Hen Party

Writer's note - this is the fifth in what is intended to be a series of short stories about April - a petite, attractive, mature, married, redhead. Each story will stand in isolation though the length and depth are likely to develop with each new story so it might be best to start at the first story and work your way though.

This story takes April to Paris on her daughter's hen party.

All situations are imagined and any resemblance to real places or people is purely coincidental.

Finally, these stories are for publication on the Literotica Site only and just because I have shared them on Literotica does not mean I have given permission for them to be reproduced anywhere else.

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Hen party

April was in Paris for her daughter's (Lucy) hen party. There was a large group of them, about 25 including April. Moat of the other girls were Lucy's friends, though Karl's (the groom's) mom, Liz and aunt, Jane were also there.

They had started travelling at lunch time on the Friday, arriving at their hotel around tea time. They dispersed to their rooms and agreed that after unpacking they would change and meet in the bar in about an hour.

April hadn't fancied sharing with anyone so had paid a little extra for a room of her own and on arriving at her room she was glad she had because it had everything you would need, large bed, large robe, dresser, and unusually an en-suite that had a bath.

April put her clothes away, taking care to hang her best outfit and lingerie in the robe.

Tonight was going to be a casual night, the main activity planned for the Saturday, so taking a quick dip in the bath April straightened her hair (she would wash it the following day for the main evening), put on her make up and dressed - nice jeans, tight fitting top, over which she wore a green jacket, all finished off with matching green high heeled shoes and handbag. She went down to the bar.

The evening was a good laugh, lots of girly chat mostly about things that had happened in the past, recalling funny, sometimes racy, stories about their liaisons with young men, the good, the bad ... and the ugly!

As the night wore on and the drink flowed the conversation turned to the events planned for the following day.

It turned out that Lucy's friends had arranged a swim and sauna in the late morning, a light lunch, followed by a massage, manicure, make over and general pamper session late in the afternoon, just in time for them to get changed and meet in the small private function room at about 8pm, where some entertainment had been arranged.

April told one of the girls that she would give the swimming and sauna a miss, preferring instead to wash her hair in the morning, see a few sights of Paris and meet them for the make over later.

Liz asked if she and Jane could join her and of course April said they could.

It was now after 11pm so April finished her wine, explained she wanted to stay reasonably fresh for tomorrow and retired to her room. Liz and Jane decided to stay on.

April rose at about 9.30am, had light continental breakfast in her room and, once she had washed her hair, dressed for her day in Paris.

April loved Paris, the cosmopolitan feel of the city, the sophistication of Parisians, especially the women.

She dressed so that she too felt sophisticated, completely at home; tight red fitting pencil skirt over black lace briefs, matching suspender and stockings; nice, white, delicate blouse over lace black underwired bra, holding her ample breasts, clearly defined through her blouse; red heeled shoes and co-ordinated hand bag.

It was autumn so in addition she put in her favourite black "swing" coat, one that tapered in fitting tightly at the waist, but flaring out as it progressed to the hem, finishing just below the knee, the overall look pretty and sophisticated, complimenting April's petite but very female frame. Around her neck she added a red silk scarf to complete the look.

April looked in the mirror, she felt good, not bad for a woman in her late forties.

April glanced at the clock as she left her room, it was just after 11am. She went down the corridor and knocked on Liz's room. After a while the door opened and a head peeped round, the eyes dark, the make up smudged, the face of somebody who had stayed a little too late the previous evening.

It was clear April would be going alone, and although she liked Liz and Jane, she wasn't too disappointed.

April took the Metro to the centre, alighting near the Louvre. She entered the gallery and on surveying a summary of the temporary exhibits chose the work of modern, romanticist artist on the second floor.

Once at the exhibition area April was pleased to hear gentle Parisian café jazz playing in the background. She slowly walked around the room, surveying the art on display.

It was one of April's favourite styles, tall slim figures, male and female, in the elegant, sophisticated dress of the wealthy during the early 20th century. The theme was very much love, calmness, summer strolls along the banks of the Sienne, walks down the Champs Elyssee.

