Genevieve

FATIMA Pt. 1: GENEVIEVE

This story is a follow-up to

Jade

. I have divided it into three parts: Genevieve, Hermione and Masoumeh. The first two parts are fictional, but only in the sense that they didn't actually happen. That they might have happened (or that my wife and I wished for them to happen) is a different matter entirely. The third part did indeed come to pass - and not that long ago. Not exactly in the timeframe I have given it, since the story form enabled me to compress what happened over a longer period of time into a single evening to enhance the dramatic effect. I hope you enjoy it all as much as my wife and I did...

1

Hunter's divorce from Jade was, as Fatima expected, if not Hunter, a rather messy affair. At first, it had been hoped that things would be made easier by the simple fact that Jade would marry Fatima's ex, Marc. That was the plan, as Jade announced it to Hunter when it became clear to her that he was going to leave her for the Pakistani woman, who, at 26, was young enough to be his daughter.

Mind you, Jade herself had only just turned 30 - a landmark which she chose not to celebrate, given that it fell right in the middle of this mess. In her heart of hearts, Jade knew she could never marry a dork like Marc. Not only was he immature and extremely limited intellectually, but in Jade's eyes he carried the blame for her break-up with Hunter. For, in that small-minded and vindictive way of hers which had come to irritate Hunter, she considered him responsible for introducing Hunter to Fatima.

Never once did she stop to think that it was

she

who had seduced Marc in her dental surgery,

she

who had made him phone his wife to tell her he'd be late while she was fellating him,

she

who had suggested to her husband that they have them over for dinner - because

she

fancied the idea of introducing (or so she thought) the Pakistani woman to lesbian love.

Anyway, the settlement had been made and, after the dust had settled, Hunter had married Fatima. It was a quiet registry office affair, followed by dinner at a local restaurant with Hunter's daughter by his first marriage, Hayley, and half a dozen or so of Hunter and Fatima's closest friends. For their honeymoon, they had opted for the south of France, which Hunter loved to visit in the winter months.

They chose a converted chateau near Antibes - the sort of hotel which had changed so little over the past hundred years that you half expected F Scott Fitzgerald to come breezing onto the terrace for early evening drinks. Although it was March, the weather was mild and the hotel was, it appeared, full. Most of the clientele were middle-aged or of even more advanced years. The guests came from a variety of countries, with Europe being especially well represented. As he moved from one food station to the next at breakfast, Hunter could hear Italian, German and what he took to be Swedish voices, as well as French and English.

The newlyweds hired bikes and enjoyed the beautiful views over the Mediterranean and of the hills that rise between the sea and the Maritime Alps. Starting with easy rides that took in neighbouring Juan-les-Pins and the promenade towards Nice, they graduated during their stay to inland rides with tougher gradients, which took them to picturesque villages with charming names such as Saint-Paul-de-Vence and Roquefort-les-Pins.

At night - and sometimes during the day - they made love with a passion that had scarcely abated in the six months since they had first met. They had talked quite candidly about the sort of marriage they wished to have. Children were not on the agenda for Fatima - not until she was thirty, at least - and Hunter was quite happy with that. Aware that they had got together in the first place as a result of an evening of wife-swapping, they knew both the positive and the negative side of such liaisons.

Sensing that Fatima, so much younger than he was and possessed of a pulsating bisexuality, would feel constrained in a traditional relationship, Hunter took the trouble to coax from her what he could be satisfied were her true feelings. The age difference, she assured him, wasn't a problem. She couldn't imagine ever lusting after another man.

Hunter picked up quickly on the implicit message that Fatima was sending him; he had witnessed first-hand the incredible sex she had had with Jade (first in the shower, then on the bed). She would need female lovers to satisfy that side of her multifaceted persona. Broaching the subject with her directly, he told her that he wouldn't stand in her way if she needed to 'look after her Sapphic side.'

'Do you mean that, Hunter?' Fatima asked, her expression unsmiling, but merely thoughtful, not unfriendly.

'Of course, my dear,' he responded, running his fingers through her beautiful raven hair.

'I am ready,' she said with a quietness that couldn't hide her steely determination.

'Ah,' Hunter replied. 'Someone here?'

'Yes - the chambermaid.'

