An Evening in Burgundy

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Travelling round France visiting local museums, I had stopped for a couple of nights in the old walled town of Langres, at the northern end of Burgundy. The night I arrived, I saw a poster for a concert in one of the churches, which seemed like as good a way as any of spending a solitary evening.

I first saw her outside the church, picnicking and talking in a group of people beneath a statue of Joan of Arc: short-cropped vivid carrot-red hair, a large face with strong, high cheekbones and a tip-tilted nose, wearing jeans and a loose shirt.

The group turned out to be the choir which was giving the concert, and she was the lead alto, her sonorous, clear deep voice somehow matching her looks, and matching, too, the austere black garb she was wearing for the performance itself, which gave her a slightly androgynous look.

I took her image to bed with me that night, assuming that it would soon fade like all the other images of faces seen on my travels. But, the next afternoon, there she was, in the sun by the local lake, with another woman and a man, and wearing a black single-piece bathing costume, tight but discreet above, but when she rolled onto her stomach I could see how high-cut it was on her hips.

When she stood up I could at last sense her form, so completely sheathed at the concert; she was not tall, but with a strong figure, broad shoulders, a slightly fleshy stomach, tiny breasts that were just shallow swellings beneath her tight costume, but with a magnificent full bottom — wide hips, deep and rounded, with richly fleshy bum cheeks that were virtually bare as she walked down to the water across the little beach. She swam strongly, far out into the lake, and, when she came out of the water, she showed something else: huge, hard nipples, swollen in the cool water and stretching the material that was pulled tautly across her chest.

Of course I watched her and her friends, wondering who was with whom; the other girl, slight and dark-haired, and sunbathing topless, seemed very relaxed and at ease with the redhead, as did the man. They lay chatting for half an hour; then the other two stood up, and I heard the redhead say she’d stay a little longer.

I had never picked anyone up on a beach, let alone speaking my halting French; but last night’s concert was a possible pick-up line, and, of course, looking as she did, she would expect to be recognised; but I realised I could not have approached her if she, too, had been sunbathing topless. My first moves were trite: nice concert and so on; at least she didn’t tell me to fuck off, and I sat down near her; Helène — that was her name — sat up, her knees up and her arms round them. With a wry smile, she talked about the vocal group, and how difficult it was to find suitable voices in a small town like Langres. After a few minutes, I made my next step.

“Would you like to have a drink?” I said, pointing at the café at the top of the beach.

“Yes, but not here; I am going back to Langres and there is somewhere nicer there; follow me as I drive.”

As we went, I imagined the worst, a group of her friends, much French chat, and me soon making my excuses. But, when we arrived, she didn’t seem to know anyone there. We talked over a bottle of wine, about Langres, where she had been for less than a year, and about my work, studying French art, which seemed to interest her. I didn’t like to mention dinner, in case she suddenly said she had to leave; but then she asked me if I had seen the town’s ramparts, and asked me if I’d like her to show me them.

Down on the beach, she had slipped on a loose skirt and a sleeveless black vest-like teeshirt with deep-cut armholes, over her bathing costume. When we had ordered our drinks she excused herself for a moment and went to the toilet with her bag; it was several minutes after she returned before I realised that she had slipped off the bathing costume and was wearing nothing beneath the vest, but, seated as we were face to face, I could see little more.

It was now after seven o’clock, kızılay escort the sun was lower — it was mid-May. As we walked along the ramparts, Helène began by talking a lot, but soon seemed to realise that not much needed to be said, and we walked quietly together, relishing the evening light and the panoramic views. I kept glancing at her, and, when she was a half step ahead, I could glimpse her skin around the armhole in her teeshirt, which hung loosely, free of the shallow swelling of her breast; in the shadows, I glimpsed the vivid deep red of her nipple — again, it seemed so huge in relation to the flatness of her chest, and its colour was so intense.

At a look-out point on the ramparts, we paused to look at the chart of the surrounding sights, and she did not flinch as our bare arms brushed; further on, we reached the large bastion which, I knew, was virtually the end of the circuit. Here again we paused, and I realised I had nothing to lose; I took her arm in my hand, and swung round to face her. For a disarming moment she looked quizzically up at me, and then dissolved into my arms, her mouth feeling up for my lips, her arms responding as I held her to me. With one hand I explored the firmness of her back, and then slipped my hand down to her flanks, feeling the beginning of the swelling and the softness of that marvellous bum that had amazed me on the beach. After a couple of minutes she came up for air and half pulled away from me.

