Date: Sun, 10 Mar 2002 07:27:27 +0000 (GMT)
From: Justin Silk <pantonius@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Paul & Nicole - Part One. TG

PAUL & HIS FRENCH MAID
by Justin Silk
Copyright (c) JustinSilk 2002. All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER ONE :  MOVING IN

Moving to a new city is always exciting.  A new
country even more so.

I have moved country several times. From England to
France. Jamaica. The beautiful, mysterious Australia
... and now the United States of
America.

I'm here in this large city to set up my American
operation.  I have an apartment with a pool and
furniture, a car and a ten-room office suite.
What more could a boy want?

*****

"How about a girl?" Harvey was my new best buddy and
he and his blonde bombshell girlfriend, Sharee, hung
around my place all the time.

It was a hot Sunday and since Harv and I were
next-penthouse neighbours, we shared a rooftop
swimming pool.  Thus it was that Harv had been my very
best friend for fully nine days.

Today, as usual, we talked garbage and Harvey necked a
beer beside the pool.

Perhaps this had struck Sharee as suggestive, since
she was idly stroking Harvey's crotch. It was making
an eye-catching impression in the gleaming fabric of
his little spandex speedos. His cock, one couldn't
but notice, was growing hard. Very hard. So hard, its
head was in danger of was becoming visible with every
pass of Sharee's finger.

"Do you mind, young lady?" I said, trying to look
stern. "That sort of behaviour could unsettle a young
lad."

Sharee struggled to translate my comment into a
language she could comprehend.

Harve spewed beer, laughed and coughed uncontrollably.

"A young lad? Is that the way you all talk in
England?"

"Of course. We English are a serious and
far-from-humorous nation.

We don't approve of penile play in public. I shall
have to put a notice on the wall prohibiting such
folly."

Sharee still didn't seem to understand a great deal of
our banter. As she glanced from Harve to me and then
back to Harve and back and forth, she started a little
uncertainly to smile.

I think she had a sense that I was probably joking.
Either way, she soon returned her tongue to
full engagement in encouraging the discomforting
behaviour of her paramour's prick.

"You need a chick."  Harve looked at me and as he did
so, half-stood as he simultaneously pushed his
gleaming blue speedos down.

"I'm not ready for another relationship," I said,
unsettled, both by what was happening in front of me
and by Harvey's suggestion.

Getting up, I went to the ice bucket to fetch more
champagne for Shar, as Harve insisted on calling his
highly-aroused lady.  I tossed an ice cube at Harvey's
large and shiny cockhead.  I was embarrassed to note
that I registered the fact that this head was
mushroom-shaped with a rim that made a large overhang.

"Shit," said Harvey as, much to my surprise, I saw the
cube hit its target.

"Hey, pal, cut that out," said Harvey, unamused.
"Jeez, fella."

"Sorry. Right out of line. After all, I hardly know
you," I said with what I hoped was obvious irony. But
I sensed there was a side to Harvey I had not seen
before.

Sharee looked bewildered again, and took Harvey's
cockhead into the safety of her mouth, where I could
not hit it with another ice-cube.

I continued our conversation, assuming that the sexual
interchange now taking place between Shar and Harve
was a traditional part of the local way of life. But I
assumed there was more to it.

"No. I'm just not up for a new emotional experience.
For the time being, my sex life will be between my
head and my right fist. The latter accepts my mood
changes and still respects me in the morning. And
never once has it nagged me for a new car or a new
outfit. It's the kind of loyalty a chap values."

Without missing a beat, although his breathing had
started to sound a little less than measured, Harve
made a further suggestion.

"Then what about getting yourself a maid? She could be
company for you and you'd never need to clean the
apartment again."

"I don't clean it now. I have a nice Italian lady do
for me. Mrs Spaghiolla, I think her name is."

"Is she good?" Denni asked, looking up after licking
some precum from Harve's glistening plum of a
cockhead.

"Er, yes," I said.

"Is she pretty? Sexy?" asked Harve.

"Er, no," I had to admit. "Maybe was. She has three
grandchildren."

"So get rid of her. Why don't you run an ad in the
paper? On Friday.

Interviews on Saturday. Baby boooooo...oooy, get
wired."

Harvey started to become my advisor, his nerves
clearly on edge. "A hunk like you could
do-o-o-o-oooooh very nicely with a maid. Get the right
one and she could even be your
ho-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-stess
until you find Ms Right."