Hunter endeavoured to bring to mind any memories he might have of such a person but was unable to. The room had always been cleaned while he and Fatima were out. At least, so far as he could remember. Seeing her husband searching vainly through his memory bank, Fatima decided to help him out.

'It was the first morning, when you woke up early and decided to go for a run before breakfast. Perhaps the maid saw you leaving the room and thought that it was empty. She knocked on the door and I went to answer it, thinking it was you, having forgotten something, your room key, perhaps. I opened the door dressed only in the negligee you had bought me for this trip. The girl stood there, open-mouthed, trying to apologise, but finding that the words just would not come out. With a mumbled "Excusez moi!", she ran off down the corridor.'

'Have you seen her since?' asked Hunter, utterly engaged in his wife's story.

'I ran into her in the reception area yesterday afternoon when we returned from our bike ride and I went to see if they had something for the insect bite I'd got on my arm. Actually, it was she who nearly ran into me. She was just coming off duty and was in a rush. Perhaps her boyfriend had come to pick her up and she didn't like to keep him waiting. She was wearing a pair of washed cut-off jeans and a white T-shirt under a burgundy leather jacket. Even in the short time I had before she disappeared through the entrance, once again murmuring "Excusez moi", I could see that she wasn't wearing a bra.'

'Wow!' said Hunter. 'Talk about being in the right place at the right time!'

'Yes, Hunter,' Fatima added with almost frightening intensity. 'I believe fate had brought us together for a purpose. I would very much like to make love to her.'

Hunter stood beside his wife, uncertain whether to put his arms round her, for fear that he might somehow break the spell. Not just for her, but for himself too.

'What do you intend to do,' he asked, almost in a whisper, now her co-conspirator.

'I have asked the receptionist to give her a message. I learned that her name is Genevieve.'

'And what message did you ask her to give her?'

'I asked her to make our room the last she cleans tomorrow. I told the receptionist that we would want to sleep in, as we were going to be out late tonight.'

'She said she would pass the message on, and that I should expect her at around eleven o'clock, if that was all right with us. I told her that would be perfect.'

'Right,' said Hunter, 'I'll be sure to make myself scarce by ten fifteen, just to be on the safe side. I can go to town to get a few bits and pieces to take home for Hayley.'

'You know I would like you to be there with me, don't you?' said Fatima, embracing Hunter and feeling his erection against her stomach.

'Yes, darling,' he told her, though he was far from certain that this was what she really wanted.

'Will you wear the negligee?' he asked her, for want of something better to say - his imagination fired by the idea of the two of them together.

'Yes,' she answered simply. 'I know it will drive her mad.'

There was one more question Hunter wanted to ask. Fatima could see it forming in his head, awaiting expression. She decided to show him how well she knew him by answering him before the question had even been asked.

'Yes, she wears a chambermaid's uniform. But not the type women wear at fancy-dress parties. It's a simple dress, grey with white collar and cuffs. It has a white apron tied around the waist.'

It was only ten o'clock in the morning and they had planned to go for a drive in their rental car along the coast road to St Tropez and Le Lavandou, then back cross-country to Cannes, where they would have lunch. But suddenly, neither of them had any appetite for a car journey. They were hungry only for one another.

Reaching down, Fatima grabbed hold of Hunter's penis. She held it tightly, whispering in his ear, telling him that he was a very bad man for getting so turned on at the idea of his wife making love to another woman.

'Or is it the idea of being alone with the maid that is turning you on so much?' she asked him.

Rather than answer her, Hunter lifted her up and carried her to the bed. It was like their first night at the chateau, when Hunter had carried his new wife across the threshold before laying her gently on the bed. This time, there was to be no such gentleness. It wasn't like he threw her onto the bed (Hunter didn't have that in his DNA); more like he wanted to let her know that gentleness was off the menu in this particular encounter.

He kicked off his espadrilles and made short work of his trousers and pants. His column leapt free, pointing unerringly at Fatima's centre. He tore off his jacket and his shirt and stood there like a male model, flexing his biceps and his abs in turn.

'Your turn,' he said, speaking to Fatima with a brusqueness she wasn't used to.

