Decades ago, mid-thirties, Marie and I burned hot. She flew the skies as cabin crew. I managed the family farm. Early August, she took her teen son Olivier to buddy Laurence’s spot in Cantal. Restored old longère, pool gleaming. Late afternoon call: perfect sun, boys splashing with Laurence’s Louis. She begged me over. Irresistible. Weekend locked in.
Suitcase dumped late afternoon. Greeted Laurence, Gérard. Idyllic setup. Our room: vaulted beams, luxe bathroom. Dinner on terrace. Local wine flowed. Night air soft. Crashed early, travel-weary. Marie curled in after.
The Stopover
Morning shower zinged me awake. Breakfast with Laurence. Slipped back. Marie stirred, morning cuddles. ‘Hit the sun. Shower quick. Meet you.’ Her whisper hot.
Poolside, sun blinded. Silhouette neared. Red polka-dot tank, matching skirt. Clung perfect: tits thrust, ass curved, 45-degree arch I measured once. Ripe berry. ‘Watch the wolf,’ I grinned. ‘Little Red Riding Hood. Sexy as fuck.’ ‘Baiting you, baby. Effect nailed. Market run to Aurillac?’
‘Bodyguard duty.’ Road twisted through meadows, woods, villages. Her thighs flashed bare. Hands roamed silk skin. Eyes green-flaming. Leaned in, kissed shoulder, neck. ‘Etienne, driving!’ Hand climbed higher. Legs parted. Fingered lace. She slowed. ‘Keep going!’
The Transit
Pulled over. ‘Ditch panties.’ Skirt hiked, ass forward, thighs wide. Dove in. Licked soaked pussy, clit swelling. Cars whooshed by. ‘Love the thrill! Tongue-fuck me!’ She bucked, moaned loud. Came hard, head back, gasping. Licked her juice off fingers. Coquish grin. No panties for market.
Aurillac market buzzed. Eyes devoured her. Cheese, fruits, veggies. Butcher leered: ‘Sausages big or medium?’ Wink broad. Marie: ‘Taste matters.’ Our secret wink. Coffee terrace. She ducked to ‘wash hands.’ Returned: bra gone. Tits bounced free, nipples hard. Men drooled, wives glared.
Leg caresses under table. ‘Urgent,’ she hissed. Drove off. Woods called. Pulled over sharp.