She noted that she was the only person in the room as she slowly strolled around, dreaming about the lifestyle depicted in the artist's work.

As April stood admiring one particular painting she felt a presence at her side, she turned and was slightly startled to see a man stood next to her.

He was tall, very tanned skin, maybe southern European in appearance, most definitely handsome, well defined, even chiselled features. He didn't move or speak, simply looked straight ahead at the painting.

April moved her glance from his face, down his clothes. He was a little younger than her, in his mid thirties perhaps, casually but very elegantly dressed, expensive, patent leather shoes, comfortable grey slacks, Ralph Loren polo shirt under an open Yves Saint Lauren overcoat, the belt of which was doubled up and fastened around the back. Under his arm he carried a copy of La Mondial. In his hands he held two cups of take away coffee.

Perhaps sensing April's gaze her turned to her, she looked straight into his piercing blue eyes, so clear, so beautiful, adding a purity to his handsome features.

"Bonjour madam,"

he spoke, as he held out one of the coffees, offering it to April,

"un café latte, avec un sucre, ouis?"

April just stood, motionless, unsure what to say.

He repeated his remark, "un café latte, avec un sucre, ouis?"

After a pause April managed to whisper,

"oh monsieur desole je ne parle pas French. Je suis l'anglais."

He looked visibly surprised at April's response and after holding her gaze for a few moments he then spoke, in English, though in a strong (and April thought gorgeous) French accent.

"English? Je suis choque. I am shocked,. You are so elegant, so sophisticated, so beautiful. Every centimetre a Parisian. But you are English?"

"Thank you for your compliments monsieur but yes I am English."

April replied, feeling a tinge of pink blush spreading across her cheeks.

He then continued, smiling warmly as he did so,

"ah, so be it, but there must be some French chic in your genes. This is a coffee latte, one sugar. Drink it while it's still hot, I suspect you like it hot."

April was a little lost for words, as he spoke again,

"I am so sorry madam, please forgive me, my name is Jean-Paul Pasqualie, and you are?"

"April," was the simple reply as she took the coffee cup from his still extended hand.

Now with one hand free of the coffee Jean-Paul took hold of April's hand, gently raising it to his lips and kissing it gently as he spoke,

"such a beautiful, sophisticated artist, his work so romantic, from days long gone. Such a perfect place for a madam such as you."

As Jean-Paul released her hand April let it drop by her side. He looked away, back at the painting and began to describe it out loud.

April stood in silence sipping her coffee as Jean-Paul described how the painting made him feel, each of his words a mirror of April's thoughts, every phrase echoing her own emotions.

After a few minutes he moved along to the next painting and stood motionless in front of it. April stood on the same spot for a few moments as she watched him look on the painting, eventually Jean-Paul began to speak, again describing his feelings about the painting, again a mirror of April's own.

She felt herself drawn towards him and moved until she was by his side. Jean-Paul glanced at her, smiling warmly before moving on to the next, this time April moving immediately with him.

This continued until they viewed all the exhibits.

At the last painting Jean-Paul took hold of one of April's hands, holding it his palm as he gently placed his other hand over the top of hers. He spoke,

"April, all the exhibits are now viewed, the artist's creations forever in our memory, but the day is young, will you walk with me around this beautiful city, create some memories of our own?"

After a brief pause, trying perhaps to gather her thoughts, April replied,

"Yes, I would love to."

The rest of the day was a blissful whirl-wind of the sights of Paris, the Eiffel Tower, The Champs Elysee, Arc d'Triumph, boat trip on the Sienne.

The conversation was mesmerising, April, opened up by his gentleness, his warmth, his feeling, his understanding of her, even though they had just met. She felt like one of those figures in the paintings at the Louvre.

April found out he was originally from St Tropez, age thirty two, taking a three year study break, living in Paris when studying, returning home in the holidays to LA where he lived with his American wife and two children, boy age eleven, girl aged thirteen.

April told him she was thirty nine (didn't want to tell him really forty eight), in Paris with friends for the weekend, married, living in north of England, three children, girl age twenty, boy age fifteen and girl age ten.

