Scotty saw her at a distance across the open first floor of the Musée D’Orsay. She was climbing the white limestone staircase at the far end, pausing every few steps to take in the golden, giant clock above her. She was in a form fitting black dress. Later, as she stripped for him, he would see that it was Prada.
He found himself nearly running to catch up to her. As he got closer he struggled to decide where his eyes should spend most of their time. Was it the sway of her long chestnut hair across her naked upper back? Or, the globes of her delicious derrière as they moved under the taut dress? Or, was it her long, toned legs, flexing as they carried her up the stairs? The legs won in a photo finish. It may have been the red suede sling back pumps that pushed them over the line.
She was older than his twenty-seven years. He thought ten years, though he would learn later it was actually twenty. She was way out of his league. She was Formula One. He was Go Carts. She was also sporting a giant rock of a wedding ring. Yet, it was the utter implausibility of being with her that gave him the courage to try.
“Joliet dansesus,” he commented in butchered French as they stood near one another in front of a Degas. She looked at him with a curious and dismissive glance.
“The dancers are so lovely,” he tried again in English.
She stared at him. No, she stared right through him with her penetrating brown eyes, and then said simply, in an American accent, “Of course, they are.”
Shit, he thought to himself. What an idiot. Why not comment on how blue the sky is for good measure? She glanced over her shoulder at him, though, as she walked away, and he gathered himself to try once more.
“Lousy barber,” he joked in front of one of the Van Gogh’s. She could barely gather the energy to roll her eyes as she turned to move on. Yep. Down in flames, he flogged himself. He resigned himself to the inevitable and decided to just focus on the art. And, once he did so he was mesmerized. He had seen most of the paintings in books or on-line. But, in person the impressionists were truly breathtaking. Every brush stroke spoke to him. He got close. Then away. Then close, again. At last he reached the climax of the museum: the large Monets. The same church and pond were depicted over and over, but each in different light, and therefore each was radically different from the other. His eyes moistened.
“Fuck. Me.” He inadvertently said out loud, he was so awestruck.
“Alright,” a sultry voice said from behind him.
Scotty turned to see the brunette beauty.
“I’m sorry?” He squeaked.
“Yes. I’d like to fuck you,” she said in a whisper as she stepped into him. “Do you have a place nearby?” He nodded, not quite believing what she was saying.
“Just to yourself?” she asked. He nodded once more.
“Where? How far?”
“Um,” he stammered, “Here. Close. I mean, on the Left Blank. Toward the Latin Quarter,” he finally managed.
“Get a taxi. I’ll meet you out front.”
His head spun as she joined him in the cab. “The Hotel Diane, on Saint Germain,” he instructed the surly cabbie, who repeated the address back to him in proper French. Scotty then turned to speak to the goddess seated next to him. “Hi, I’m Sc—.” She cut him off with a kiss.
“It’s not important,” she said as she wrapped the strong young man in her arms and kissed him with a hungry, open mouth. “We don’t have time for that. We just have time to fuck.” She grabbed his hand as they kissed and placed it on her firm thigh. As they passed the Fountaine Saint Michel, she pushed his hand higher until he was touching her lace panties. They were wet. The cabby nearly hit a curb as he watched the amorous pair through the rear-view mirror.
Scotty hopped out of the cab and extended his hand. He then saw a vision he would carry forever more: her beautiful, long leg, stretching to reach the curb with her suede red pump, quickly followed by its twin. The couple skirted past the concierge and took the stairs to the third story. He went into the room first to find the light, then gestured with open arms. “Well, here we are,” Scotty said with a hint of pride.
She tilted her head and gave Scotty a nod. “Better than I was thinking, I must say,” she said, as she took in the four-poster bed, the large windows and window seat.
“Yeah, it was total luck. They lost—“
She pressed her hand against his lips. “I don’t care, Sweety. I’m meeting my husband at Notre Dame in forty-five minutes. Let’s get to it.” She backed Scotty into the room until he bumped against the armoire. She pressed her body against his six-foot frame and pulled his face down to hers for a slow, tantalizing kiss. “Fuck, you’re cute,” she said with a laugh. They made their way to the window seat. Scotty leaned to close the windows.
“No,” she said. “Leave them. I like the air. And I like that someone down there on Saint Germaine might hear me cum.” Scott’s jaw would have hit the floor if she hadn’t filled his mouth with her tongue once more. She straddled his legs as she kissed him and pulled at his button front shirt. Scott held her narrow waist, sneaking a hand, up or down, to fondle her breast or ass. “That’s it, Baby Boy. You like this forty-eight-year-old body?”
