A Woman of Passion

A note from the author: Once upon a time I lived in France, an interlude that gave me a special appreciation of many things French, including an admiration of French attitudes toward love and sex. Where else in the world can one find people who spend hours arguing about the fundamental nature of eroticism? So here is a French story, a story of some people in Paris, the City of Light.

Germaine Boller was a woman who had risen by strength of purpose to become a successful journalist in Paris. She was now an editor at one of the large daily newspapers. She no longer roamed France as a correspondent, but she was still young and much admired by her colleagues for both her intelligence and her beauty. She was half Algerian, with dark hair and dark eyes and a chic figure the envy of women half her age. For many years she had been the mistress of Albert Kleber, the man who owned the newspaper where she was employed, and although the liaison had certainly assisted Germaine in her career, her attachment to her chief was governed more by pleasure than expedience. For Albert Kleber was a skillful lover, sophisticated and adventurous. Even if these days their passion seemed to have mellowed a bit, Germaine always found an evening with Albert enchanting.

Unfortunately, the enchanted evenings were too infrequent for Germaine. She did not blame Albert because after all she was nearly twenty years older than when they had first met. It was understandable that a man's passion might wane. She recognized that his interests may have naturally turned to younger women. She was a realist, priding herself on her direct attitude toward life. Albert still considered her his mistress, as evidenced by the many presents and attentions he bestowed upon her, but Germaine suspected that before long he would no longer demand that she be his and his alone. She had never married, and she had no intention of marrying, but she hoped that after Albert there might be another man of consequence to replace him. She was not certain of it, and at times she felt depressed as she contemplated an unknown future.

One day, in the Cafe des Deux Magots on the Left Bank, Germaine encountered Irma, an old friend. They had known each other during Germaine's younger years, when Germaine had lived for a brief time in Bordeaux. Irma had married an apparently successful factory manager, and she now lived in Paris with her husband and son. The reunion of the two women was casual but pleasant, extending longer than either expected.

Eventually, as Germaine and Irma sat at the caf‚ table and talked, a young man entered the cafe and approached the table. "Hello, Maman." Irma introduced her son to Germaine.

His name was Lucien and he was quite handsome. Germaine, in fact, thought him a beautiful young man, barely twenty, tall, slender, with dark passionate eyes and lips that occasionally curled with a look of half amusement and half arrogance. Irma had been waiting for Lucien, and now that he had arrived, she bade goodby to Germaine with a casual promise to telephone her soon for another meeting. Germaine did not expect her to telephone. Their lives were quite different, and she suspected Irma was not that comfortable with women who had successful careers.

Germaine's intuition was correct -- Irma did not telephone. But nearly a month later, as Germaine sat waiting for a friend in a cafe in Montparnasse, a young man approached her table.

"Don't you remember me?" he said.

It was Lucien, Irma's son. He sat at her table and they chatted awhile. Germaine learned he had developed an interest in a career as a journalist, and they talked of the possibilities.

Then Germaine said: "I'm meeting someone here. But why don't you visit me some afternoon when you finish classes at the university. Would you like that?"

"Yes!"

She gave him her address in the Montmartre district, and they agreed he would come to her apartment the following Wednesday.

As he left her, Germaine was again struck by his appearance, his youthful vibrant masculinity. Would he indeed visit her? She hoped he would; she wanted to see him again. He was half her age, but he had maturity in his eyes -- and he had certainly stared at her breasts. Did she dare consider a flirtation with a boy like this one? The son of an old acquaintance? The idea amused her.

Late Wednesday afternoon, Lucien came calling at Germaine's flat. She had been working on an article, and she had actually forgotten about her invitation. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Lucien standing at the threshold, and then she remembered and she smiled.

"Well, you came after all."

"Is it inconvenient?"

"No, of course not. Please come in. I'll make tea and we'll talk about your studies."

He seemed ill at ease at first, but soon his equanimity returned and his lips were again curling with that delicious arrogance she had noticed the first time they had met.

"Are you always at home?" he asked. "Don't you have an office?"

Germaine laughed. "Yes, of course. Would you rather we meet there?"

"I suppose it would be too public."

"And you don't want that?"

"I don't know."