At around 4pm, having toured the sights of Paris, Jean-Paul suggested they rested and called a taxi, directing it to an area of the Champs Elyssee.

They alighted outside a small bar, and stepping out first Jean-Paul opened the door for April and held her hand to assist her.

Stepping inside the bar April was hit by the mellow atmosphere, the ambience created by the two piece jazz band playing in the corner, the small number of very sophisticated clientele. After nodding to the barman Jean-Paul led her over to a booth and they sat down. A few moments later the waiter arrived with a bottle of Lanson Black Label in an ice bucket, two glasses.

Not wanting to appear ungrateful, but also a little apprehensive, April explained that she couldn't stay long as she needed to meet up with her friends.

Jean-Paul explained that he understood that, that he too had to leave soon, but felt they had a special bond, that he had felt it from the moment he saw her in the Louvre, that it had been confirmed by their companionship that afternoon.

April had to accept that she felt this too. She simply nodded.

They sat, chatted, drank champagne and laughed for a further hour. Eventually Jean-Paul glanced at his watch, took hold of April's hands and explained he had to go.

He thanked April for her wonderful company, for the bond they had developed, for the brightening up his dull, study time in Paris. April just looked at him, at his handsome face, into his blue eyes, smiling.

Jean-Paul stood, and offered her his hand as April stepped out of the booth. Once outside he escorted her to the metro and as the train arrived her took her in his arms, held her gently, kissing her tenderly, but not Parisian style on her cheeks, this time tenderly, fully on her lips.

April felt her foot lift off the ground as he kissed her. After holding her for a few moments he released her, wished her bon voyage and stood on the platform, waving as her train left.

On the short journey back to the hotel April could think of nothing but Jean-Paul, his tenderness, his understanding of her, their natural bond, his dark, handsome feature, his accent, his piercing blue eyes.

By the time she reached her stop her thoughts had drifted further, to what lay under that flowing overcoat. She knew he had a good physique as she saw his broad shoulders as he took off his coat in the café bar, saw his Ralph Lauren polo shirt stretched taught over his chest, had even glanced down to his waist, sneaking a peak at his trousers, just below his belt.

April could feel herself getting aroused and she was grateful that it was only a short walk from the station to the hotel, even more grateful when she saw none of the girls were around.

Once in her room April threw off her coat at flopped back onto the bed. As she lay there she closed her eyes and began think of Jean-Paul, their time together, his handsome features, his gorgeous French accent.

April began to run her fingers up and down her legs, over stockings, slowly at first but then quickening her pace as she pushed them up under her skirt. As her hands moved up the inside of her thigh to her stocking tops she imagined they were his. Jean-Paul's.

She could feel them as they stroked at the bare flesh on the inside of her thighs, tickling her, teasing her. Feel his hands as they progressed to the side of her panties, lightly touching the lace edge. Feel his breath on the cheek of her face. Feel his lips as they touched hers.

April could now feel his hands as they pushed underneath her panties, fingers touching her flesh, one hand stroking her lips as the other moving up, gently parting the hood at the V of her lips, touching her special button.

April pushed her ass off the bed to meet his touch as his fingers began their small circular movements on her button, drawing his finger round and round, slightly pressing down on her, as his other hand stroked her lips, tracing just inside her, feeling her wetness.

She could feel as the tips of his fingers gently explored just inside her, feel them stroke across the wetness of her fleshy walls. Feel them as they pushed a little further in.

The feeling rapidly built inside her, the sensation of the stroking on her lips, the fingers just inside her, the pressure and movement on her button as she pushed her ass up and down off the bed, matching the strokes.

It didn't take long for the feeling of her impending climax to develop inside her, probably as a result of the desire he had built in her that afternoon and as the feeling became more intense the finger movements became more rapid, more energetic, pressing harder, her ass lifting further to meet them, until eventually she could hold back no more pushing her ass off the bed for one last time as his fingers, pressed hard on her button, she came, her climax tracing through her body.

April held her fingers there, savouring that intense feeling, until she fell limp into the soft bed, closing her eyes.

