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-=-=-=-=-=-=- Confessions -=-=-=-=-=-=-

The epiphany moment of that frigid Monday evening snowballed. I kept an occasional diary. After all these years, it is there as something momentous.

For the first time in a very long time, I knew what I needed to do. I had a plan. A solitary existence meant there was plenty of time to work through it. With my thoughts for company, predisposed to introspection, I turned my weakness into strength. I would put to good use and help someone else as well — Elodie.

It worked with Anne-Pierre that week. A casual fuck, no games. We all say things in the heat of passion, I am as guilty as the next person. A class full of young women in a yoga studio attired in tight latex and crop-tops, and being bisexual? Anne-Pierre was bound to have fantasies.

As a juxtaposition, Saturday night with Elodie at the bistro was a warm and humourous affair. Amongst her own friends, not work colleagues, I was the guest of honour. There was something of a language barrier, it was a recurring social hazard. Yet, their graciousness and acceptance of who I was — they accommodated me, and made me feel very welcome.

We were friends, introduced as such. It was the right place to be, a risk, as friends rarely became lovers. However, when I looked into her eyes, it was there. I would not string her along. We both knew enough about our past to respect each other. As an unspoken healing process, it brought out the best in ourselves.

The rest of weekend, there was time to think as I explored more of my neighbourhood, and a long run through the Jardin du Tuileries. Wondering what Monday would bring, I made more of an effort in my appearance. I wanted to look my best.

I never thought Monday would be my favourite day of the week. We might be two wounded individuals. Yet, going to lunch with Elodie was turning into a high point of the week. Mostly, we talked about the interests we shared. There were not many twenty-somethings that had them, it was a rare treat.

From a shaky start to my secondment, it was difficult to put my finger on it. I felt different, more confident and self-assured. Of course, that came with its own problems, and I was just about to find out.


Tuesday, Anne-Pierre called me after work and I came running like an obedient pooch. I was still in my suit and tie.

Her apartment door closed behind me, she stood there, a hand on her jaunty hip. That leer fixed on a closed mouth smile, all sultry eyes, and messy red tresses. She pulled the bow and the satin shimmered when it fell. Naked, I took it all in, broad shoulders, full breasts generous on her petite frame, areolas crunched tight, and two nubs proud. She approached, her gaze never wavered; an elegant economy of movement except the seductive swish of her hips. Magnetically drawn to the hillock of her mons, the rush of arousal thumped in my chest and loins.

Two fingers wrapped around my tie, she grasped it, and pulled. Our kiss escalated from a soft smooch to tongues entwined without warning. Quick fingers eased open my shirt buttons and I quivered at her first touch of my naked chest; straight to my nipple. No meandering tease, she grasped my crotch.

“Good,” she purred, “hard already.”

By my tie, she led me to her bedroom and crawled to its middle. Reclined on her elbows, legs open, she made a simple demand.

“I have been masturbating and I needed you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Take what you want.”

I stripped hurriedly and mounted her, wrists in my hands, eyes expectant, and the hot exhalation of her breath caressed my skin.

I held it and scrutinised her as the corpulent head rubbed up and down her slit. I pushed and watched how she gasped. Engulfed in slippery muscular heat, I gave her every stout inch in one slow invasion of her sex.

The slap of my first thrust pulsed its rich reward into my core, “You are soaking.”

“Then fuck me, fuck me hard.”

Deceived by her supine position, her strength took me by surprise. Locked in a jostle for supremacy, we writhed, and her relentless limbs tried to overwhelm me. Clasping hands, fingers that explored, lips locked and snorted air; she consumed all my senses. A crocodile exhausts its prey this way and she rolled me, I countered.

Skewered hard, she clasped my back with sharp nails and gripped me with her legs. Hard clattering thrusts made her quake and tremble. Sudden gasps, the plosive grunts of exertion, she flipped me over. Silky with wetness, piledriver slaps rose over our groans and she mashed against me with a rapid grinding motion. I tipped her over, brought her ankles to my shoulders, leant over to trap her, and replied in kind.

“Yes, fuck me… putain… putain.”

In this cat and mouse game, neither of us gave ground. Now on my knees, she laid before me, her legs embraced in my grasp; piston shoves shook the fight from her.

Finally, she melted before my eyes, “Merde!”

Bodies blotchy with arousal, beads of sweat ran down my face and body. Proudly escort bayan overt, brazen, she rubbed her clit while I hammered into her.

“How many times have you cum, Anne-Pierre?”

With another whimper, she swallowed, “Not enough times… oh, putain… keep going.”