They sat on the sofa and talked about his studies. His eyes were constantly on her breasts, her knees, her ankles. Did she want him? She wasn't quite certain. He was so young. Perhaps he would be too clumsy. But his appearance was magnificent. Yes, he was beautiful. Several times she found herself glancing at his lap.

After she poured their second cup of tea, he leaned toward her and kissed her. He caught her by surprise, his lips merely touching the side of her mouth.

"Don't be rash," she said.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

"That's absurd."

"No, it's true."

He kissed her again, but this time she expected it. She did not push him away. "My dear boy, I'm old enough to be your mother."

"I've thought about you for days."

"Are you lying?"

"Every day and every night."

"What do you think will come of this?"

"I don't know."

"Kiss me again." His lips were hot, moist, passionate. For a moment she welded her mouth to his as though to eat him alive. Then she broke away. "This is ridiculous."

"No, it's not. I think it's perfect."

She knew she could not resist him -- he was too tempting. When he kissed her again, she took one of his hands and moved it to her breasts. He fondled the contours of her breasts from outside her dress, and then his fingers hesitated at the buttons.

"Go on," she said. "I want it." She held still as he undid the buttons one after the other. His eyes were hot as he pushed the dress off her shoulders to expose her full breasts firmly encased in a lace brassiere. "It opens in front," she said. He fumbled with the clasp at first, but then finally the hook was freed and her brassiere fell away from her breasts like two shells uncovering their treasures.

He kissed her, and as he did so, she dropped her hand to find the warm flesh of his already rigid manhood. As he continued kissing her, his hands caressing her breasts, she unzipped his fly and released the rock-hard proof of his masculinity. She took hold of it and manipulated it, stroking her fist slowly up and down. He was well-made, of ample proportions, a perfect cock. Then she removed her lips from his, and she adjusted her body on the sofa so that she could take the shaft of his penis in her mouth.

As her lips slid over the end of his organ, she had the feeling he expected it, that he knew from the first flirtation that this would be the outcome, that he was not surprised that she now had his penis in her mouth, her tongue swirling over the fat knob. Perhaps she ought to have been bothered by his arrogant expectation that she would yield so easily, but she was too consumed by the thrill of having her mouth filled with his hard flesh. Sucking a vigorous cock always provided her the most intense ecstasies, and at this moment she had no concern for what he might think or not think. He was handsome, young, and virile enough to excite her.

As she sucked, her tongue licked and savored his tumescent flesh. Her lips pulled back and slid forward over the head and shaft. She could feel his hand on top of her head gently easing her this way or that way to afford him the maximum pleasure. He was only twenty, but he was obviously old enough to know what he wanted.

"That's good," he sighed.

She grunted, pleased that she was giving him pleasure. She slipped his penis out of her mouth, but continued licking at the head with her tongue. "You have a lovely cock."

"Does the taste please you?"

"It's delicious!" She took the head in her mouth again, rolled her tongue around it and sucked hard enough to pucker her cheeks.

Then she heard him gasp, and a moment later the flesh in her mouth snapped and spurted its load of milky liquid down her throat. He urged her to suck, gently pushing her face more tightly against his crotch, almost forcing the head of penis against her tonsils. She sucked and swallowed until she was certain she had consumed the last drop of his ejaculation. He arched his hips one last time, and finally it was over.

* * *

And so Germaine began an affair with young Lucien, the son of her friend Irma. They met two or three times a week, sometimes in a cafe, more often in her flat. When they were together, they passed long afternoons and evenings in a leisurely sexual romp. Sometimes they made love in a frenzy, with a complete absence of the languor she usually enjoyed.

One day he arrived at her apartment only a few minutes after she herself had returned home. While they were both dressed, she quickly opened his trousers and exposed his penis. In the living room, he leaned against a table as she sat on a chair at his side and bent to engulf his thick organ with her mouth. Her fingers made a tight ring around the base of the organ as she slid her lips up and down over the head and the upper part of the shaft. His cock seemed enormous in her mouth, a swollen pole of masculine flesh. Because of the way he slouched against the table, he was able to press his face against her coiffeur. She could hear his heavy breathing as she sucked him, each sound of pleasure, each groan in response to what her mouth accomplished with his penis.