“I’m sure you’re hungry — I’ve got some pizza if you’d like to come back to my flat — it’s very nearby.”

I didn’t know if this was a quiet indication that we had to call a halt, but of course I said yes, and we went to a studio apartment on the second floor of a house just around the corner, with the same extraordinary view over the surrounding countryside that we had seen from the ramparts. Would she rush to turn on the oven, or get out the coffee pot? Instead, she measuredly poured a couple of glasses of white wine, and took them over to the table by the window, where she stood waiting for me; and then we kissed — wholly in earnest, this time, as we both knew.

She pressed her breasts and groin up against me and I pulled her towards me, my left hand behind her shoulder and my right feeling further down, grasping deep into the flesh of her bum and amazed by its combination of softness and firmness — this flesh seemed so close to my hand, as I felt her cheeks through her soft cotton skirt; she wriggled between the twin pressure of my hand and my groin, rubbing herself against my rapidly swelling erection.

Next time we came up for breath I slipped my left hand round in front of her, brushed my fingers across her teeshirt and slipped them into the armhole, sensing the slight swell of her right breast and then meeting the harsh roughness of her nipple — hard, protruding from her soft flesh. As I brushed it for the first time with my fingertips, a deep shudder went through her and her knees seemed to sag for a moment; I brushed it again and then gently rolled it between my fingers, and she pushed herself harder against my groin, moving in rhythm with my fingertips, till she let out a huge shudder — and I suddenly had to take her weight as she slumped in my arms.

A short pause, and she looked up at me with a half smile, and reached down for my prick: unzipped me quickly and extracted it readily from my boxers, ran her fingers, a little sharply, up and down its length. Now I felt round her, running my hand deep under the cheeks of her bottom, into the soft flesh at the top of her thighs; with the other hand I tentatively felt down her front to her groin; she pushed against my hand and I felt the roundness of her pubis so vividly: where were her panties? and how could I feel the shape of her pubis so very clearly through the cotton skirt? I even pressed where I thought her clitoris should be and found it at once, as she writhed against my finger. Clearly there was just the one thin layer of cotton maltepe escort there. Quickly she gestured me over to the sofa that doubled as her bed — wide, with a barrage of cushions along the back.

“Take your clothes off!” she said.

She quickly slipped off her vest, lying back on the cushions, wearing just her skirt, and for the first time showing me those extraordinary, huge red nipples. I took off all my clothes and lay beside her, reaching over to take her left nipple between my lips; she shivered again, and pulled me on top of her, spreading her legs beneath her skirt so that I was lying between her knees, and she could thrust her groin against my chest as I sucked at her nipples. She writhed around under me and soon came again, as I gently rasped my teeth along the roughness of the nipples — their surrounds were quite narrow, though puckered as my teeth brushed across them, but the nipples themselves were wide and hard and protuberant.

After a moment she gently hitched up her skirt beneath me, reaching down for my prick and guiding me up her body, until my tip was brushing against an extraordinary softness and wetness as she rubbed it up and down between her labia; this was the first time that I had touched the flesh between her legs. Then she gently guided me towards her entry, and I eased myself, so smoothly, deep inside her body. She was very wet, but her cunt held me firmly far inside her as we felt for a mutual rhythm. I reached for her nipples again, but she gestured to me not to, focusing on the movement of my cock, with her arms tight around my back, pulling me into her, and pressing her pubis up against me each time I thrust deep inside her. To my relief, she seemed to come again soon, without dragging from me the sperm that was threatening to erupt.

I wanted now to touch and kiss her down there — her cunt and her bum; so I slid out of her, still erect, and as we lay side by side she slipped off her skirt and snuggled up close to me, her leg wrapped over mine, and took my prick in her hands to rub it along her labia. She felt astonishingly soft there, and I reached down between us with my hand to touch her with my fingers for the first time. I quickly understood why she felt like that: she was completely shaven, or presumably waxed, since her bare pubis was so soft.

“Do you like that?”

My only answer was a broad smile, and she explained, perhaps a little apologetically, that she had needed to have her hair trimmed in order to wear the high-cut bathing costume that I had seen, and had suddenly decided to have it all off; she thought she liked the feeling. My immediate response was to plunge my head down, to lick across this smooth, firm mound, and to slip the tip of my tongue into the top of the tight crack that hid her clitoris.

