Ah, a twilight in Paris, the city of lights, was everything I hoped it would be. As I sat on the balcony in a tan wicker woven chair with cream white seat cushions holding a glass of red wine in my hand, the Eiffel Tower seemed so far away from me, lights glowing to outline its majestic shape as dusk grew darker. The Arc de Troimphe stood closer to the hotel I stayed in during me and my boyfriend's vacation in his home country.
I had been in a relationship with a Frenchman named Francis (I know, his name is a coincidence), and he was the greatest guy I had ever met. He was romantic to the core--he took me out on dates to only the finest restaurants and clubs, showered me with beautiful and expensive gifts, and he was just an all-around gentlemen. The thing I loved most about him was that whenever there was a rose bush around, he'd always take a moment to carefully pluck the best one and give it me while saying something so romantic my head would be stuck in the clouds for the rest of the day. In bed, he was amazing--he made love to me with an immeasurable amount of ardor every time and it was never boring. I had been to France with him twice since we had begun dating two years before. Though at times he was possessive and somewhat controlling, I still loved him very much--he was my everything, and it was pretty evident that he'd be nothing without me.
"I think you should be coming to bed now, mon cherie," I heard Francis say from inside our suite. I stood up from my hair and sipped my glass of red wine before walking inside and shutting the glass doors leading to the balcony. I turned around and Francis under the clean white cotton sheets, staring at me lustfully.
"Hey, Francis," I said. He continued looking at me with the look that told me that he was burning for me. I walked over to the bed and sat down. Hearing the sound of ruffling sheets, I felt his presence grow closer with each second passing, and before I knew it, the sensation of his breath on my neck sent chills throughout my body. I arched my neck back briefly, aware that he was going to seduce me, but then I looked into his great blue eyes.
"Je veux que vous adorez," he whispered softly. I sighed; I fell in love with him over and over again whenever he spoke French in that tone of voice. It was just then that I noticed he was not wearing any clothes under the sheets--looking down, I could see his bulge through the linen.
"Are you wearing clothes, Francis?" I asked him. I knew the answer; I just wanted to know what he'd say.
"No," he answered nonchalantly. "Let's make love, mon cherie. I am so in the mood for passionate love."
His tone grew more fervent and I could not resist his charm. Looking into his eyes, I unbuttoned my mint green blouse and threw it on the chair that was close to the bed but in the corner. Then I removed my pencil skirt and black leather pumps and threw those in the same area where my blouse was. My bra, panties, and stockings were all I was wearing; I didn't blush or cower--we had done this several times before.
I kneeled on the bed and held Francis' face in my hands, kissing him tenderly. His passion grew by the minute, and he kneeled in front of me, placing his hands on my waist. I felt them go up to undo the clasp on my bra as his lips sucked and nibbled at my neck. My back arched once my breasts were exposed, allowing him to freely kiss and caress me.
Francis' lips wandered slowly around my bare bosom, lightly kissing my fullness before he started sucking on my nipples. It felt wonderful--it always had. I guess Francis really loved my breasts. They were not too big but not too small and until he and I had made love for the first time quite some time before, I was so insecure about that part of my body.
"Francis," I moaned as he continued worshipping my bosom. Now, he was caressing and fondling them as he flicked his tongue rapidly over my nipples. I kept on moaning his name, but I was so caught up in the ecstasy of the moment that I had no idea what to say.
He continued moving lower on my body, so I laid on my back to give him more freedom to explore. He seemed to know my body well; it drove me absolutely insane when he kissed my hips. I moaned, and I felt myself get wetter as he continued.
He took off my underpants and threw them aside, beginning to kiss my thighs gently. I smiled devilishly as he moved lower to my knees, shins, ankles, and when he got to my feet. I began to wonder why he had all of a sudden started sucking my toes.
He had never done this before, so this was definitely new and unusual. It felt strange (even though my stockings were still on), but it was erotic in a way. I cringed as I watched him, and when he stopped, he stared into my eyes.
"Is there something wrong, amour?" He asked me. I cocked an eyebrow up in confusion.
"Why did you just do that?" I questioned. He smiled at me with unbridled lust in his eyes.
"When I say I want to worship you, I worship every part of you. Not just the usual, mon cherie," Francis told me. I watched him situate himself between my legs, and when I felt his warm breath on my womanhood, I became more aroused than I had been. He traced his tongue around my folds, lapping up my natural taste and juices. I moaned and sighed uncontrollably. I felt his index finger rub my clit gently, and then the inserted his finger inside me, placing his tongue on my clit. After moving his index finger in and out of me, his middle finger joined in and both fingers rubbed my g-spot gently.It was like dying and going to heaven; it felt amazing.
"Francis! Oh my! Stop torturing me!!! I need it now! Please give it to me, Francis!!" I screamed, holding my breasts as my back arched and my hips moved wildly out of control. He seemed to ignore me; I felt his middle finger go up further inside of me. It felt odd but I assumed he was touching my cervix. This also was something new and unusual; he had never gone that far up inside me before. It was so pleasurable that I grabbed a pillow and screamed in it.
"FRANCIS!!! PLEASE!! I need it so BAD!!" Those were the words I screamed into the fluffy white pillow before Francis stopped pleasing me and pulled the pillow away from me, kissing me with intense ardor as he entered me. I arched my neck back and sighed gently as he thrust in and out at a regular pace.
"Oh, Francis," I sighed, my passion's flame growing calmer. He leaned down and kissed my neck and breasts softly as his thrusts intensified.
"Lac de votre corps est le seul que je pourrais jamais noyer po," Francis said with ferocious passion as his pace increased. "Je voudrais mourir en vous aimant!"
I was at the peak of my arousal; once he began speaking French, I lost it. Within minutes we reached our climax, and when he pulled out, I laid on the bed, breathing heavily as my arms were spread out. Francis was suddenly gone, but came back holding something in his hand. I say up, taking a deep breath, and he did as well.
"Hold out your hand," he said with his beautiful-sounding accent. I did so, and in my hand fell a gold diamond solitaire ring. My eyes lit up; I was so surprised because Francis did not seem like the marrying type when we had first met. I looked up and smiled. Tears formed in my eyes as I listened to what he had to say.
"Mon amour, I love you more than Romeo loved Juliet, and though I hope our love is not tragic, please say that you will marry me?" Francis said sweetly.
I nodded rapidly and impulsively. He was such a great boyfriend--I was confident he'd make a wonderful husband. I jumped into his arms excitedly, kissing him.
"Yes!! I will!! I love you so very much, Francis!" I told him.
And that is how I spent the night where I saw my first Parisian twilight...
No comments:
Post a Comment