Living for Myself

I felt a million dollars as he took my arm as we walked through the busy restaurant and out onto the wide boulevard. I hoped the ride up in the lift would be as memorable as my trip with Nicole, but an elderly lady scuttled in through the entrance as the doors were closing and Yves was ever the gentleman and held them for her.

I scowled at him playfully as she grunted her thanks and mouthed, “I can wait!”

He put an arm around my shoulders and mouthed back. “I cannot!”

Mercifully, the old crone alighted with more muttering on the floor below Nicole’s. When the lift doors opened at her floor, I could already feel Yves’ erection pressing against my stomach as we kissed like teenagers on a first date. I was beginning to like that elevator very much indeed. It was old and rickety, but nice things happened to me in it.

Once I had negotiated the three locks on Nicole’s front door, it literally was a race to the bedroom. Had it not been so expensive, I would have discarded my dress in the hallway and left a trail of underwear as we went. In the end, I was glad I didn’t as it gave me the not inconsiderable pleasure of Yves and I slowly undressing each other as we caressed and rolled on the huge bed. Hands explored, tongues flickered and lips mashed together gently as clothes seemed to melt into thin air. I held my breath as I tugged at his shorts. In my mind’s eye, I could see Nicole laughing behind her hand as I revealed a beautiful, but decidedly average-sized erection. I forgave her little joke as I took it in my hand. I was aroused enough with this gorgeous man in my bed and I knew that this time, it was going to be special and she was right — it would not be a brief slap and tickle.

For the first time in many a year, I closed my mouth over the head of an erect penis and ran my tongue over the silky smooth skin. Long fingers caressed my breasts and I purred in delight as he tweaked my nipples gently and his other hand slid between my parted legs. I desperately tried to fight down thoughts of how long it had been since this sort of thing happened to me and to live in the moment. His hand cupped my pudenda and I took him a little deeper as we both moaned in pleasure.

As I warmed to my task, the past slid away and all that mattered was the here and now. It was amazing to be back in the saddle and to remember what it was like to feel the thrill of the first time with a new lover. Things I thought I had forgotten came back unbidden and the touch of an experienced and almost empathic partner brought little sighs and moans from me as I recalled Nicole’s instructions to be more vocal.

By the time I was able to agree with Nicole that Yves’ pussy-licking skills were legendary, we had already been going longer than my two cruise-ship liaisons put together. I wished Leigh could see me and sent out a silent thought of thanks to her across the miles.

A few minutes later, when I held myself open and Yves entered me, I fought against every instinct and wrapped my stockinged legs around his buttocks and held him there before he could begin to move inside me. I kissed him. “Just hold a moment, please Yves. There’s just one thing I need to do.”

His eyes narrowed and he nodded, unable to work out where I was going.

I lay with him deep inside me, my legs wrapped tightly around him and took a deep breath. My words came out in a rushed whisper. “Thank you, Leigh Nicholls, you are the best friend a girl could wish for.” I released my grip on him, my legs now sticking up vertically in the air. “Right, that’s done. Now fuck me, you lovely minor aristocrat. We can’t let Nicole down, so make me fucking scream.”

He did just that and didn’t need coffee to stay awake all night. We did drink cognac, but it was between the third and fourth times as we leaned on the balcony rail at three in the morning, his arm around my shoulders as we gazed out over moonlit Paris. By the time he came in my mouth as the sun rose, we had gone way past Nicole’s ‘acceptable level.’ I felt like I was twenty again and was so glad Nicole had persuaded me to stay.

My disappointment was palpable when Yves said he had an appointment the next evening. He assured me it was with an elderly relative and not another woman. I didn’t mind if it was. I had no hold over him and although disappointed, I’d had one of the best nights I could remember for so many reasons. We exchanged phone numbers and I expected that would be the last I would ever see of him.

Then he phoned me in mid-afternoon to see if I was still available, as he had changed his plans and met his relative for lunch instead of dinner. We ate in a humble bistro that specialised in Basque food. It was earthy, fresh and delicious and I paid the bill.

Then we made sure that when Nicole returned, her bed really was a mess.

Seven

The apartment door crashed open in mid-afternoon, waking me from a well-earned little doze. I had lunched in the café downstairs after Yves made his weary way home and wondered if I had anything left for Nicole’s return.

When I saw her slumped against the front door looking slightly dishevelled and very sleepy, I wondered if she had anything left for me.

She gave me a little wave and her goofy grin lit up the hallway as I watched her from the living room doorway. She looked about fifteen years old and I knew that despite the fact I had only known her for a few days, I loved her with all my heart.

She slowly sank to the floor beside her overnight bag and closed her eyes. “Nicole sleepy.” She blew me a kiss. “Night night, petit oiseau.”

I cleared my throat and knocked on the door frame. “Excuse me, Mamzelle Bouvier — we have salacious tales to tell of nights of unbridled passion over glasses of wine.”

She made a grumbling noise and shivered. “Oh merde, not more sex.” Then her eyes opened wide and she sprang to her feet grinning from ear to ear. “Fuck, what a weekend, little bird!”

Like a French Rugby winger, she ran full pelt down the hall and swept me up in her grasp. We tumbled backwards into the room and ended up in an undignified, tangled heap on her sofa, laughing and giggling like her charges from her day job.

Her questions came out in a rush. “How was it? How many times? Did you scream? Isn’t his tongue wonderful?”

Once I had answered a few of her questions, we started on coffee to help wake her up, as after her brief burst of activity, the excesses of the weekend once again took their toll. She promised to give me chapter and verse on her misdeeds once I had given her all the naughty details of my nights with Yves. By the time I finished my tale, we were well into a bottle of Chablis and she was curled up at one end of the sofa, me at the other. I had never really talked about sex to anyone other than Leigh and to give this gorgeous, vivacious young thing all the gory details and see her genuinely delighted responses was almost as good as the acts themselves.

