then she laughed and danced on ahead, her ass shaking wildly.
Myron edged closer behind me and pressed his prick into the crease between my cheeks. He held me to him with one of his hands on my stomach, using the other to guide his prick into my asshole. Another feeling of desire surged through me and I threw my head back for him to kiss me. He caught me in the cheek and kissed me quickly, his hands running over my breasts and then down to my patch.
"Let's dance," he whispered in my ear, rubbing his hand over my patch. "You have such a lovely cunt; I want to get to know it."
I giggled to myself, feeling both ticklish and excited by his actions. Myron really knew what he was doing with his big hands. He pressed his fingers against my pubic bone and nudged the skin around it, going in a circular motion. I turned back to him and said, "That, feels good, do it just a little bit harder." He obeyed. He grasped the fold of skin, pinched it, and pushed it roughly against the bone. I gasped and moved closer to him, his stem feeling hard in its nesting place between my cheeks.
I glanced around me. The music had become wilder and people were shaking and throwing about their arms. A bevy of breasts seemed to be cascading, a parcel of pricks were handed about, and my little Parisian, my little Parisian was wiggling her ass, her hips gyrating round and round. In the center was the "snake" man, looking not a day older than the last time I saw him, his prick still gigantic and pointing, whipping the air in a very odd way.
Suddenly the music stopped, suddenly his prick shot forward and pointed, suddenly someone danced into the center of the circle: it was my Parisian, all points and curves. While everyone watched she knelt down and kissed the top of his enormous prick, her tongue finding its hole and darting in. The "snake" man took her by the back of her neck and urged her forward, entreating her with soft words of French. Her tongue continued to play with his slit, the tip was now almost open. She pinched it, it widened, and she darted in.
At the same moment Myron's fingers entered my pussy. He scratched at me, churned me, lathering me up. My cunt was immediately sensitive to his touch and my hips moved around faster and faster upon his fingers. Just as I reached back for him I heard the flute, heard the "suck" of my Parisian's lips, heard the sounds of coughs and shuffles, and darted forward in my dance. After about fifteen feet I passed by Harold Palmer: his hands were on his balls and his face was white. I blew him a kiss and surged forward.
Again the flute player imitated and spurred on our frenzy and again we danced in our wildness. The Parisian girl had slowed up and turned around towards me and I reached out and fondled the points of her breasts, running my fingers around her areolas, and teasing her nipples when they went soft. I longed to take her tits in my mouth and suck on them deeply, but Myron had me firmly locked to his body. Again I shrugged and the Parisian girl laughed gaily, turning around and throwing out her ass towards me.
Around and around we danced. Myron's free hand was now on one of my tits; he was kneading it furiously, pressing it against my chest, scratching at it with his blunt fingernails. I could feel his urgency, I could feel my own, and I danced more furiously, jogging on his fingers. The cafe seemed to turn into a kaleidoscope of colors and my mind was spinning.
I reached out my arm and patted the Parisian's ass, almost as if- to say good-bye. She gave me no sign whatsoever and instead danced merrily on, her buttocks jiggling in time to the music. I could hear people moaning and their sighs impelled me on. Myron's finger was churning in me, whetting me, arousing me. It soon would be time.
Again the music stopped and again the "snake" man's prick found it's mark. Peter Poynter danced lightly into the circle, aimed his prick into the "snake" man's ass, opened the cheeks and took a preliminary thrust. A shout went up and then I felt myself dragged forcibly over to the side of the cafe, to a table in the corner. Another shout went up and Myron lifted me onto the top of the table. The cold metal made me jump but I welcomed its coolness.
"Dance, dance for me," whispered Myron, getting on top of me and fingerfucking me furiously. I was wet and I wanted him, wanted him desperately, wanted his prick inside of me, filling me up. I touched it and felt its hardness. He edged it into me, slowly at first, his thrusts becoming harder.
*Dance on my prick, dance hard. Hump the hell out of me. Put your legs around me and hump me. Dance," he commanded, his words tumbling out of his mouth.
"Yes," I called back, taking aim with my hips and pushing home. "Yes, slam that cock into me. I love it. Fill me up, come on fill me up," I whispered to him.
Myron pushed into me and I answered with the thrusts of my hips. A shout went up, then applause; Peter, too, had thrust home. Myron reached down for me with both his hands under my ass. He wrenched up my hips, aimed them, and together we slammed into each other. "Oh," I cried, "do it again. Fuck me as hard as you can."
Once more he tightened his grasp on me and brought me forward. His prick seemed to grow inside of me, become even bigger than I could ever imagine it to be. Slam, slam, our bodies shot forward to each other. "You little, cunt, you juicy cunt, your great big cunt." Slam, slam, smack went our bodies, fucking, humping, writhing in perfect rhythm.
Suddenly I felt every part of me go numb, my thighs becoming like lead. I was completely overpowered by Myron's prick and I felt strangely passive in his hands. "Ohhh," I moaned, "what you're doing to me with your cock. What a cock. Ohhh."
Myron picked up speed as the music started once again. "Fuck me, fuck me," he yelled but I could hardly move. He grabbed my hips, steadied himself, and then wrenched me up and down on his prick. I could feel the insides of my legs rubbing against his hairy skin and the strong movement of his cock within me. "Oh Christ," I called to him. "Do it"
His fucking reached a pitch of brutality which drove me half out of my mind. My body was streaming with desire and I knew that momentarily I would come. "Now, now," I called out to him, moaning and twisting on the table top. Still he remained erect, groaning and breathing heavily, shoving me onto him with all the strength he could muster.
"Just a little more, just a little more, you juicy cunt m shoot into you, shoot my load into you. Fuck me, fuck me just a little bit longer."
I couldn't hold myself back any more. My body rose up and I began to come, screaming, "Slam that meat into me, slam it, ram it, fuck me." Just as I felt the first jolt of orgasm my senses returned to me. I pulled myself back out of Myron's grasp, aimed, and forced my way onto him once, twice, faster.
"Oh, you fuck, oh, you great big beautiful fuck, you've done it, you beautiful cunt, now, I'm coming," he yelled, meeting my rhythm with his thrusts, shoving them back to me.
"Ohhhh," we cried out. "Oh shit," he said, humping me, his prick like a cannon discharging ball after ball. On and on went my orgasm. "Oh shit," I yelled back at him. On and on we went. "Ohhh, ohhh," we cried out.