French Lesson Ch 02

They are sharing breakfast at the long dining table. Dwarfed by its length, it could seat around 20, the manoir must have been built around it.

She'd woken before him this morning, coaxed from sleep by the sun and the obstreperous birds. He was still sleeping, the ghost of a snore. Looking hard at the firm, handsome enough face, gentled by sleep, she had weighed up the opportunities and reluctantly decided to let him rest.

She had bathed and dressed quickly, hopped on to the clanking old bicycle that was propped by the door, and noisily ridden to the village to buy breakfast, glad that the French still favoured the broader saddle.

By the time he'd arrived in the kitchen, showered but still in his dressing gown, she'd laid the table with fresh croissants, pain au chocolate and a bowl of ripe peaches. The coffee was brewing and the orange juice cold.

As they eat, she entertains him with stories of her school days, where she had learnt, amongst other things, the best way to get in and out of a sports car, how to pack for a weekend in the country and had once spent a term peeling and eating many types of fruit with a knife and fork. The syllabus hadn't changed since the 1920s, neither had the teacher.

He laughs. She is pleased that he finds her amusing. A morning Scheherazade. However, in life she'd found those quaint skills surprisingly more useful than he would ever guess.

But you are a scientist?

Yes

A feminist?

Most definitely

A courtesan?

I take my pleasure in pleasing, it is true...

And then he realises how little he knows about her. He voices this and she looks surprised.. Does it matter?

That challenges

I'm not sure..

It is amicable.

Then his phone rings, he grimaces as he sees the display.

It's work he has to take it.

She regards him coolly, then smiles. Of course.

As he answers, Switching flawlessly into work mode, he signals for her to pass his brief case.

Within a minute his laptop is out and the accounts. He is engrossed

She moves to clear the plates, and drops a knife which clatters, a frown at the noise crosses his face.. Oops.

She dips down to pick it up, but does not get up. He doesn't notice.

She is hunting on all fours under the table, silent, feline, her prey oblivious within her sights.

What the f! He shouts, accidentally, to his accountant.

She is taking his sleeping cock in her mouth and sucking softly to waken. She can feel him harden and spirals her tongue around the base, caressing with warm, wet, long strokes. At the same time she grazes his balls with her nails, smiling as she feels them tighten. When he becomes more than a mouthful, she holds him with her fingers, takes his balls in her mouth and sucks gently. One hand is on his thigh holding him to the seat.

Unfortunately, she can hear that the phone conversation is not going well... There seem to be a lot of pauses and he keeps asking for the information again. His breathing is changing too, getting deeper and harder. Obviously the person on the other end notices this, as she hears him say that all is fine but something has come up and he'll call him back later. She registers this as she's warming to the task in hand, sucking hard on the engorged purple, whilst her fingers move rapidly up and down the shaft. Something in his tone sends a warning.

She releases him, dives out from under the table..runs to the door. He's quick too, but the wrong side of the table and slightly disadvantaged his huge cock, still tumescent and angry.

He catches up with her in the orchard. His body calmer as she nips in and out of the apple trees, making it difficult for him to grab her. She is laughing so much that her voice is breaking as she teases and goads him. Her full breasts straining at the sheer blouse, her long legs skipping, foal like, in the knee high grass. Clouds of pollen follow in her wake and he seems to forget to be annoyed. He joins in.

Hiding behind a big tree, he waits for her to appear, he'll never catch her on speed, he needs cunning. A wolf to her vixen.

As she rounds the trunk, calling, he catches her by the waist and takes her mouth, treacherously gentle. She responds in kind, glad to be forgiven, opening her soft lips to receive his searching tongue, contrite.

Instead of putting his arms about her, he holds her hands in his, first down by her sides, then gradually lifting them. Kissing her sweetly, kindly, deceptively. When her arms are stretched above her head and her breasts are lifted too, eager nipples hardening with anticipation through the material of her blouse onto his bare chest, he shows his duplicity.

With a deft, strong movement he grasps her tiny wrists in one hand and forces her around so that she is facing the tree. Her profile against the rough bark. She struggles, but he is firm.

With his free hand he tears off the flimsy skirt and pulls down her cami knickers to half mast around her knees. She feels the sunshine on her soft, peachy buttocks a second before his hand. It is her turn to swear.

As he spanks her thoroughly, expertly, he's whispering in her ear. She can't be in charge all the time.. His words soft, breath in her hair, hand hard. As her bottom begins to glow with the deep heat, he changes pace, mixing firm, strong strokes with a lighter, crisper smacks.

At first she angrily tells him to stop, then asks him to, but this man is a master and soon she is begging. Her stance has changed, he is still holding her wrists, but he doesn't need to. She is presenting herself. Legs slightly apart, ramrod straight, bright, red buttocks raised to welcome each stroke. Gradually he slows the pace and the intensity of the caress until it is a whisper of a glance of his finger tips. She is making soft noises now. He releases wrists but they stay in place. His two hands cup her throbbing cheeks, one dips between her thighs and he is pleased to discover that she is hot, sticky and bubbling for him.

Did I hurt you?

Just enough.

Then his hands stop their caressing and pause a note before he grips each scarlet apple hard, digging his nails into the hot, tender flesh.

She screams out in pain and pleasure, and turns on him. He sees her eyes flash and narrow, her swollen lips move in. Possessed. Again the pause, they are even. He takes her in his arms and she meets him. Both overcome by a hunger that is all consuming. He sees nothing but her, she can feel nothing but him. Her cunt is aching to be filled by the huge, throbbing cock that is now pressed against her tummy. It is on the wrong side of her.

They drop to their knees. Mouths melded together, clawing and grabbing each other. There is no space for the light. No time or place for showing off or clever tricks. This is sex, pure and simple fucking. Animal and primal. He pushes her back in the the bed of grass and climbs into her. Her oily pussy grips him hard and her nails dig into his flesh on his back. She widens her thighs as far as possible, she needs all of him. As he thrusts, she meets him. Each stroke to the extreme entrance and exit. She clasps her legs around his body, drawing him deeper, harder, faster.... Suddenly he looks into her eyes, he is on the cusp and she agrees. They let go and come together in an orgasm of such intensity the world stops for them. He forges into the deepest part of her, drenching her with his semen. She cries his name as her cunt melts around him, quickening and pulsing. He shouts hers.

For a time after the final shudders and spasms have stopped they are silent and still. Minutes or hours?

He leans over and kisses her with such tenderness that she gasps and looking up he can see that, for the first time, she has set aside her guard ...