Landed at Bordeaux-Mérignac, shoulder screaming from periarthritis scapulohumerale. Fencing coach gig at Cazaux airbase wrecked my arm. Taxi zips to La Teste, 30 minutes south. Check into canal-side motel. Keycard beeps green. Drag roller suitcase over scuffed linoleum. Door clicks shut. Bland room: crisp sheets, mini-fridge hum, window framing sailboats bobbing under gray sky. Distant jet roars from the base. Anonymity hits hard. No one knows me here. Flight out in days. Doc referred Dominique Derain, top kiné. Clinic two streets over.
Waiting room smells of salt air. Blue-washed walls, Beken photo of a goelette slicing waves. Fresh sailing mags on low table. Cane chairs creak. ‘Mr. Caparrosse?’ Young woman in short, chemise, bare feet. Follow her swaying hips to annex room. Gym balls, pulleys, torture racks. Sit. ‘Where’s the pain? Job?’ Fencing master, pentathlon team. She notes on school pad. ‘Undress upper body. Keep pants if shy.’ Eyes widen. ‘I’m Dominique. 24. You?’ Same age. Lifts my arm. Fire shoots. Groan. ‘Tender or wimp?’ Both. Massage starts firm. Short rides up. White cotton panties peek. Childlike, anti-rape style. Blond pubes curl out. Dick twitches. Pain fades.
The Stopover
Next day, rain lashes window. She’s in tight jeans, red turtleneck. Pale skin like pearl. Not stunning face – pointy chin, fleshy lips, odd eyes – but fuckable. Kneels, kneads deeper. Want to rip clothes off. Wednesday same. Thursday scorches. Anticyclone blasts heat. Shorts back. Legs part wider on mat. Panties slip. Pink shadow along elastic. Rosy labia hint. Stare blatant. Groan fake. She laughs. ‘Ahead of pain?’ Alliance glints. ‘Married?’ Yeah, two years. Regret it. ‘Wife not nice?’ Only to others. Legs splay more. Fabric wedges into slick slit. Cock hard as rebar. No hiding tent.
‘Macho much? Pain do that?’ ‘Your panties. Right in my face.’ ‘Flattered. Sport bulge.’ Stands. Disappointment. Then squats – on my bulge. Crushes it soft. Bounces back. Eyes lock. Unbuttons jeans. Frees throbbing cock. No hands. Straddles again. Hot mound grinds shaft. Slow rolls. Thighs gleam nacre. Fantasies explode. Pale, perfect. She rocks arm for therapy. Pain spikes, ignored. Panties drag aside. No touch. Glorious slit blooms. Juicy lips kiss glans. Waves part her. Inch by inch swallows me bareback. Python devours rabbit. Tight, wet, pulsing life. Prepuce peels. Glisten.
The Transit
Gasp. Not pain. ‘Hold it. Better.’ Crack in ceiling. Lamp glare. Her face tilts back, eyes half-shut. Small tits strain top. Fissure engulfs total. Arm twists – lightning pain stalls cum. Then velvet heaven. I vanish inside. She milks. Spasm hits. Explode deep. Shake her. She cries out, clenches, cums hard. Waves crash. Emptied. Best ever. She lifts careful. Wipes cum tenderly. Panties snap back.
‘Depart tomorrow?’ Clinic keys rattle outside. Corridor footsteps. Dress quick. Last look: her flushed glow, canal shimmer. Back to motel. Swipe out keycard next dawn. Suitcase rolls. Taxi to base, then flight. Shoulder stiff. But not the same one. Pass through? Always book her.