Finally she pulled her mouth away. "Stand up," she said. And when he did so, she hurriedly unbuckled the belt of his trousers and tugged his trousers down to his knees. Now she sat on a low ottoman as he stood before her with his magnificent cock curving upward from the vent in his white briefs. She took him again, arching forward, her right hand clasping the base of his penis as her mouth worked on his hot flesh. She sucked with art and experience, her head bobbing, her lips tightening each time she pulled back to the fat tip.

Then she wanted him naked. She herself now stripped her clothes off, everything except her blouse and shoes. As he leaned against the wall with his hands behind his hips, she crouched with one knee on the floor and the other knee raised, her body extended forward, her hand grasping his cock to point it upward as she filled her mouth with the tip. He moved his loins, thrusting gently into her mouth, pulling back, thrusting again.

Later he took her on the floor, her legs raised high, his hands grasping her ankles as he squatted to penetrate her with his thick scepter. In this position, she felt each thrust as an incredibly deep penetration piercing her vitals. She came long before he did, then came again when he finally spurted. Her mouth slack and wet from all the sucking she had done, she cried out as she felt him gushing in her channel.

* * *

Lucien was not an innocent. His life revolved around the women he knew, and he found each of them a happy antidote to boredom. When he was not with Germaine, he devoted himself to one girl after another. A classmate named Anne, a strange beautiful girl with haunting eyes, was ready to make love whenever he wished it. They would lie on the torn sofa in her filthy little room in Rue Mouffetard, listening to records, kissing, smoking, fondling each other. She was like an immature gazelle compared to Germaine. Lucien liked to have Anne seated on his lap when they were both naked. She would sit with her back against his chest, her thighs straddling his legs, her sex filled with his thick penis. Across the room, leaning against the opposite wall, was a tall cracked mirror that showed their coupling. He would fondle her small breasts as she used the fingers of both hands to caress herself. The base of his penis looked like a pink truncheon stuffed inside her body. His balls dangled, one testicle lower than the other.

One day as they sat connected this way, Anne suggested he put his penis in her ass.

"I've never done it," she said. "I want to see what it's like."

"You're perverted," he teased.

"And you? Have you ever done it?"

"Yes of course."

"To whom? Tell me!"

But Lucien did not want to talk about his other women. He was afraid Anne's jealousy would ruin his pleasure. Instead, he asked if she had any olive oil, explaining it could not be done without a lubricant. "The pain would be too much for you."

"Oil? No, there's no oil here. But I have some lip ointment."

They used the entire tube of lip ointment, Anne with a flushed face as she carefully applied it to Lucien's rigid penis. "I think this will kill me," she said. If I die, promise me you won't tell anyone how it happened."

Lucien assured her she would not die. He helped her mount him again, and this time he held his penis with his hand as she positioned her anus over the tip. She pressed down, grunted, pressed down again, and gradually her anus engulfed all of his cock until her buttocks came to rest on his belly.

"It's awful," she said. "I feel as though I'm about to be split apart."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, not any more. But don't move. I'm afraid if you move I'll die."

But when Lucien gazed at their images in the mirror, he could not help moving. He did it gently at first, merely squirming his hips, each movement causing his penis to slide a bit further in or out of her stretched anus. Anne groaned but she did not complain, and soon he was able to move his organ more directly, his eyes fixed on the mirror, Anne leaning back with her head draped over his shoulder and her face lifted to the cracked ceiling. When she felt him spurting in her bowels, she gave a long wail and desperately rubbed her clitoris to provoke her own orgasm. For a long time, they lay connected on the sofa, unwilling to separate their bodies.

* * *

In the darkness of a cinema, Lucien put his left hand on Germaine's knee. "I like being with you," he whispered.

She gripped his shoulder. "I adore you, darling."

He shifted his body towards her, slid his left hand behind the small of her back and moved his right hand under her skirt and along her thigh. "The legs of a goddess," he murmured. His hand slowly moved above the top of her stocking until his fingers touched her belly. Germaine felt safe in the darkness, and she slid forward slightly on the seat and spread her thighs. Immediately, his fingers caressed her sex through her panties. She moaned softly. "Darling, be careful. We don't want to be arrested!"

Lucien could feel the prickly hairs of her sex through the damp nylon. He could also smell her. She was the first woman he had known who could tantalize him with her scent. Was it because she was old enough to be his mother? The smell of her sex rose in delicious waves to his nostrils. He was unable to get his fingers beneath the legband of her panties, so instead he slid his hand up to massage her lower belly.