I could not reach her temptress mouth to kiss it. Noisy exhaled air, flushed cheeks, and heavy eyes revealed the portents of her orgasm. I felt the tension grip me and drove on harder than before. Flailing hips with nowhere to go, she hinged on her shoulders, nimble fingers strummed, glossy with her juices. Crying out, it shook through her legs and ricocheted into her body. Gripping her tight, I fought against the clasping spasms and the desperate undulations of her body. The alacrity of her cries rose and mixed sudden gasps of air.

The seizures of her climax convulsed around me. Clasping, squeezing, the unbearable friction overwhelmed my self-control. The ferocity of each thrust shook the bed. Tying up, we stared into each other’s eyes. Groaning in relief, I filled her with my seed.

Flushed, sheened with perspiration, and crumpled on the bed; she giggled. Rolling me over, she rested her head on my weakened body. Grabbing my arm, she draped it over her

Amused, she watched me catch my breath, “Even three days is too long for you.”

Still panting, I huffed, “Yeah.”

Rays of evening sun competed with the yellowy lamplight. The surges of restless blood slowly quietened. I retrieved a fallen trestle of hair and rested it around her ear. The antiquated fan rattled, it swept over my torpid body and delivered its welcome chill.

“Don’t say anything English, let me look at you.”

Captivated by her gaze, she placed her soft lips to mine for a tender kiss.

“What was that for?” its incongruent nature made me suspicious.


“Why did you call me?”

“Because,” she giggled.

I tutted, “Anne-Pierre…”

She purred, “When I think of you, I become very aroused. I needed to have you.”

“Really? Well, I am flattered.”

Surrounded by the ephemera of posters and over-filled shelves, I caught our reflection in the dress mirror. She gestured to the open blinds that showed the dusk beyond.

“Do you think anyone watches us English?”

“Who knows, maybe.”

“That arouses me a lot too.”

My curiosity piqued, “It does? What else arouses you?”

It roused our competitive spirit, a meandering tour of erogenous zones prised out more confessions. From a casual indifference, her patient persistence reduced me to a trembling mess. Provocative kisses toured my body and aggravated my need. Stroking my erection, curiosity etched on her face, I surrendered to all her questions.

Straddling me for a languid soixante-neuf, nothing remained unexplored. Her surreal horizontal monologue unfolded, the depth and breadth of more desires. Lapping at her clit, I fingered that crunched knot of muscle. Taunting her, she confessed, and rattled the bed in climatic penitence.

Looking up, between my legs, her warm mouth goaded my erection. A subtle twist of her wrist and a prying finger invaded me. I surrendered to her stern expression and answered everything. Maddened by arousal, we turned to our experiences with others.

It all came out, I enjoyed how it enamoured her. She knew it all, everything in this tit-for-tat exchange, oil poured on the fire.

She prowled the bed as a dangerous predator. Adjusted to a three-quarters view, captured as a reflection in the mirror, she exhibited herself out of the window. On all fours, thighs splayed, she raised her pert derriere. That mane of red hair swept around her head hung and grazed the bed. Those devilish eyes narrowed, full lips pouted, heat in her feline cheeks – ripe for the taking.

Sheened by soft light, the undulation of her curves, rise of her shoulders blade, and the curve of her breasts. My gaze descended the canyon of her spine through to the small of her back, the cleft of her behind, and stopped at her plump sex, glossy and swollen.

“You want people to watch you fuck, huh?”

Nodding her head, she enjoyed my reaction; pulses of blood stiffened my semi-flaccid cock.

“Stroke it for me English, make it throb for me.”

Watching me, she clasped a cheek of her behind, it gaped her sex. Two slender fingers dipped inside and made a sticky sound. Selecting one, she impaled her arse and her features melted.

“Fuck! Anne-Pierre!”

Biting her top lip, she pushed it up to her second knuckle and gasped, “Fuck me there. If anyone is watching, I want them to see it.”

“Jesus,” I muttered.

Breathlessly, she gasped again, “I like you in there.”

Slickened, it jutted from me, a full erection that cut a vicious angle on tight sinews. The animal within raged each heavy thump of blood. Tracking my movements, her glance dipped to it, hunger in her eyes as she purred to hurry up. Slickening my raging shaft again, I rounded the bed. In full view of the window, crouched like a dog to his bitch, I pushed against adana escort it. That moment of defeat and tentative penetration, she flinched with a gasp.

