Landed in Marseille, grabbed the TGV to Aix-en-Provence for a 24-hour layover. Suitcase rattling behind, checked into a bland transit hotel near the station. Anonymity hit hard—no one knows me here. Single life dragging, signed up with a local dating agency on a whim. Phone flirt easy. Real meet? Dicey.
Cafe de Paris terrace, summer evening buzz. Carole, ER nurse at Aix hospital. Tense vibes. She drops it blunt: “Sorry, you’re not really my type…”
The Stopover
Relief floods me—same here. Cool girl though. Stayed till midnight, plates untouched. Her Libya treks on foot, my passions, life views. Magic.
Parking lot hug, friendly squeeze. “You lifted my spirits!” Hop in my rental, suitcase in trunk, mixed feels. Red light—her Clio pulls up. Awkward smiles.
Same route? She speeds past. Catch up—her car parked roadside, she waves frantically. Pull over. Door flies open, she slides in. “Drive!”
Heart pounds. She dives, unzips my pants. Cock out, strokes teasing. “Just drive slow.” Out of town, dark backroad under trees. Hard as rock, her breath hot on tip. Lick. Hand on her perky tits.
She pops up, grins: “Too nice to end flat. One wild fuck, no follow-up. Deal?”
Bullshit, I think. Blanket from trunk next to suitcase, spread on grass. Undress her—jeans down, black thong. Musky scent hits. Kneel, tongue her bush, fingers in crack. She grabs head, lifts thigh. Gagging moans.
The Transit
Thong off, she squats on my face. “Eat harder!” Sloppy 69, her ass winking pink. Finger probes, she backs onto it. Sucks cock fierce.
Condom magic—from her fist. “Doggy?” Slips in hot, loose. “Fuck me hard!” Grip hips, slam. She screams orgasms. I explode, stars burst.
Collapse, cuddle. She slurps cum from rubber. “My place? Ass all night…”
Central Aix apartment, skyline view through huge glass doors. Hotel-vibe luxe. Balcony rail, pants down. Rim her sloppy, cock at rosebud. She impales: “Aaaah! Slow first…”
“Deeper, bull-cock!” Pound, she howls. “Your ass is gold, slut!” Laughs: “Why little?” Legs buckle, cum floods.
Kiss deep. “Too nice for me.” I beg more. Tears. She cracks up: “Idiot! Testing for sex-mad loyal guy. Not in ad. You passed.”
Dawn flight looming, suitcase packed. Thought one-night transit blaze. Derailed perfect—28 and 31 then. Kids Maxime, Julie now. Still her filthy minx in bed.