“Oh my fucking god, yes! The first time I saw—“
She shut him up with an almost angry kiss. She stood, gave him a prideful smirk, and pulled her dress over her head. A lace demi-bra was gone in seconds, followed in a flurry by the loss of her black lace thong. She raised her arms, tossing her long brown hair above her head, revealing herself to him fully and completely. He scanned her body, as awestruck now as he had been standing in front of the Monet. Pert breasts with erect nipples, an athletic core, a pussy sugared to perfection, and the legs of a dancer.
“Come on, Baby. Get naked.” She watched with growing pleasure as Scotty stripped out of his shirt and jeans. She touched his firm chest and abs with manicured fingers as he made the great reveal. His perfectly proportioned, shaved cock and balls at last sprang free for her enjoyment. She lightly stroked his turgid young prick as she kissed him.
She lay down on the bed and stretched her long, luscious stems until they were braced against the spires of the bed. He ran his hands along the smooth, firm curves of her legs. He grabbed a shoe as if he was going to remove it.
“Nuh-uh,” she admonished. “I like them on when I cheat.”
Scott re-traced her legs with his hands. She enveloped him with them, pulling him closer and then pushing him down. “Eat me, Baby Boy.”
Scotty really needed no direction. He was headed there anyway. He grazed her inner thighs with his face, and then nuzzled her naked lips apart with his nose and lips. He ran his tongue along the smooth outer lips of her vulva, giving a teasing, probing flick here and there. She moaned her encouragement.
“Mmmmm…”
Her smell was intoxicating, and he pressed in fully. He probed deeply, tasting her briny sweetness. Her taste made him harder and hungrier. She wrapped her legs around him tightly, as she pulled his head to exactly where she wanted it to go. Scotty pushed her hood away with his lips as his tongue circled her exposed clit.
“Ahhhh, fuck, yeah…,” she moaned as she tightened her grip on his soft hair. She began to undulate her mound against his flattened tongue. Scotty inserted two fingers into her slick, swollen pussy. He had barely touched her g-spot when he felt a change. The rocking of her hips grew faster. The walls of her cunni contracted around his fingers.
“Fuck, yes. Yes. Yessssss!” She moaned and arched off the bed. His hand was forced from her, but he clung to her hips. He kept his mouth on her splayed lips, riding with her through a second, smaller wave.
“Jesus! Fuck!” She cried as she finally twisted away from him.
Scotty stood up proudly at the foot of the bed. His face was covered in her juice. When she opened her eyes, she smiled up at him. Then she saw his lovely cock, straining in arched ardor. She reversed herself on the bed, and lay prone toward him on her elbows. He moved toward her, offering his cock. She swirled her tongue around the large head. His knees buckled.
“Mmmm. I love the taste of pre-cum,” she said before taking him deeper. He moved in and out of her mouth; not fucking her face but loving it, gently. She pulled off of him to lick his length, ultimately taking his engorged, wrinkled sac into her mouth.
“Aaaah!” He moaned, stabbing the air with his saliva-soaked cock.
“Lady,” he said, “I would love to cum in your beautiful mouth, but I really, really need to fuck you.”
“Mmmm. Yeah, you do,” she agreed. She rolled and spun with a dancer’s grace and was suddenly standing, bent over the bed. Her legs and ass looked even more amazing in that position, raised all the more provocatively on her red sling back heels. “Fuck me, Babes.”
Scotty was so overcome from lust that he thrust into her far less gently than might have been polite.
“Uugh! Yes. Give me that cock!”
She was so wet that Scotty was moving in her with full, hard thrusts immediately. The smack of his balls against her pussy, and his groin against her firm, round ass, filled the room. She echoed the smacks of each impact with her sexy grunts.
“Oh, my gawwwd! Baby you are going to make me cum again,” she moaned as she rocked to meet every hard thrust. Scotty was on the edge. He couldn’t quite believe he had lasted this long.
“Oh, you are so fucking gorgeous and your cunt feels sooo good!” He cried. “I’m going to blow,” he groaned.
“Yesss! Yessss! Cum Baby. Shoot into my married puss!”
A collective cacophony of moans bounced off the walls and drifted past the window to the street, as her pussy convulsed on his spurting cock.
Scotty collapsed onto her back, breathless. She purred underneath him, but then startled. She looked at her Rolex.
“Oh dammit. Lover, it’s time for me to go.” She bolted out from under him. She grabbed her dress and lingerie and headed to the bath. Scotty enjoyed watching the flex of her ass as she walked away, just as he had a couple of hours before at the D’Orsay.
When she returned, looking impeccably well put together despite having a pair of panties dripping with cum, she gave Scotty a peck on the cheek. She glanced at the young man’s revived cock, let out a quick sigh, and reluctantly stepped toward the door.
“Oh, come on!” Scotty protested. “Can’t I at least get your name?!”
“Oh, Baby Boy. Make up any name you like. I gotta go,” she said, blowing him a kiss. He would think of her as “Diane” forever after.
