The black jeans...I had worn them in place of a skirt to keep myself from trouble...now they were bunched on the floor along with my panties, bra and blouse. The marble of the bathroom vanity was cold against my hips, but I didn't really feel it as I helped him out of his well-tailored slacks, reached into his boxers and freed his hard cock...
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
It was a Thanksgiving party for American ex-pats in Paris, held in a spacious flat of a reporter whose name you know if you are well informed. These are not co-workers, but some old friends from college or grad school. To them, I'm just Linda with the dull government job. There were others I didn't know, including him. It was one of those sparkling, flirty parties. And he acquired me like a predator drone soon after he made his entrance with his wife. She was blond and lithe, with an ice-queen expression. He kept coming back, and finally we were on a sofa together and our legs were touching.
I was getting overheated by then. The attention was nice, and the forbidden fruit thing, and the fact that he was tall, broad-shouldered, with wavy dark hair just starting to get little sleet-streaks of gray. And I hadn't been laid in weeks, since I had left Seattle with a bang. It didn't hurt that he was witty and could talk about interesting things, art and history. And nothing was going to come of it. So I let my leg stay as he consciously rubbed against me. I vaguely smelled pussy arousal, and I suspect he did, too.
Or so I thought when I excused myself to go to the bathroom. But the subconscious slut in me was hoping...and five minutes later the door opens and he stepped inside. I didn't wait for him to give me more than a merry look in his faithless blue eyes. My hands cupped his face and brought it down to mine beginning a long kiss. Tongues danced and he took me full in his arms. I could already feel his cock hard against my belly. He slipped off my blouse and bra, sucking my nipples very hard. They tingled and ached and ran a high-tension power line directly to my clit. I thought I was going to come right then, as I staggered backward with nothing to hold me but his strong hands. I nearly ripped off my jeans and he slipped his hands on my waist, effortlessly lifting me onto the top of the vanity.
"I need a taste," he cooed, dropping down to kiss my pussy, then run his tongue gently up and down my labia.
I couldn't take any more. I frantically undid his belt and let his slacks drop. My hand wrapped around a fat cock, about seven inches long. Why am I such a large-cock magnet? Not complaining...certainly not at that moment. He opened my legs, swung each ankle over his shoulder and started working his cockhead into a pussy re-virginated by lack of fucking. I leaned back into the mirror and gasped as he pushed in. But I was very wet and it didn't take long until he was really in there. The momentary discomfort of being stretched open soon gave way to a very warm, full feeling.
We made our odd position work, hands holding arms as he fucked me, first slowly, working his cock at different angles, my legs splayed wide open. But I wasn't the only one who was mad with lust. He eased my ankles down so we could get close and he really started humping me as I ground my pelvis back at him. Little contractions started coming. He could feel them, he told me, my pussy kissing him, he said.
Suddenly I started coming. I buried my face in his shoulder to muffle my cries. After a few seconds he gasped and moaned and I felt him pulsing inside me. For a long moment, we just held each other tightly. His cock finally slid out of me, covered with milky semen and pussy juice.
He slipped away and I put myself together, returning to the party with a flushed face. The bathroom had a bidet, of course. But I preferred to put my panties and jeans back on. A few minutes later, I felt a big glob of semen fall out of me. My souvenir.