Landed at CDG Thursday evening. Twelve-hour stopover before NYC flight. Dior pitch at 9am tomorrow. Swiped keycard into my sleek Trocadero hotel. Dropped roller suitcase by the bed. Black skirt slit high, sheer stockings, knee boots. Simple sexy. No makeup drama. Planned Almodovar on laptop, room service.
Text from Julie: work dinner, tennis drinks off. Lobby bar instead. Champagne flute in hand. Scrolling ads gossip. Anonymity buzzed me. City lights twinkled outside. No one knows me here. Gone by dawn.
The Stopover
Pierre spots me. Persistent flirt from industry circles. Tall, cocky grin. Fantasized my legs, tits, mouth for months. ‘Agathe! Julie bailed? Pot at my place, Avenue d’Eylau. Thibault joins.’ Thibault: young associate, dark eyes, quiet pull. My pulse quickens. Why not? One night. Accept.
Taxi drops me at his building. Swipe guest keycard for elevator. Doors ding. Luminous apt opens to Eiffel glow. Mirrors everywhere, leather couches, modern art. Pierre pops champagne. Thibault smiles magnetic. I shed jacket, cross legs. Boots flex. Small talk flows. Bubbles loosen me.
Pierre’s hand grazes knee. I nudge off. Lean to Thibault. Hand on cheek. Kiss tentative, then hungry. His lips ignite. Fingers find his thigh, squeeze cock through pants. Choice made. Mirrors catch it: me directing, Pierre sidelined.
On knees before Thibault. Undo belt slow. Cock springs free, thick, veined. Lips tease tip, then swallow deep. Tongue swirls. He groans, fists my hair. Pierre kneels behind. Skirt up. Stockings taut. Panties aside. Tongue dives into my wet pussy. Licks clit hard. I buck, mouth full.
The Transit
Thighs clamp his head. Suck harder. Thibault tenses, shoots hot cum down throat. Pierre fingers me deep. I shatter, scream muffled. Legs quake in boots. Sweat mixes. Hearts pound.
Not done. Straddle Thibault on couch. Cock slides into soaked pussy. Slow grind. Pierre behind. Fingers clit. Tongue neck. Then lower. Spreads ass. Cockhead presses tight ring. ‘Go…’ I gasp. Inch by inch, he fills me. Full. Stretched. They thrust sync. Pussy clenches cock. Ass grips other.
Wave builds. Boots scrape leather. Mirrors multiply: me impaled, tits bouncing, face bliss. Cry out. Cum rips through. They follow, flooding both holes. Collapse sweaty.
Tremble fades. Adjust stockings slow. Smooth garters up thighs. Panties snap on. Skirt down. Laugh. ‘Julie’ll die jealous.’ Kiss Thibault deep. Promise in eyes. Ignore Pierre’s smirk. Grab jacket. Champagne gulp. Heels click parquet.
Elevator dings. Corridor echoes footsteps. Cool night air. Taxi to hotel. Swipe keycard. Pack suitcase quick. Eiffel fades in window. Body hums. Pussy aches sweet. Tomorrow’s flight. Perfect anonymous fuck. Gone, but etched.