A light rain fell as Derek travelled by taxi down the Rue Lafayette. It was mid-afternoon and the streets were strangely quiet. He felt as if he was on the brink of something momentous – an experience which would change the direction of his life and one he would not soon forget.
On the flight from New York, he had met a woman. Not just any woman. A creature of extraordinary qualities. Bright. Sophisticated. And sexy as hell. Nicole, he soon learned, was an editor who grew up in Paris and now lived in the 9th near Place Pigalle.
He'd noticed her immediately – petite with auburn hair and green, catlike eyes. She had the body of a ballerina with a slender waist and a superb ass. He managed to finagle a seat next to her and they talked throughout the flight. Their conversation on the plane, and the one that followed on the phone last night, would be etched permanently on his psyche.
She related the story of how she grew up in a liberated family in Paris. Her mother, a fashion model, loved to show off her exquisite body. She would entertain the beautiful people – actors, models, athletes – and parade around in revealing outfits. She would zero in on one man and then seduce him, stripping off her clothes seductively and then bringing him, and her, to the heights of sexual pleasure.
Nicole watched all this. She and her brother Pierre would peek through their mother's bedroom window from the balcony of their Parisian apartment. They would watch together as their mother performed fellatio and then fucked one man after another. They would huddle together and watch the men push her down onto the bed and fuck her mercilessly, pounding her until she screamed in ecstasy.
Nicole and her brother would get so turned on watching, she would practically cum right on the spot. It was no wonder their brother-sister relationship soon turned into something much more.
Nicole fell in lust with her brother, Derek learned. She'd dream about him, fantasize about him, and watch him as he too exposed his handsome body on the plage naturiste. She became so obsessed with him that she would finger herself to orgasm each night imagining him on top of her. Finally, after watching their mother performing soixante-neuf on a man and then fucking him wildly, the dam burst and she welcomed her brother into her bed.
A long, passionate affair ensued where Pierre would steal into Nicole's room every night. They would make passionate love, trying every position they had learned from their mother. Nicole was reticent to fuck at first – she was raised Catholic and thought it was sinful – so she became expert at giving head, sucking her brother so expertly he would explode with cum. Soon, though, she became so desperate, she let him fuck her. Deeply and hard. Until she came and came.
Nicole had told her this story on the plane and continued over the phone after they arrived in Paris. Derek was beyond turned on. He was in a perpetual state of arousal. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Her brother. The things they did. He had a 24-hour-a-day hard on.
Now, riding in the taxi to her loft, he wondered what was in store.
"Viens," she chirped over the intercom.
She lived in a vintage building. It looked like it dated from the mid-1800s. An elevator with an iron gate carried him to the fourth floor. He found her door and knocked.
A moment later, it opened and Nicole stood before him in a flowing caftan.
He didn't know what to say. What do you say to a woman whom you hardly know who has spilled her sexual history to you and given you the best phone sex of your life? So he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. As her hand caressed the back of his head, her tongue found his.
"I want you so badly," he muttered, pressing her against the wall.
"Moi aussi," she said breathily. "J'ai penseé a toi tous le temps."
He breathed in her perfume. It was intoxicating.
She led him into the loft space. Twenty foot ceilings, huge windows overlooking the street, and walls full of books. In the center of the room, a long couch with big pillows adorned a rug of Middle Eastern origin.
"Quelque chose à boire, mon chèr?" she purred.
"Sure," he answered.
"Un spritz, avec Compari?" she asked.
He nodded.
He watched her move to a tray sitting on a small antique table. So elegant. So graceful. When she handed one drink to him and curled up on the couch next to him, he glimpsed the tawny skin of her breast.
He place his hand gently on the nape of her neck, fingering the tendrils of hair. She rubbed her cheek against his hand like a cat.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you," he said evenly. "Your voice, your face, our time on the plane."
She took a sudden intake of air as if to say, "Oui, c'est la mème chose avec moi."
He wondered if she, too, had been obsessed with their conversation. If the family secrets she'd told had lit a fire deep inside of her the way it had for him.
"I dreamt about you last night," he continued. "I dreamt it was me living in your childhood home. It was me who took you out on that balcony to watch your mother having sex. It was me who took your virginity."
Her lips parted and her chest heaved.
He looked deep into her eyes. "I dreamt I was the one who fucked you 'til you screamed."
Her hands slipped under her caftan. She touched her breast.
"Oh, Derek. Je veux ça."
He gently ran his fingers over her cheek.
"I've been thinking of the things I want to do with you."
"Dis mois," she implored.
"First, I want to know more about your brother. You say you slept together almost every night before he left for school. Did you see him after that? What became of your relationship?"
"He went to university in London. And then to live in the U.S. He's a businessman now. He has a family."
"Do you still see him?" Derek asked.
Again, that quick intake of air.
"Oui."
Derek nodded.
"Do you have a picture of him I could see?"
She stood and moved to the bookcase. She picked up a framed photo and returned to the couch, handing it to him.
Derek looked at the photo. It was Nicole and Pierre, on the water, a sailboat perhaps. He had flowing curls of dark hair and deep brown eyes. His arm was around her. They looked blissful.
"When was this taken?" he asked.
"The summer he left for school. About five or six years ago."