Harvey's cockhead was probably beyond Denni's tonsils
the next time I looked. A 747 passed asthmatically
overhead.

"Unusual hhhhhh-eading," strained Harvey, looking up.
"Don't usually come this way." But on this occasion he
did.


*******

Lying in bed that night, I thought about Harvey's
suggestion and decided that it wasn't too crazy.
Don't think me too boastful when  I tell you that I've
never found it hard to acquire female company.

People are kind enough to say that I'm fairly
good-looking.

But, I  really don't want an involvement. After Sally
and I broke up I vowed that it wouldn't happen again.
Maybe what I need really is a maid.

The apartment was much larger than I really needed.
Four bedrooms, two with en-suite.  Three reception
rooms and the rooftop pool and spa.

So I took Harvey's advice and had my secretary place
an ad in the paper for a live-in maid.  Like a
flatmate, but more practical.  Oooops, there's my
English background again. A housemate.


***

The first call came at exactly five past seven on
Saturday morning.

And then calls happened at regular and exponentially
shorter intervals until, after  30 or so calls, I
decided to leave the phone off the hook and let the
calls run through to the answering service.

There was a mixture of women. One sounded like she'd
be playing Ragas till four in the morning and stinking
the place out with ganja and corriander. Others were
clearly older and far too sensible.  There was a gay
guy so sibillant you could hear the starbursts on his
tongue. A secretary. A professor of Ancient Greek who
had called the wrong number. A couple of ladies far
too cheery for that time of the morning.

I went out for Saturday lunch at the bar / bistro
opposite.

I sat in the courtyard and sipped an aperitif.
I ordered a Caesar salad. A glass of  French
Chardonnay, with which even a merely half-decent
Australian wine would have been disgusted to share a
name, went to the palm tree in the pot behind me.

By the time I left, the owner was insisting I not pay
for my modest meal (he'd seen my reaction to the wine)
and that I join him for a glass of Hine fine champagne
cognac.

I insisted on paying for my meal, but suggested that I
have the brandy next time I was in.

The way he squeezed my shoulder and whispered that he
'would really, really like that' made me wonder if I
wouldn't be even more welcome for breakfast than for
lunch.

****

There were two messages on the machine when I got home
from lunch.

One was from my secretary and the other from a woman
with a smoky French accent and a turn of phrase that
made me more than a little interested.

She apologised for being so late in calling, but she
hadn't woken before 11 and just couldn't speak to "h-a
soul" before two cups of cafe and a Gitane.

She hoped she wasn't too late.

She "loved the voice on the telephone answering
machine". She would like to meet its owner. Even for a
ver' little chat.  She would be at home that
afternoon.  She would be able to see the apartement
early evening as she was dining with her brother in my
area. "Please do phone to me," she pleaded. She
didn't, however, leave a number.

What a shame. The only voice that sounded even half
way interesting and there was no way of contacting it.
 I remembered the old movie "Bells Are Ringing" and a
song from it called " I'm in Love with a
Voice..." Crazy how these things come to mind. "Plaza
0 double four double three ...It's the perfect
relationship ... I don't know him and he doesn't know
me."


***

As I dived (sorry, as I dove) into the rooftop pool
outside my bedroom the phone rang. Climbing out, I
stubbed my toe. Cursing, I picked up the phone.

"Hello."

"Pas la" Click.

"Fuck." I missed her again.

I switched the answering machine on again and made for
the pool.

Immediately the phone rang.

"H-I forgot to leave my number. Please do call to me
...."

"Hello," I said. "This is Paul".

"Aaah! Allo. This is Nicole Mercier. I left a
message...h-about the maid job."

"And you would like to know if the job is gone. Oui?"

"Ah, oui. Ah, bon. Vous parlez francais tres, tres,
tres bien."

Ah! A nice sense of humour.

"Mademoiselle Nicole, I am stark naked, I'm dripping
wet, I just stubbed my toe getting out of the pool to
answer the phone and, in spite of living in Paris for
three years, I know that I speak very bad French."

A giggle came down the phone line. There was no doubt
that Nicole had a wicked sense of humour. I warmed to
her even more.

"I will forgive you bad French if you are nude. And
pretty."

The giggling ceased and Nicole became serious.

"Oh. Excuse me. Yes, I would like to know if the job
is still available. "

"It could be. I think we should meet," I suggested.

"But is the job still available?" Nicole was now
completely serious.