It was an easy liquid friction, each thrust deeper than the last. Gripping her behind, there was no energetic abandon this time; it was determined — deliberate. Caught in the mirror, that snug ring of muscle clasped my girth. The searing heat compelled me to give her more each time.

Air ladened with hot perfume and the musk of sex, the fan scattered it as a listless breeze. Gripping the bedsheets, she tried to push back, and I impaled her fully to change her mind.

“Putain!” it trailed off as quickly as it arrived.

“You like that?” I hissed, “You like how it looks?”

Her moan warbled, “Oui…” and groaned, “Oui…”

Every lunge forced out gasps and acrid yelps, a litany of short stabbing motions made her breasts quiver. I found a new tempo, tick-and-tock, in-and-out. Thrusting from tip to hilt, halted by the cushion of her rump, we clashed with a delicate slap.

Pausing, I knelt and she backed onto me. Filled completely, she turned to glance at the mirror.

I gathered her hair up and pulled, “Let them see your face.”


Biting her lip, she whimpered as I filled her completely again, “Oui…”

Adrift in a haze of bliss, her eyes flickered and closed.

“Rub your cunt, finger yourself,” and with a whimper, she obeyed.

She took my two fingers into her silky mouth and sucked longingly. Its innuendo inescapable, pussy, arse, and mouth in use, I felt the buzz of her stronger moans. Maddened by the pulses of pleasure, it spurred me on to feel more.

“Putain… English… it…it…it is so good.”

A slave to the tempo, it took its toll, perspiration ran from her enlivened body. Struggling for purchase, strained muscles felt their reward. Squeezed tightly, our reflection forgotten, she whimpered and shook with every fluid lunge.

“Lie down,” gruffly delivered, and she obeyed my command.

Falling prone, flat as a board, her hair cast as a shroud on the bed. I followed her. Confined by my presence, weighed down, my arm around her neck, short dogged thrusts slapped her behind. Her arm animated under her body; I bucked harder to take more.

“That’s it Anne-Pierre, take your orgasm. They are watching you and doing the same.”


Kissing her neck, I nuzzled her shoulder. She bore down, and I felt my need run away from me. I had to go faster, the cushion of her behind slapped loudly by every shove.

Her busy hand did not stop, “Keep going, keep… going…”

My strength fading, her frantic cries ebbed away. Her arm extended, fingers splayed, it clenched at the sheet and pulled tight. She croaked, groaned loudly, and I did not relent.

“Come Anne-Pierre, they want to see you come.”

The bedstead creaked and rattled, back and forth with the rhythm of my body on top of her. Tight muscles burned with fatigue, surges of blood thumped in my chest. With no means of escape, I felt her tremors build. One obscenity after another demanded my seed as our slippery bodies writhed.

“Do it, show them how you orgasm, Anne-Pierre. Let them see it.”

She howled, “Putain!”

Struggling to contain its violence, I held her tight as she cried out vehemently. Stuttering, Anne-Pierre quaked through her hips, and my hand replaced hers. I found it, hard and slippery. Oversensitive, she squealed and shuddered. Her leg aloft, toes splayed, it flapped like a flag in a storm. An unbearable friction goaded my length and I relented. The spectacle, sensations, its noise, and fury took me closer to the precipice; I did not stop.

“Continue à me baiser! Ne t’arrête pas, ne t’arrête pas!”

Shrieked loudly, I understood her, so did the neighbours and they banged on the wall. Anne-Pierre sucked on my finger, my frantic attempt to quieten her. She fought against me and more helpless yelps swelled my determination. Tart slaps, the piston of my shaft, and slippery fingers hit their target, and she croaked as if drowning. Convulsing, the alacrity of her cries matched the tension that rattled through her stricken body.

My fluidity lost, I growled with each thrust. Muscles binding, short frantic lunges swelled the need for release.

“Tell me, Anne-Pierre, tell everyone where it is going.”

She croaked, “In my ass, fill up my ass…”

Everything zeroed in on that moment and the first thumping peals of relief rushed forwards. Crying out for one last shove, everything stiffened as I pushed. Her cries mixed with my heavy explosive grunts; each one announced the throb-throb-throb of relief.

Soaked by the perspiration that fused us together, we fell apart. Her face obscured under an explosion of lifeless hair, limbs scattered, snatched breaths mixed with the rattle of the fan.

I slicked back my wet mane, “Fuck…”

Slumped onto my back, battery acid pumped through my veins. Floating away, a vacant stare filled with white ceiling adıyaman escort and cornice. I lost count of how many times the chill from the fan tried to revive me.