Kneeling on the bed, she turned to him and asked wordlessly for help in unzipping her dress. Hunter acquiesced, then stepped back to watch her finish the job. Fatima understood that her husband wanted to teach her a lesson, to show her that he wasn't a soft touch. She had to admit she found the new Hunter very alluring, worth putting on a bit of a show for.

Slipping the straps of her poppy coloured midi dress off her shoulders, she pulled the fitted crepe bodice down to her waist, revealing her firm breasts with their proud dark brown nipples. Leaning down so that her head was on the bed, she lewdly pulled down the softly gathered chiffon skirt, just far enough to reveal the matching orange panties she was wearing.

Still wearing her chunky heeled mule sandals with their clear broad straps, Fatima slid the dress over her feet, off the bed and onto the floor. Hunter remained where he was, his penis twitching intermittently, uninterested in doing any tidying up.

'That is a job for the chambermaid,' he told himself with a smile, the very use of the word causing his eight-inch weapon to judder violently.

Not much material covered Fatima's ass cheeks. What there was had bunched up into the crack between her buttocks, providing very little protection to her puckered asshole and her moist cunny alike. Before pulling the flimsy loin covering off, Fatima looked over her shoulder at her husband, opening her mouth slightly and letting her tongue run over first her lower and then her upper lip.

'Like what you see?' she asked redundantly, raising her ass higher in the air, goading him into stepping across the yard or so that separated them and driving his shaft inside her.

Hunter wasn't falling for that trick, though, however much the sight of her barely covered ass was working its magic on him. Fatima hadn't finished with him yet, using her hands with their turquoise fingernails to part her ass cheeks as far as she could pull them. The effect on the thin bit of flimsy orange cotton was to constrict it still further, so much that it appeared now to be no wider than a piece of ribbon. Hunter could make out her bulbous outer lips, which had been splayed outwards by the action of the stretched panty material. It would be the easiest thing in the world for him to push the cotton to one side and drive his penis into her pussy.

But Hunter was made of sterner stuff than her ex-husband Marc, as Fatima was learning; in fact, as she had known all along.

'Take your panties off,' Hunter told her, his voice even and a little flat - unnaturally flat, as if he was trying to keep a tremor from entering it.

Fatima started to turn round so she could get the job done, but Hunter told her to stay where she was.

'Push them down as far as they will go,' he told her, the words coming out of his mouth slowly and deliberately.

Fatima pushed them down to her knees.

'Okay,' Hunter said. 'I can take over from here.'

He rested his knees against the bed and pulled the panties off without fuss or commentary, leaving her sandals in place. He'd never made love to a woman who was wearing shoes on a bed before, but, he thought, there was a first time for everything. As far as preliminaries were concerned, Hunter had only one thought on his mind, and that was staring him in the face. He would eat her out slowly and tenderly. As soon as she started to come he would ram himself into her tight box - that box which in 24 hours' time would be in the possession of the French chambermaid.

Fatima waited patiently for him to get to work with his tongue. Now was hardly the time to tell him that the most magical cunnilingus she had ever received had come at the hands of his ex-wife Jade, on the very day that she had first met him. He was far from inadequate, but lacked that special something which in her experience only another woman could provide. It was probably just as well that Hunter didn't know what she was thinking, but, on the other hand, as she was quite aware by now, he was that rare thing among men - one who had great self-confidence and scarcely an iota of insecurity. What a contrast he made to Marc!

He decided to come at her face first so that while he licked her folds his nose would come into contact with her fragrant asshole. When his tongue landed on her dark flaps, she sighed contentedly and knew that she was going to get her money's worth. All the talk of the chambermaid had unlocked something within him. She very much hoped that it would be his inner beast.

Hunter adjusted his position so that he could inhale her musky fragrance, using his fingers to gently prise apart her petals. He took several drafts of her aroma, then surprised Fatima by pushing his nose a little way inside her. She gasped and marvelled at his creativity, as the soft part at the end of his nose bobbed in and out of her rapidly moistening vagina. Sensing her growing arousal, he continued to penetrate her slick hole, making small, but not insignificant, advances into her outer chamber.