"I think we should meet," I repeated.

"That would be very agreable."

"O.K. Do you know Sonoma Street, just off .....?"

"Oui. Of course. Yes, I know it."

"And do you know a bar / bistro called "Aerobleu"?

"Yes. I was going to h-eat there with my brother
tonight. Michel, le patron, the h-owner is a very
close friend of ... h-ours."

"You were going to eat there tonight? But not any
more? ..."

"My brother is ...  busy tonight."

"OK Nicole, I'd be delighted if you'd meet me for a
drink at Aerobleu tonight."

"Of course."

"And ... IF we like each other, and IF you have
nothing else to do ... maybe we can also have dinner
there. "

"That MIGHT be nice." The gauloisey voice at the other
end of the phone sounded a little stern.

"A sept heures et demi?" it continued.

"Half seven would be fine. I'll see you there. Tell
the owner ... tell Michel ... that you're looking for
Paul. I'll tell him I'm expecting Nicole."

"Until soon, then."

The click on the line came a little too quickly. The
lady was not for spurning.

As I showered, I wondered about Nicole.
I wasn't entirely sure what I might be expecting. For
all I knew, Nicole was a raving dyke with a square
face and a blue crew cut. That I didn't need. I had a
friend like that already.

Going down in the lift - the elevator, l'ascenseur -
the shapely legs, the sexy smile and the heady scent
of a glamorous neighbour disturbed my speculations.

At "Aerobleu" Michel's huffy response when I said that
Nicole would be looking for me gave me something else
to wonder about.

"Yes, dear, I know. Nicole is coming, but Monsieur
Andre is too busy."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Excuse me, Mr Paul. I am a little cross with Andre.
What can I get for you?"

At about ten to eight, a perfume takes my attention.
Then a head of the most beautiful chestnut hair,
superbly coiffed. Below, a perfect torso and the
loveliest legs in silk hose and gleaming six-inch
heels I had seen in almost an hour. As the click click
click of the heels pass me and approach the bar, I
begin hoping this is Nicole.



CHAPTER TWO: PAUL MEETS HIS MAID

Michel smiled.  "Mr Paul, I think you are expecting
Nicole? She has gone to the b ... bathroom. Would you
care for a drink at the bar before you eat?"

I followed Michel to the bar and almost as soon as I'd
taken my barstool I heard the familiar tip,tip,tip of
very high heels and Michel's voice introducing the
vision of loveliness before me.

I stepped forward and in a pathetic gesture of what
the Englishman takes to be gallic charm, I took
Nicole's hand and kissed it , looking her in the eye
all the while.

Michel discreetly watched us very carefully, a slight
smile hovering around his full lips.

"Enchante, Mademoiselle Nicole, de faite votre
connaissance." My equally-pathetic schoolboy French.

"Very pleased to meet you, too, Mister Paul. Very
pleased. Well, you 'ave a very sexy voice on the
telephone, but I didn't imagine you would be more
'andsomer than Tom Crueez."

Nicole looked me up and down and smiled, apparently
approvingly.

"No, because I'm not. And you didn't say anything
about your being more exquisite  even than ....
Please, sit down."

Her breasts were perfect.

They seemed very firm and vibrated a little as she
sat. Vibrated, I noticed, rather than wobbled. Her
perfume was what they used to call heady.

Under the tailored jacket, carefully cut to display -
no, to present - very tastefully Nicole's lovely upper
torso, was an inflammatory hint of expensive black
lace and the subtlest glint of black silk satin.  Her
upper torso and its packaging was having a very direct
effect on my lower torso.

"Michel, bring a bottle of Krug please. You will drink
champagne, I assume, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, I would love some champagne. But one should not
make too many assumptions, should one, monsieur?"

As Michel left us, he and Nicole shared a tiny smile.
A private joke perhaps. Perhaps to do with Nicole's
brother?

"You're right," I replied. "But there is obviously
some significance in your saying so right now."

"Assumptions are dangerous. We make assumptions about
people - their profession, their social status, their
sexual preference, their taste in wines or cuisine
simply from a cursory first impression. Often, we are
wrong. What, for h-example, do you assume that I do
for a living? My profession."

"Model?"

"Ummmm, sometimes. But that is not my profession."

"Expensive, top-of-the-market call girl," went through
my head, but thinking that might be thought rude, I
dredged up something frivolous to say.

"University professor," I said flippantly.

"Of what?" she added.