Mauled pillows, sheets crazed and dishevelled, we laid side-by-side. Amidst this warzone, eye to eye, she traced tender patterns with her fingers upon me.



“You have done this before, oui? I can tell.”

Leaning in, she peered into my eyes. It was impossible not to react, Anne-Pierre laughed.

“I knew it, you are a libertine… you fuck like one.”

She kissed me. It was a moment of tenderness.

“So are you, English?”

I sighed wearily, “I was.”

“Non,” and she laughed, kissing me again, “You are. It’s the way you react with me. Most men, they fuck me and they cannot handle it. You, you have done this before.”

I rolled my eyes, “Been there, done it, not doing it again.”

She bit her lip and nodded, “Oui, English, see… I know. Now, I am too hot, we should open a window and cool off in the shower.”


As Tuesday night drew closer to Wednesday morning, Anne-Pierre rested on my chest. Draped across me, her arm symbolised possession. That night, there was a difference: in the listless pauses, there was genuine affection.

Dark outside, I kissed the top of her head. Stupefied by an evening of carnality, I had no idea why. Cool air replaced the warmth of her body. The wandering caress of her hand roused me. I turned to look at her, cheeks still peaky, lips red, her eyes fixed on mine.

Stroking me, I began to stiffen.

Sitting up, she watched over me, “You would understand this, what I am going to tell you.”

“Oh yeah?”

My inhibitions long departed as a willing hostage to her desires. I tracked her movements, and she engulfed my erection without hesitation. The warmth of her mouth stole my breath. The need to moan grew and I would not stifle it. Eyes full of obedience looked up, cheeks sunken as she conjured my erection.

Crawling up over me, the faint caress of her breast to my torso, she kissed me deeply. Still kissing, she rolled onto her back and took me with her.

The sinews stretched tight either side of her sex, thighs open. I eased it deeper inside that silky heat.

“Fuck, you are hard…”

Helpless eyes cast upon me; a simpering pout completed her act of submission. On her back, knees bent, shins clasped tight by her hands, it was too easy to breach her.

Her body stiffened, and she pressed back to limit my urgency.

“Slowly, English, I want to feel everything.”

“Tell me, Anne-Pierre.”

Leaning in, her feet on my chest, we kept to a delicate rhythm of sticky sounds and airy gasps. Slowly, we succumbed to its syrupy pleasure. Her story unfolded, not embellished with salaciousness, just perfunctory words. As two couples together, she felt a new caress, soft and feminine. Driving into her, a sudden wetness slickened these easy thrusts.

“I burned for it, English. It felt so good yet I felt afraid.”

“Go on.”

Taking her to the hilt, she pouted, “Oui… go slowly…”

On my knees, I kept to this easy pace.

“What did you do?”

She gasped, “I… I froze, yet I felt so… so aroused.”

Reaching out, I scooped her up and I pulled her onto me. Sat on my lap, we embraced, the spring her thighs took me. Prolonged deep kisses animated her body, her touch roamed, clasped, and squeezed. A long groan of defeat, she flexed and took me faster; that torrid mouth peppered kisses on my neck and shoulders. Leaning back, suckling her breast, the first smack of our eager bodies leeched through the open window.

“Engliah, it drove me insane. I let them both have me, one in my cunt, one in my mouth.” Her long hoary groan rattled through us, “They took it in turns to fuck me…. hard, I wanted her to watch.”

She explained that the tender caress returned, so different, very feminine; Anne-Pierre wanted to call out for more as the sensations overwhelmed her. Her sudden climax stunned them, a big release that left her quaking on the bed.

“It was my first time doing it. I came so much, I could not stop shaking for a long time.”

I eased her down into a simple missionary position. Rising above her, she clasped my behind to keep me there. I locked my elbows; her hands would not leave me. Strong legs wrapped over mine and eager heels stabbed to set the rhythm.

“English, she had me too. She… she… was incredible.”

In and out, I teased, long strokes, short stabbing ones, a delicate circle of my hips. Slickened by arousal, I kept going attuned to her gasps. The vice of sex tightened, the friction pulled at the heat in my core. Her eyes aflame, she lunged for me, all hips and limbs. Clasping my body, she pulled and pleading for more.

“All of them together, the three of them, and I was in the middle of it.”

Our fury built, our gasps announced the clash of urgent bodies. Bound to her by taut flanks and slender arms, we writhed together. All our finesse ebbed away with fevered cries and the bedstead rattled louder. Looking to the mirror, slotted perfectly together, she ground upon me with fluid agility. At the apex of her rising hips, I impaled her so hard, she yelped.

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