Parlez Vous Fuck You?

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And that is the extent of my conversational French, although I can sing along to Lady Marmalade. However that doesn’t count, because the words I belt out are equivalent to blah, blah, blah en Francais. Oh well, no matter.

I know how to say "pig dog with whipped cream" in German, and in Spanish I can order beer and ask where the bathroom is.

But in these languages, and a handful of others, I can tell a guy that he is a "very handsome fella" which always gets their attention. Yes boys, us gals use pick-up lines just like you all do.

The cherry-on-top is having rather nice tits, eyes that can burn a hole into a man's psyche, and a tight ass — or at least the appearance of one. Tight denim ladies, tight denim.

And I have a boatload of flexible conditional abilities.

I'd like to say that I have a plethora of "tools in the toolbox," but I was verbally paddled once by a professor who said that using the phrase made me sound like a "nincompoop." I took this to heart because of the shit grade I received for using it, but for Christ's sake, he sounded more like a nincompoop for saying nincompoop than I ever did using that colloquial expression.

Because I'm an Air Force brat and an Army veteran, I have lived in many places around the world, some great and some not so great, and have honed my mixy-matchy skills in a variety of situations.

I've lived long enough in some countries to make some special and enduring relationships. Unfortunately in some countries I never had the chance because I was busy with more important duties — like not being a target.

Luckily, my jobs after separation from the military have required international travel. To be quite honest, I've never even considered a position that didn't.

I've always walked alone, enjoying the peace of absolute solitude. But my Pandora's box of fuck buddies is global, waiting to be opened by whim and fancy whenever and wherever I choose. My dance is always Ladies Choice. I am blessed.

Adrien, my French fuck buddy

Adrien is a delightful man whom I absolutely adore.

When I first met him he lived in Marseilles, but he has since moved to a small city not far from Reims which is only a two hour drive from Paris.

Marseilles was a wonderful place to be with Adrien. It's a rough and tumble seaport that is raucous and deliciously seedy if you look in the right places.

In Marseilles I could be the sassy me with a side of dirty. In Marseilles I was Tits and Ass, wearing my skirts very short, my scooped cut T's very low, and my fuck-me-now pumps that were very high. I could wear my hair just as it was straight off the pillow, and my eyeliner thick and swooped up at the outer edges of my eyes like Cleopatra. I was sex on stilts, and I took full advantage of my freedom.

If your personality is devil-may-care then Marseilles is the place to be careless, because it will bring out the devil in you.

Adrien and I indulged ourselves in many different pleasures. Our motto was "eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you may die," we fucked like bunnies in his candlelit bedroom and against wet, rough walls in many back alleys. No matter where we were his cock was my joy, my cunt his delight, and our wine goblets were always full.

Adrien is a writer, a wonderful writer, at least that's what he tells me and, since I do not read French, I take him at his word. He is a straightforward, no lies, no airs, and no bullshit type of man and I love him for it.

When we lay naked in each other’s arms we were very playful. A bit of pseudo-sadistic tickling, nuzzling sex talk, gentle massages in all the right places, the kneading and spreading of my ass cheeks, and then even hotter sex speak. "Fuck" was by far our favorite word… "I want to fuck you" is so much more arousing than "I want to have sex with you" will ever be.

I loved to kiss him on his belly which was flat, warm and bronzed. My kisses would begin at his navel and follow the soft, ticklish trail of very sparse blonde hair, eventually arriving at his hot and hard prick.

I always ignored the temptation to immediately devour, and would instead veer off the path allowing my lips to continue slowly and deliberately to his balls. They were tight and downy, and I would lick them lightly with just the tip of my tongue, alternating between lick and suck. And if it tickled my fancy I would open my mouth wide and coax them to come inside.

This tantalizing teasing would continue until he could endure no more. Lifting my head up with a strong grasp of my hair, he would guide me to the tip of his cock and softly request that I suck him.