"You ARE a professor?"

"Well, no."

I laughed.  "Of course not. I was just joking."

"No. I am a Lecturer. I teach art history at the
University. I am especially interested in the
eighteenth century in France.  Rigaud, Fragonard,
David. People like that. Would you have assumed that
from looking at me?"

"It's not what would have come to mind quickly, no," I
replied. "Especially since you applied for the job of
maid."

"Another assumption." Nicole now looked very serious.
"You assume that there is only one response to an
advertisement for a maid. That I, for instance, would
only be interested to clean your 'ouse."

"That's what maids do," I said.

Nicole looked at me with patience. "And I would clean
for you, of course. But that is not the only thing for
which I could respond. I respond to the style of your
advertisement, to the area where you live. To the
swimming pool you mention. To your apparent
intelligence.  I respond, therefore, to my own
assumptions about you."

I wondered how Nicole could do both jobs.

"Nicole, how would you be a maid and lecture at the
university? And, in any case, why would you want to be
a maid?"

"I teach only part-time. Just in the h-afternoon.
Three days a week. And I was intrigued with your
advertisement in the newspaper. I think I would make a
wonderful maid for you."

Michel brought the champagne.

As I wondered about the practicality of the
arrangement, I toasted Nicole.

Putting down the glass, Nicole crossed her legs.  Very
slowly.  I imagined I heard the friction of one
stocking on the other. It was a sound that had always
excited my imagination.  There is even a word for it,
but at that moment I couldn't think of it.  I thought
of Pinter's "The Birthday Party". That's where I first
heard it. Consciously.

Nicole's movement was hypnotic. The sound spread from
my ears, was amplified in my brain and, echoing, shot
down my shivering back. Then it slipped caressingly
between the muscular orbs of my bubble butt,  around
my balls and into my cock.

This caused my pupils to dilate. My heart to beat
faster. And a flood of blood into my prick.

It was quite pleasurable.

Especially when I felt my hyper-sensitive uncut
membrane begin to roll back.

A first salty tear was slowly forming at my now
uncurtained cock slit.

I was falling in love. Or lust, at very least.

It's Nicole's shapely legs. Her perfume. Her tongue on
the thick, voluptuous lips. The hint of black lace at
the hem of her short black skirt. Her laugh. The smoky
voice. My name.

"Paul? Paul? Are you OK?"

"I'm sorry. A beautiful woman crossing such beautiful
legs in sheer silk stockings.  It does strange things
to me. Always has, ever since I was eight years old
and a teacher at my school did that. Forgive me. I
felt quite dizzy."

We were facing each other on our bar stools, our knees
almost touching.  Nicole reached across and stroked my
thigh. She looked at me with a very serious gaze.

"Perhaps I should leave now. In the course of one week
I cross and uncross my legs perhaps the thousand
times. I would hate to cause you to have a 'eart
h-attack on my account."

"I think I could cope," I said limply.  "What would
you like for your dinner?"

"Paul, may I suggest something?"
Nicole leaned forward again, once more revealing the
full depth of her cleavage.

"I would like to discuss terms about the job.  I am
also very excited to see the apartement. I would like
to see where I might be working. And while I am still
sober."

"You plan to get drunk?" I asked, jokingly.

"Peut etre. It depends." Nicole was playful again.

"On what?" I asked.

"Oh,  on whether I could do the job and whether you
would like me as your maid and whether we therefore
agree to share a 'ome. Would you mind if we went to
look now, if it is not too far? I am sure Michel could
find room for us later."

Standing up, I agreed.  "Excellent idea. Good
thinking. Let's settle things one way or the other."

My god, I can be very pompous.

 "And if we can't? Maybe you don't want to know me if
I shan't be your maid?"

Nicole pouted and said in a little girl voice. "Paul
is being nasty to Nicole."

I laughed and called to Michel. "Michel, please
postpone dinner. We'll be back later. I'll pay for the
Krug now."

As I shepherded Nicole out of the bar, following the
silk stockings and the Opium and the tip, tip, tip of
the pin-thin heels, I realised that every eye was on
me.

Outside, I hail a cab and help Nicole in.

I  instruct the driver. "123 Sonoma, please."
Then, whispering," Just the other side of the road.
Here's ten bucks."

"You'd get her to bed quicker if you walked," grinned
the cab driver. "but what do I know?"

We slammed the doors and the driver swung the cab
across the road, stopping outside my apartment block
opposite.