I could now look at her fully naked, and see, below the tight top of her slit, that two plump, fleshy pink inner lips were pushing her outer labia apart — lips between which my penis had been lodged a few moments before, soaked with her juices and my pre-cum. I sucked gently on these lips, to pull indirectly on her clit, and then flicked my tongue up again into the narrow top of her slit, tickling the clitoris itself with my tongue tip.

She was lying on her back, and now finally I slipped my hands under her, to grasp the great fleshy cheeks of her bum, lifting her towards me as my tongue toyed with her clit, then quickly flicking my tongue down to tickle her on the little hard zone between her vagina and her anus and to moisten her there, and then back to her clit. I replaced my tongue with my finger, between her butt cheeks, and brushed a little moisture down onto her anus, softly flicking my finger-tip across the crinkles of skin that surrounded it, and at the same time pulling her towards my mouth as I licked her. A sudden shudder again, as she came; I felt her muscles pulsing against my tongue and against the finger that was lodged at the opening of her anus.

After a moment mamak escort I asked her to turn over, and she lay exposed to me, her legs slightly open and the lips of her bald cunt just showing beneath the cheeks of her bum. At the start, it was all too much, seeing the spectacular cheeks of her arse laid out before me, and I grabbed handfulls of her flesh, and wedged my face as deeply as I could into her bum crack, relishing being surrounded by all this soft warmth. But gradually I started to knead her cheeks in rhythm, with each movement pulling them apart enough for me to touch down with my tongue onto her anus. As I pulled her cheeks further apart, I kept my tongue there, licking across and into her arsehole as she pushed her bum up into my face.

After a few minutes I pulled my head back and inserted my finger where my tongue had been, initially just nudging the fingertip inside her, and then setting up a rhythm so that it slipped in and out of her anus as she bucked up at me, and finally slipping it in so deeply that it stayed held by her sphincter as she moved on it. A sudden shudder and another climax — and she quietly said she had never come that way before.

Now I moved up her until my belly was pressed against her arse, relishing its fullness and softness, and my prick was sliding down between her cheeks, nudging against her anus that I had wetted and softened as I kissed and touched her. She softly pushed up onto my erect tip, and then a little further, and I slipped just past the tightness at her entry; she gasped in half-pain’

“Stop there — no further”

We lay for a little like that, as I felt the amazing combination of the tightness of her sphincter and the warm soft flesh all around; then her muscles twitched and I slipped out; sliding my cock a little further down, I plunged it into her cunt and she milked me, humping her arse up and down as I thrust deep into her. The movement and the sight of her fleshy cheeks heaving beneath me quickly brought me off, in deep, pulsing jets inside her, and she seemed to come too. We then just lay there, drawing breath, as my cock shrank inside her and slipped out, leaving a trail of her juices and my sperm across her thigh. For a moment of two I lost track of time, and then she said:

“I need to pee — do you want to, too?”

I smiled and followed her to the bathroom — how could she have known how it excited me to watch a woman pee? She sat on the toilet with a broad smile and I heard the splash in the water, and then, as I watched, she opened her knees wide, inviting me to gaze at her while her fleshy inner lips were opened by the intense jet of pee. As she finished and wiped herself, she smiled:

“Your turn now,” she said.

She watched as I tried to relax enough to pee with her eyes fixed on my dick; finally I managed it, and as I finished she reached over and gave my penis a brief ceremonial shake. When we had finished in the bathroom, she said:

“There really is some pizza, if you would like some!”

She stood up and walking across the room, still naked. So she put the pizza in the oven and brought us some more wine, seemingly relishing my gaze as I watched the rolling movement of her bum, and then her peeping slit and lips as she walked back towards me. When we sat to eat, she had one knee up, baring her sodden lips in their fullness — now flushed a deep red; and I sat naked, too, my cock soft, but my knees open for her.

It was getting late now, but we moved together again, for a quite gentle straightforward fuck while we ran our hands over each other — me over those extraordinary nipples, and she over mine — she sensed how I liked that, too. This wasn’t the extravagant exploratory sex of the first time, but she came again, and so did I.

“I’m not going to ask you to stay the night,” she said, “I have to go to work early in the morning.”

I knew that I had to leave early next morning, too, so, with a soft kiss, I slipped off, leaving her wearing just a loose dressing gown, wide open all down the front and showing the whole central swathe of her body. We did not swap addresses, though I did note hers as I left. But, when I got up to leave Langres the next morning, the hotelier handed me a slip of paper, with, on it, her name, address and phone number, which she had left half an hour before. Perhaps after all we would meet again…

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