Judging that the time was ripe, Hunter replaced his nose with his tongue, flicking out at her soft flesh as if he were a serpent tasting the air. Reaching out, he placed his hands on her full breasts, squeezing them and letting his fingers seek out her firm, stubby nipples. Fatima groaned, finding herself forced to reevaluate her estimation of her husband's oral skills.

Now that he had her where he wanted her, the Australian unleashed a brutal assault on her flooded pussy, being careful to match his tempo to the snakelike movements of her body, as the orgasm started to well up inside her.

'Oh, fuck!' she cried, knowing that the end was nigh.

Pinching her now distended nipples with no thought for her comfort, Hunter doubled down on his tongue work, determined to ride her orgasm like the waves he had surfed back home in Sydney. Fatima (her eyes closed and her hands clenched tight in the folds of the duvet) felt herself spinning away like a top that has been released by its wooden rod.

The analogy could not have been more apt, as Hunter repositioned himself in an instant and powered his aching cock deep inside her. The sensation was overwhelming. However often she felt Hunter inside her, she could never get used to its sheer size. For a moment, she was in danger of climaxing once more, just seconds after her first tumultuous orgasm. But neither of them wanted that and Hunter quickly established a rhythm, which he knew would keep her at a steady simmer without boiling over.

'Oh, yes, darling!' she breathed. 'Make me feel the way no one else can ever make me feel.'

Delighting in their synergy, Hunter kept her impaled on his skewer, thoughts of the pleasure she would obtain when she brought the pretty chambermaid to a place of total submission flashing across his mind. Abandoning herself to her fate, she raised herself on her hands so she could better meet his powerful strokes and offer something by way of resistance in return. Deeper still he went, when any further advance had seemed physically impossible.

'I'm coming!' he alerted her, so she could synchronise her own climax with his own.

In the event, he might have dispensed with the warning, as she had held out by sheer force of will for far longer than she had thought humanly possible.

'Yes! Oh, yes!' she cried, as her defences were finally breached.

With a bestial roar, Hunter unloaded himself inside her, wave after wave of his semen depositing itself in her depths. As she slumped back onto the bed, he stayed inside her for a full five minutes, until his shrunken tool slid out of her box. Then he too fell onto the bed - a spent force.

2

Hunter had hoped to visit the camp site in Le Lavandou where he had taken his first wife Mia and their daughter Hayley on holiday several times nearly 20 years ago, but he found the place completely changed. A tennis club occupied the site on the hill where the sprawling camp site had been. The pine trees which used to cover the sandy ground that sloped down to the beach, and under which families used to pitch their tents and park their caravans, were all gone too. But the biggest changes came in concrete: a new road, running parallel to the shoreline, cut through what used to be the centre of the camping ground, and tower blocks had sprouted up on every side. Only the beach remained more or less unchanged - and that only if you stood on the sand and looked out to sea wearing blinkers to block out the ugliness.

Ditching his original plan of eating in the town, Hunter drove the 50 minutes to the beachside restaurant on Pampelonne Beach near Ramatuelle, which Mia had discovered on their first trip. Finally, here was a place that had been spared the ravages of rampant development. His mood lightened, as they were shown to a table just a stone's throw from the sea, with their feet in the sand. They ordered clams with parsley and tuna tartare, and shared a tarte aux pommes for dessert. After taking a walk on the beach, they returned to their hotel via Saint-Maxime and Fréjus, having decided to give the tourist traps of Saint-Tropez and Saint-Raphael a wide berth.

They both felt like doing something before dinner. Fatima suggested a visit to the spa. Hunter wasn't so keen on the idea until she told him that it contained an indoor lap pool with a counter-current system. A keen swimmer in his youth, Hunter decided that this would suit him perfectly. In fact, it made up for the disappointment he had felt when he had been told by the concierge on the day of their arrival that the outdoor infinity pool with its superb views over the Mediterranean would not be opening for another couple of weeks.

Fatima in turn decided to splash out on an aromatherapeutic massage using Sodashi oils, the highlight of which promised to be an exfoliating foot rub. The gentle sounds of a sansula and Tibetan bowls would provide a suitably soothing background. Having fixed her appointment over the phone, Fatima took a shower, changed into a white blouse and a dark blue skirt and walked over to the spa with Hunter. Since her massage was slated to last for 80 minutes, they agreed to meet back at their room.