"123 Sonoma?" said the driver.

"We're here," I said.

Laughing loudly, Nicole said, "You English are mad."
Then she reached up and pecked my cheek.

The driver winked at me as I shut the door.

***

As we waited for the lift, Nicole took my hand and
looked up into my eyes.

"If the flat is as handsome as you are ......"
As the lift doors shut I felt a hand on my butt.

"Hmmmmm"

***

I had brought the bubbly with me and suggested Nicole
explore the apartment while I poured some wine. From
various rooms came the sound of a very happy
francaise.

Having left her shoes at the door, she eventually
skipped back into the living room like a little
schoolgirl. Sixth form. Year twelve.

"Oh please let me live here," she pleaded. "Please let
me be your maid."

I gave her her glass. She took a sip.

"Now. Let's talk turkey. I have had the terms of the
appointment as I see them typed up and they are here.
We can make small changes if you wish."

For the next half an hour we discussed salary, hours,
free-time and Nicole's duties. We talked about
visitors.  We talked about possible taboos.  I showed
Nicole her room with its walk-in and en-suite. We
inspected the pool. We admired the view. We even went
to the garage.

"So, we have a deal?" I asked, matter-of-factly.

"Bien sure. J'ai faim.'

"Moi aussi," I said, rubbing my hands together.

Coming up to me and looking up into my eyes, Nicole
looked a little sad. "Do we 'ave to go just now?"

"So you aren't hungry? I thought you just said you
were."

"Yes I am. I want to eat this."

As she hypnotised me with the most enchanting eyes I'd
ever seen, I felt her stroke my bulging crotch.
"Hmmmmm"  It appeared to be her favourite expression.
Harve would approve, no doubt.

I took her glass and, putting it down, bent over and
took her in my arms.

She was tiny, out of the six-inch heels and, standing
on tiptoes, she reached up and slid her arms around my
neck.  I heard her catch her breath as my arms slid
around her.

We began a long, hard, passionate kiss. I have to
confess that in spite of my lingering lack of
enthusiasm for a relationship, at that moment I had
rarely wanted a woman more.

Picking her up, I carried her to my bedroom, the kiss
continuing.

Placing her gently on my bed, I began shaking as I
unbuttoned the jacket. As I took it off I groaned with

pleasure at her beauty. Her breasts sat, fully exposed
and lifted by the tiny cups of a black lace-trimmed,
silk satin basque, her nipples hard and pleading.

I pinched one, gently at first and then more firmly.

Nicole squirmed and the basque, responding, emphasised
the woman's enormous sexuality.

"Aaaaah! Oh Paul. Harder. Harder."

I took the other nipple between my teeth and bit hard.

"Ooooooooooh!!!"

Nicole writhed on the bed.

Then smiling up at me, she put a thumb in her mouth,
her scarlet-nailed first finger around her nose.

She looked like an adorable little girl.

An adorable gamine ... in a black silk basque ... and
with long, shapely legs ... swathed in sheer silk
stockings ... the tops of which were exposed by a very
short miniskirt.

With her other hand she reached to my pants and slowly
unzipped them.

Then she got to her knees and gently caressed my prick
that was stiffening in my silk Yves St Laurent briefs.


She stroked the sensitive weapon with the silky jersey
and soon had precum oozing liberally.

"You 'ave good taste in your underwear," Nicole smiled
up at me as she pulled down the front of the briefs.
She took my prick into her mouth.

Nobody had ever come close to giving me such exquisite
pleasure. What she did with her tongue and her teeth
and even the roof of her mouth was spectacular. I
feared that I would come too quickly.

The passion in her eyes blazed as she stopped sucking
me and looked up at me demandingly.

 "Fuck me, Paul. Fuck me now. Fuck me hard. Fill me
with your cock."

"I'm on the edge, Nicole. I shall come too quickly."

"Don't worry. That is natural. This is our first time,
mon chou."

My rigid member dripping long strings of precum was
bobbing in front of me. I had never been so aroused.
Never. I wanted to have this woman coil her legs
around my waist and take me deep inside her.
Just as I was about to tear Nicole's skirt from her,
she stopped me.

"Fuck me behind. "

"What?"

"It is the wrong time, you understand? But I want you
inside me. I want you in my h-ass. Please Paul. Please
fuck me with your beautiful cock. Now. Please Paul. I
want you. Next time you can take me from the front"

I went again  to strip her skirt. Nicole stood and
walked to the vanity.