But, for my own satisfaction, I would first rub my check and closed lids gently against the velvet. This would stoke the fire in my belly, and I would feel the flames in my cunt. Heaven.

I would continue unabated until I felt his hand on my head pushing down with slight pressure. My mouth would open and my tongue would enjoy the silken knob that exuded just one tiny droplet of his anticipation, that one minute droplet that sparkled like morning dew on a rose.

His shaft was tall and wide. Take it all, he would say, and I would with no more teasing or hesitation.

I would take every inch, sliding my mouth up and down with occasional flicks of my tongue at the top until he would again grasp me by my hair and bring his lips to mine with a deep sigh. Our kiss was always long and deep. He knew that this would stoke the sensations in my cunt by not twice, but thrice.

By bedeviling him I had wound myself up and was ready to snap. Now my body needed no encouragement, no touch of his tongue or touch of his hand. Without even having to rub my clit I would lower myself onto his ready cock.

With tender hands he would hold my hips as I would begin to ride while moaning low. I would love him quickly, I would love him slow; bent backwards with my hands clutching his ankles, or leaning forward with my breasts in his mouth; I would bounce and I would glide.

When his thrusting began I would moan louder and from deep within. When he became furious in his movement I would anchor my arms around his neck and bury my head, screaming into his flesh when I came.

When he was on the cusp of cumming he would untangle my arms from around his throat, this was my cue to dismount and take his cock in my mouth once again. His cum was as salty as the ocean yet sweet as caramel, and he flooded my tongue in waves that matched the rhythm of my siphoning mouth. Pure paradise.

Maybe in the future my travels will take me to Paris and I'll visit him. We'll both be a bit older by then, maybe he'll have a slight paunch and some slight silver in his hair but I won't care. I will always adore him at any age.

Isidoro, my Portuguese fuck buddy

Isidoro is an insatiable fuck fiend, the most adventurous fuck buddy that I have, but he’s best taken in small doses. Stay too long and the results of all the banging and friction can make sitting a challenge, but that’s the cost of ecstasy in my audacious lover’s world, bless his heart.

Unlike my sweet lover in France this man is a very impetuous, fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants free spirit. He borders on reckless and concentrates solely on sex. He lives for sex, oozes sex with kink bubbling right below his skin.

Because of his other playmates it's easy for me to take a break from our grand escapade and spend a little time on my own. And while his attention is elsewhere I can easily travel back to my company's headquarters in Bilbao, Spain and return to Isidoro's home in Braga at my leisure.

But on this trip I feel anxious being away from him for even a day, so I never make it to Bilbao. I only want to fuck. My work? I just phone it in. Strange, I must be getting clingy and needy as I enter middle age.

This afternoon Isidoro told me that he has planned a special evening for us, because tomorrow I must leave. I'm somewhat amazed, because the man can't plan ten minutes into the future let alone five hours. But I'll be damned, he did it. Kudos to you, my sweet.

I'm to forgo my normal attire, no flowing skirt or peasant blouse, no sandals or shawl. Tonight it's proper heels, a tight revealing couture dress, my hair in a sleek bun and a spray of Shalimar. I am also to wear Isidoro's window dressing gifts of a locket on a long chain and a matched set of black silk thong and peek-a-boo bra. I'm ready for whatever is in store for me. I am beautiful and creamy.

My man of the moment stands in the doorway wearing tight jeans, pressed shirt, tie and a tweed jacket. And he's wearing proper shoes. I've never seen him so handsome and civilized.

"Turn around darling," he says as he makes a slight twirling motion with his finger. As I spin he claps his hands. "You are very lovely tonight, let's see if you followed my instructions."

He walks over to me, kneels down and lifts the hem of my dress up over my ass. With his large hands he cups my cheeks and kisses my mound. "Bravo," he whispers as he pulls my dress back in place, rises and gives me a soft and open kiss. "Dinner’s at 7pm, it’s time we were on our way."

A taxi waits at the curb, we enter and make ourselves comfortable. "Where are we going?" I ask Isidoro excitedly.

