Not yet noon. Luc pulls up on his roaring motorcycle to the vacation house Inès and I rented. Two weeks of girls’ time, but I’m out this afternoon for our lovers’ escape. Sun beats down. I lounge under the pergola, feet up, music blasting, mini denim shorts riding high, white cotton top clinging from sweat. My SMS buzzes. I fly down stone steps, fling open the gate. We crash into a hungry kiss. His eyes devour my fit body, golden tan.
Inès greets us in the kitchen, her long brown hair swaying, low-rise jeans hugging her ass. Green eyes sparkle. Flirty banter flows. Aperitif on the terrace. Whisky burns my throat. Heat builds desire. Fifteen days without sex. My sexts teased him wild. Inès ducks inside. Alone with Luc, I crave him. Fantasies flood: fucking on the tiles, me riding him hard.
The Stopover
Forgot the rosé. Luc volunteers. Moto ride? Hell yes. We race down steps. ‘Can’t miss a hot machine between my thighs after abstinence,’ I tease. He mounts. I straddle, hips grinding forward. Helmet clicks. Arms wrap his torso. Engine screams. We laugh into the wind. Speed whips under my shorts, chilling my pussy. Thighs clamp curves. Clouds darken. His cock hardens against my crotch. My hand slips down, grips the bulge. Distraction nearly wrecks us.
Village square. Supérette glows. Blind man on bench, only soul around. Rain spatters visor. Deluge hits. Luc points to overhanging roof by a shed. ‘Shelter there, babe. Quick in and out.’ I dash, dainty jumps, arms flapping rain. Soaked instantly. T-shirt transparent, nipples poke. Shorts cameltoe deepens. New white sneakers mud-splashed. Fuck.
Spot a paved alley nearby, high stone walls promising cover. Sprint over. Wind drives rain sideways. No escape. Press against wall. Water cascades cleavage, pools in shoes. Flesh goosepimples. Thighs clench from cold. Eyes shut. Pray Luc hurries.
The Transit
Wind shifts. Warmer. Tobacco stench. Rain eases but pounds pavement. Heat blooms mid-thigh. Spreads. Stings my crotch. Muscles loosen. Thighs part. Warmth creeps under shorts, past panty. Seizes pubis. Instant fire. Basin glows. Shiver racks me. Soft moan escapes. Salty aftertaste coats throat.
That’s when his thick finger breaches. Blind stranger from the bench, silent behind me. One arm pins wall. Other hand owns me. Probes my slick folds. Circles clit. Dives deep into my dripping pussy. I freeze in shock-pleasure. Anonymity hits: village unknown, no one knows me, he’s blind—pure sensation. Juices gush. Walls clench intruder. Builds fast. Urgent, raw. My transit thrill in this medieval gut.
Moto roars. ‘Alice? Where? Got the rosé!’ Double jolt. Eyes snap. Pleasure peaks as finger floods me. Panic surges. Fist his arm. Duck under other. Sprint alley out. Dive into Luc’s arms. ‘Go! Hellish!’ Helmet on frantic. Engine snarls. Glimpse back: he sucks my taste off his finger, savoring.
We blast off. Rain slicks road. Thighs squeeze Luc. Pussy throbs, slick with stranger’s claim. Helmet fogs. Adrenaline mixes cum. House nears. Inès waits. Pack bags quick. Keys to her. My naughty stopover etched: anonymous heat in storm’s grip. Urgency fueled it. Tomorrow’s road calls, but this pulse lingers.