April was awoken by a banging on the door. She stood, walked over, opened it and was greeted by Liz.

Walking into the room Liz said.

"Where have you been? We've been worried, you were gone all afternoon. But never mind that now, come on you're late, the first show starts in ten minutes. Put these on and we will see you down stairs."

It was then that April noticed Liz was dressed as a Can-Can girl. She also noticed that over her arm she held a French Maids outfit and as she looked at it Liz handed it to her.

Sensing April's surprise Liz went on,

"we didn't tell you because we didn't think you would go along with it. The theme tonight is French Ladies. You are a maid. Don't worry it's a petite size, specially made for you, no expense spared. See you down stairs in ten."

As Liz left the room April thought that she didn't want to go, she wanted to stay and savour the feeling of sophistication, the dream that was now inside her but quickly realised she had no choice, this was after all her daughter's hen party.

She dressed, black fishnet stockings, black suspender belt, black skirt, white frill edge apron over the skirt. On the top it consisted of a white blouse, press-stud fasteners and a black apron that buttoned over her shoulders.

April thought it was tarty so underneath she wore her own pretty lace cream and black bra, integral bow, matching thong briefs, delicate lace edge at the side. She felt she needed to keep some of her sanity, to keep some sophistication within the tarty outfit.

As she put on her heeled, black shoes April looked in the mirror, surprisingly she looked good, the outfit suited her figure, making her sexy, raunchy, even suggestive. After straightening her hair and putting on her make up April left the room.

As she crossed through the bar towards the private party room she stopped and ordered a gin, noticing it was nearing ten o'clock she knocked it back, ordered another and walked into the party room.

On entering the room April could see, through the dim light, the girls stood, waving, shouting as a tall man danced in front of them, his body gyrating to the pumping music.

He was naked but for a thong brief, his back to April. She could see he was tall, over six foot, dark hair, tanned skin. His shoulders were broad, his back firm, muscular, tapering to his narrow waist. His firm buttocks clenched and released on top of taught, muscular, well defined legs as he gyrated in front of the girls.

The girls were all for it, screaming, yelling, trying to grope at his body, grab at his yet to be exposed manhood. He was doing his best to keep them off him, just about succeeding.

April moved forward just in time to see him rest his hands on the top of his briefs, yanking rapidly forward to release the specially designed poppers and pull them off, waving them around as he stood naked.

Most of the girls had by this time moved to the front to see his pride and joy, leaving April an almost free view of his back. She noted he was extremely fit. He was obviously experienced as to protect his pride and joy from the girls' grasps he turned his back to them, his front to April.

April stared straight at the top of his legs, at his manhood hanging long, thick, proud in front. She lifted her gaze up across his tanned, muscular torso, over his chest to his shoulders, to his face. In shock she came to rest on his beautiful, piercing blue eyes.

Under her breath she could hear herself whisper, "Jean-Paul."

April didn't think anybody had heard but she noticed him pause briefly and look up, perhaps hearing his name, keeping his head still for a moment, looking straight into her eyes.

April immediately turned and left the room via the fire exit door and as she did so she heard one of the girls say,

"hey April's only just joined us and she's drunk already."

She was soon outside in the coolness of the night. She leant her back against the wall of an alley so she could catch her breath.

As she gazed at the floor April could just about hear the girls shouting, "hey, where do you think you are going, we aren't done yet."

She heard the door open again. April lifted her head slightly, just enough to see Jean-Paul stood in the alley, a dressing robe thrown loosely around his still naked body, parts of his muscular chest still exposed. She lowered her head again, trying to gather her senses.

Jean-Paul turned and seeing April leaning against the wall he walked over to her. He reached her just as April raised her head and started to speak.

Jean-Paul placed a finger over he lips, telling her to shush, as he himself spoke, April even now still a little mesmerised by his gorgeous French accent.

Jean-Paul explained that he was indeed studying as he had told her but that he found it difficult financially. He needed to work, needed money to get help him through his studies so in his spare time he made use of one of his major assets, his appearance, his physique and stripped for small private parties, always all female.