"Don’t worry, the driver knows where to go." We head into the countryside, our trip longer than I expected, and arrive at a gate. Our driver beeps the horn in three short bursts followed by two that are longer, and the gate opens. With impatience I hold my man’s hand.

At the end of the tree-lined, narrow road our driver delivers us to the front door of a very old country manor. Isidoro pays the fare and helps me out of the cab, escorting me to the door. His knocking is responded to immediately by a ravishing woman and a smartly dressed man. "Meet Giulia and Tom."

"Please come in, we're so happy to meet you. Your cocktails await."

Their home is remarkable, with original furnishings. Ancestral paintings line the wall of the staircase which I admire as we make our way to the second floor. "My family," Tom tells me, "sadly I am the end of the line." Giulia looks at him wistfully, he smiles and reaches for her hand.

On the second floor an elegantly laid table presents itself in the first room which is enormous with high ceilings. There is so much marble, gold overlay and art I don't know where to look first. "This way," Giulia tells us, "we'll drink our cocktails in the sitting area and enjoy some hors d'oeuvres."

The coach is plush and comfortable, and only vague signs of wear on the armrests show its age. The Belle Epoch, I wonder how to say that in Portuguese.

Tom gives me a quick history of his family which includes rather dark and daring secrets, scandals and treachery. I am enthralled.

"How did you and Isidoro meet?" I enquire, "University?"

Tom replies that they are cousins on his father's side. I must look bemused. "Yes my dear, aristocratic blood runs through Isidoro's veins, he just doesn't live the life. And when the time comes, his son will inherit all this," Tom tells me with a wave of his hand. Seeing the bewildered look on my face, Giulia chides this stranger next to me. "You didn't tell her you had a child, did you? My dear, this man is full of surprises."

My cocktail is brandy based and has gone straight to head. "Let's get you some food," says Tom and leads me to the dining area. Of course dinner is delicious, as is the dessert wine.

"Follow us," Giulia instructs us, after dinner.

We enter a second room which is furnished quite differently from the last. It's darker, lit only with candles; the walls are covered entirely with tapestries and the only furnishings are enormous divans, deep couches and one circular and central table that holds a decanter. "Sit with me and relax," Giulia says as she pours more wine into my glass. I settle into the antique divan and we make small talk.

Giulia drapes her arm around my shoulders and continues to talk about nothing as her mouth slowly comes near to my ear in the most subtle manner. I can feel her warm breath, and I hide my reaction which is coming from deep within. And, out of the corner of my eye, I see the two men sitting across from us, watching intently without saying a word.

This woman of elegance and breeding kisses me gently on my ear and sighs with desire. I close my eyes and do not resist, the wine has made me heady. Her hand reaches up and strokes my neck, I tilt my head back for more before her touch moves down to my decolletage and moves aside the folds of my dress, exposing Isidoro's peek-a-boo present. She admires my locket before touching my breast and finding the bud which is pronounced through the gauze. My lips part, and my moan is loud in my pussy. The men begin stroking themselves through their perfectly pressed trousers.

"Giulia, suck her tits," commands Tom.

"Put a hand between her legs, " Isidoro commands me.

The politeness and gentility of earlier has evaporated, replaced with emerging lust. Giulia lifts her ass which allows me to pull her dress to her waist. She wears the same immodest thong as mine, and it has nestled deliciously within her pussy lips.

"Spread her open and touch her," Isidoro demands and I comply with an eager hand. The men begin to bark orders, alternating. I feel completely and happily wanton.

"Pull her dress down and bring out her tits. Suck hard, be rough."

"Use two hands and spread her wider, I want to see it all."

I tell the beauty at my breast to touch my clit. "No," she whispers, "we must only do as they say."

We are ordered to finger each other, which we do with no argument. Tom and Isidoro leave their couch, stand next to us and remove their pricks from their perfectly pressed pants and stroke them fiercely, smiling as they watch us.