Germaine sighed deeply, then exhaled, drawing her belly in, loosening the waistband to allow his fingers to get under it. "Pull them down," she whispered, her voice husky with passion. "If you do it carefully, no one will notice."

It was true. The nearest person in the cinema sat three rows in front of them. The old woman who had led them to their seats was nowhere to be seen.

Germaine lifted her hips, enabling Lucien to pull her panties down to her thighs. Then she used her own hands to pull them down her calves and off her feet. After stuffing the panties inside her purse, she leaned back and spread her thighs again.

Lucien's hand returned under her dress, and his fingers at once moved to play in her humid sex. He cleverly searched out her clitoris, and Germaine moaned as he gently rubbed it.

"What a scandal!" she whispered. "I haven't done anything like this in years!" She pushed her pelvis forward on the seat a bit more, allowing his fingers to reach everywhere. With her right hand, she fumbled with the zipper tab of his trousers.

"You'd better have a handkerchief ready, darling." She unzipped his trousers and brought his turgid penis out to fondle it. "Mmm, you're marvelously stiff."

"And you're like a lake," he whispered. "I wish I could get my nose in it!"

"Later, darling. We'll do everything when we get home."

She slid her buttocks back and forth on the seat, making love to his fingers without moving her shoulders, her hand slowly stroking his penis at the same time. She came quickly, grinding her sex against his hand, moaning and sighing in the darkness. As he continued the pressure on her clitoris, she came again.

"Oh Lucien!" she cried softly. "I wish we were in my bed. Are you close, darling? Never mind the handkerchief, I'll take it with my mouth."

Her audacity shocked him. "Better do it now... Oh God!"

He moved back from her, and immediately she dropped her head down to engulf his cock. She sucked it greedily, and in a moment he started spurting in her mouth.

They left the cinema long before the end of the film, causing the old woman outside the door to glare at them for making a disturbance. Tugging at Lucien's hand, Germaine hurried him into a taxi and ordered the driver to Place de Clichy.

"Stay with me tonight," she said to Lucien.

He smiled. "Do I have a choice?"

"I'll make sure the maid wakes you in time for your class." Germaine kissed him. She would not tolerate a refusal. She wanted him in her bed all night.

When they arrived at her house, he put his arm around her as they walked to her bedroom.

"Let me undress you," he said.

"Yes!"

Her eyes glittering with love and passion, she watched him as he fumbled with zippers and removed her dress. She turned to give him access to the fasteners on her brassiere, then turned again into his arms, pressing her belly against his thumping penis as he fondled her breasts. He bent his head to kiss and lick her nipples, his wet tongue sliding upward to the side of her neck and into her ear.

Germaine trembled with joyous expectation. Together they pulled the covers down to the foot of the bed, and she lay in the center, watching him as he stripped off his clothes. When he settled beside her, he ran his fingers over her belly as he kissed her eyes and ears and lips. His fingers probed her sex, his thumb circling the base of her clitoris. She moved against him, shifting her buttocks off the bed to pump her sex against his hand. She was now in a state of sustained ecstasy, a delicious orgasm warming her vitals. "Put it inside me, darling! Please..."

But he refused. He wanted to caress her first. While he mouthed her breasts, he pulled two pillows under the small of her back. He slid his wet mouth over the slopes of her breasts and down to her belly. Her body responded to his warm lips with spasms of delight. He kissed and licked her navel, then moved again until his mouth reached the hairs of her sex. Sliding over her outstretched leg to lie between her thighs, he kissed the top of her sex and worked his tongue beneath the clitoral hood.

She moaned, urging him on, telling him how much she adored the feel of his tongue on her flesh. What an enchanting lover he was. so young and so magnificent. Her body seemed filled with a joyous warmth radiating out from her sex. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his face more firmly against her cunt, working her ass up and down to aid his foraging tongue. She marveled at his skill. He was so young, and yet he knew so much! Raising her legs in the air, she pressed her knees against her breasts and opened her inflamed sex to his mouth. A great shiver of excitement swept up her thighs and into her belly as his tongue fluttered downward to the sensitive area between her vagina and her anus. He kissed her there, directly on the tight opening, his tongue making small circles around the ring, then jabbing inside the sphincter. She moaned in anguished joy. "Oh Lucien!"