"No, fuck me like this. Like I am your whore. Maybe in
a passageway.  Fuck me standing. Here. So we can watch
in the mirroir. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. NOW"

I had never before had a woman from behind.

"Nicole, you are tiny. A big, thick cock like mine
will tear you apart."

"No it won't.  I have lube."

Nicole was high on desire. Feverishly, she tore open
her purse and squeezed lube on to my cock and the
mysterious darkness between her hard, tight and
shapely buns.

There was to be no further discussion. Watching us in
the mirror, she guided my cock to the tiny opening to
her rear entrance.

"Watch in the mirror as you fuck me the first time.
Fuck me, darling.  Don't worry, you can't hurt me.
Just fuck me. "

My cockhead gleamed with precum and KY.

I spread her cheeks and pushed.  She pushed back
against me. I felt her sphincter relax and the rim of
my gleaming head slip easily inside.

She gasped as she slid back along my hard and
throbbing shaft.

I could not believe that she could take so much cock
so easily. Or that I was offering it. Doing what I had
never done before.

As she began rocking back and forth in time with my
own increasingly urgent movements, breathing hard, she
managed to stammer out a few words to our reflections
in the mirror.

"Oh, god, Paul .... you are what ..... I ....  aaaah
..... HAVE  .... dreamed of  .... since I  ....
ohhhhhhhh ....was  ...... ahhhhhhhhhhh, oh yes .....
15 years old ... yes, THERE .... at school in  ... YES
... YES... YES ... Paris. I always wanted a man like
you.  Faster, darling. Harder, mon chou. Fuck me hard.
Hard. With your beeeeuuuuuutiful cock.  Push right
through me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck .... oh fuck, fuck,
fuck ... oh Paul!
O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h, mon ange,
que tu es beau."
As I fucked her, Nicole controlled the tightness of
her sphincter as precisely as a maestro of the violin
uses his fingers to tease the most subtle and
satisfying sounds from a Stradivarius.

Little shocks of never-known pleasure spread through
me as she squeezed my shaft on the inward stroke,
pulling back my foreskin. Then releasing it as I
pulled back.

The shocks reached every nerve-ending in my body.

As our bodies flowed together and apart, it seemed
that Nicole and I had become a single pre-orgasmic
entity.  My shaft and her ring combined to send the
most sensational ecstasy throughout our beings.

For the first time in my life, I felt that I knew what
my partner was feeling. I'd never felt that with
another woman.

As she gasped out her mounting excitement and drew
closer to orgasm, my soaking body reached fever speed.
 My fingers squeezed her nipples. My cock battered her
ass.

I began to hallucinate.

I felt the stirring in my balls. Maybe 15 strokes
later, Nicole froze, gasped, screamed and came.
Violently.  A split second later, a great bolt of
spunk surged powerfully up my shaft. Six or seven
heavy loads followed it inside my exquisite new lover.

I fell heavily on her back, heart pounding.

As my cock softened and eventually slid from her, I
turned Nicole over and we kissed passionately. I
lifted her and carried her to my bed.

"Oh Paul, I just fell in love with you."

I had no doubt that she meant it. We might have known
each other for little longer than a knee-trembler, but

I knew she was satisfied. As was I.

We lay there smiling and content and exhausted.

"How long before your period is finished?" I asked,
quietly.

"Period?"

"So I can fuck you."

"You just did. Have you never done it that way
before?"

"Never"

"Did you hate it?"

"Hate it? It was sensational. I never felt like I
knew what was happening to my partner before."

"That's because you never could have understood
before, darling."

"But I want to fuck you face to face."

Nicole looked desole. I thought she was about to cry
as she looked deep into my eyes. Her body started to
shake and as I took the adorably sad little face in my
hands, it broke into a smile. One second later the
room was alive with the sound of laughter.

"What's so funny?" I asked, not knowing why I, too,
was laughing.

"I'm sorry, cheri. It's not a tampon that gets in the
way, darling.  Just a rather large clitty. Here, give
me your hand my gorgeous man."

As my fist closed around a hard, thick shaft and
before I could say a word, Nicole's mouth closed over
mine and our lovemaking began all over.

"Oh my god," I thought.  But I'm not sure that I cared
what any god might have thought of me at that moment.
I sure as hell wasn't about to withdraw from this
strange new source of pleasure.

to be continued?