"Ladies take off your dresses, get on your knees and face the back of the couch, stick your asses in the air. Now kiss each other and fuck yourselves." With our clothing gone save our thigh high black stockings and heels, I see that Giulia is wearing the same locket as mine. A memento of the evening?

Giulia's tongue tastes like taffy in my mouth. My fingers and the cool air feel good in my snatch, I can't help but fuck myself hard, and together our soprano moaning begins.

Our dinner companions walk around to our faces and command us to suck their pricks. They are not gentle, they hold our heads in their hands and thrust their cocks down our throats to the hilt and keep them buried there. I can barely breath, and when Isidoro pinches my nose closed I fear that I'm smothering, all the while gagging uncontrollably.

"Look at me, I want to see your eyes," he says; when I do I see a look on his face I've never seen before — smug, condescending, victorious with a touch of delight and heightened arousal.

"Let's switch," Isidoro says to his cousin matter of factly. Now I have Tom's thicker cock in my throat and he is thrusting hard, allowing me breath only when he determines it's absolutely necessary for my survival. I'm gasping, choking and hopelessly eager for more.

Without warning I feel a strange cock enter me from behind but am restrained from seeing to whom it belongs, while unseen fingers wrap around my throat in a vise-like grip. My screams are futile and go unheard. Tom intermittently slaps my face and reminds me to look up at him. The man plowing me from behind slaps my ass in a repeated rhythm — slap, slap, slap, thrust — pounding me as though life itself depends on my pain.

The grunts coming from Giulia make it obvious that a mystery cock is pounding her cunt as well, and I can hear her muffled agony in response to the syncopated sounds of another pair of spanking hands.

My hips begin to buck wildly, my mouth opens and pulls away from Tom’s assault. I am close to the edge, my ecstasy is on the verge of revealing itself. But as quickly as the phantom prick appeared it is suddenly gone.

"Do not cum until I tell you to," Tom tells me in a stern voice, "you cannot cum without my permission."

I whine and pout until he comes around and is behind me. I push my ass towards him and he accommodates my gesture. The sensations that his cock gives me start right where the mystery man had left off. I hold back my orgasm as instructed, afraid of possible consequences if I don’t. When I begin to emit a high pitched whine Tom tells me to cum. I immediately implode and Tom explodes with me, cumming on my back like a good boy.

My head is wrenched to the side and pushed hard into the top edge of the divan. I watch Isidoro and Giulia humping like rabid dogs until they also reach their loudly announced mutual zenith. My face is wet with tears. This was wonderful.

Giulia gathers our clothing and leads me into another room while the cousins slap each other on the back, laugh and congratulate each other for a job well done.

I look at her with anger in my eyes, but with a tsk, tsk, tsk and an amused smile she tells me that I’ll grow to love it. I’m angry with myself because I did love it, I think.

We shower together, the soap stinging our asses which are as red as poppies.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since they were 16 years old." For the umpteenth time this evening I find myself speechless. "This is the life," is her explanation.

"Who were those other men?"

"Your driver and my chef."

When Isidoro helps me into the cab I find it difficult to sit. My man of the moment pulls me against him so that I rest on my hip which was left untouched by my punisher. I'm so tired. Isidoro's arms encircle me tenderly and I rest my head on his shoulder. Before I close my eyes I see that our driver is looking at me in the rear view mirror, and he winks. Oh, for the love of all that's holy, I mutter to myself before I drift off to sleep.

Tomorrow, Berlin. I'll wait a day or two before contacting Klaus and Remy. I already know what they have planned — so 1930's, so cabaret. A glimpse into the debauchery that once was and will never be again. For this leg of my adventure I'll need to be healed, to be able to sit and walk without wincing.

In the morning, Isidoro awakens me with coffee and kisses, asking me if I’m mad. I shake my head no and he asks if I’ll ever come back to him. I look in his eyes and can tell he’s truly worried.

"I'll come back to you my love. I always come back."

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