Then she told me about her weekend and it suddenly seemed as if I had attended a Women’s Institute meeting in my local village and not come incessantly at the hands of one of the best lovers I could ever imagine.

When she described La Maison Des Reves I couldn’t believe such places existed. It was a bolt-hole for rich people with sophisticated sexual requirements, where they could indulge every whim and fantasy — for a cost.

A true House of Dreams.

She had gone at the request of one of her longest-standing clients and it was her third visit. “Oh, Robyn, the things that go on there. The food is every bit as good as the restaurant you and Yves ate at, and afterwards — ooh la la! There are rooms to cater for every foible, fetish and kink you can think of; some by invite only. There are group sex sessions, pre-arranged gatherings, impromptu couplings at the drop of a chapeau. Nothing is out of bounds and the only limit is your imagination.”

When I said it seemed a little out of my league, I found myself on the end of a hard stare. “A week ago, you thought I was out of your league. You didn’t think you would fuck a complete stranger over ten times in two nights or sleep with a woman half your age. Don’t underestimate yourself, little bird. You have learned to fly at last. Stop looking down. See how high you can go!”

I replenished our glasses. “Even if I were that adventurous, how would I ever get to go somewhere like that?”

“Never say never!”

“Sounds amazing. So come on, what did you get up to?”

“Later, in bed. Right now, my ravaged little puss needs some TLC and your tongue is going to apply it. I forgot to tell you it was another condition of the lease agreement.”

“I like your lease conditions, Miss Bouvier. I think they should be enshrined in law.”

Eyes wide, a hand flew to her mouth. “Oops, I assumed they were the law. No wonder I get strange looks!”

As I got to work, her long legs draped over my shoulders, I wondered how many people had been in my position in the last forty-eight hours. When I found out later, I was staggered at the number. I hadn’t had that many lovers in my life, never mind a weekend.

After all the feverish activity, it was almost a relief to get back to my former domicile on the Monday. The cleaners kindly knocked on Nicole’s door to let us know it was ready and I moved back in. Nicole had a busy couple of days ahead of her and our only liaisons would be over afternoon coffees at our usual spot downstairs.

I luxuriated in the bath for a long time and felt so sated and relaxed, I didn’t even feel the need to use my vibe or my fingers. I went back to being a tourist and took a day trip out to Versailles and the next day, queued for a long time to get up the Eiffel Tower. Sightseeing over, I sat in my now favourite spot in the café and awaited Nicole’s arrival.

Unfortunately, it was a brief encounter as she was, as she delicately put it, ‘between jobs’ and needed to shower from her exertions before her evening liaison.

As she got up to leave, she stopped as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, pardon — I forgot. I am not working tomorrow — it has been cancelled for some reason.” She stood, waving her hands in the air. “I don’t suppose?”

I smiled. “Glad you could fit me in. What time?”

“Six, see you then!” This time, when she reached the entrance of the apartment block she didn’t look back at me longingly. She poked her tongue out at me and ran in to the building laughing.

I hadn’t realised that Albert the waiter was hovering until he spoke. He gazed at the now closed door. “Elle est fou!” He gathered up her empty cup and for the first time spoke to me in English. “Mad but beautiful, non?” He pointed at my almost empty cup. “Une autre madame?”

“Oui, merci Albert. And she is most definitely both of those things.”

As I strolled through Montmartre the next day, I could barely keep my mind off what was to come later. I sat sipping wine, watching beautiful young people going about their business and wished I were their age and not trying to live my dream almost thirty years too late. Then I caught myself and realised that not many people get to live their dream at all. I was sitting outside a café in Paris, drinking wine and musing about what my young female lover had planned for me later. I had just enjoyed the steamiest, most adrenaline-fuelled, sexy weekend of my life with a gorgeous man who had liked me enough to come back a second night.

I may be fifty, but I didn’t feel it and apparently Yves and Nicole didn’t feel it either. There was life in the old girl yet.

Later, when I lay on Nicole’s bed and she produced a blindfold, I knew she had something special in mind. If I had known just how special, I wouldn’t have moved from my apartment all day and probably camped outside her door to make sure of being on time.

She flexed the stretchy fabric in front of my eyes. “Have you used one before?”

A distant memory flashed into my mind. “Yes, Nicole — back when things were exciting. But not for a long time.”

“But now things are exciting again!” She took hold of my left hand and wrapped something soft around my wrist. With a deft movement, she tied the other end to one of the rails on her headboard. She repeated her actions on my right hand and I lay spreadeagled, unable to move. I trusted her implicitly and waited with bated breath for what was to come.

She fitted the blindfold gently, making sure my hair was not trapped and I recalled the thrill of not knowing where hands, tongues and – back then — stiff erections were going to go. Then I shuddered as her tongue ran across my lips and began a slow, deliberate journey down my body. It worked in little circles, darting, flickering, teasing and I began to pull at my restraints wishing I could embrace her. The sweet torture went on for long minutes as she nibbled and sucked on my nipples before resuming her downward journey. By the time she got to the promised land, I was whimpering and moaning.

She lapped at me for an age and gentle but insistent fingers probed. I longed to look down and see her sparkling eyes, her wet lips, her now slippery fingers, but somehow not being able to see it was all the more erotic.

Then it all stopped. The beautiful waves of pleasure she created drained away from my shores and I rattled the headboard in my frustration. “Oh, please Nicole — don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop!”

Her voice was soft in my ear and her hot breath made me shudder anew. I could smell myself on her lips as she whispered. “I’m not going to stop, little bird. I’ve barely started.”

I moaned again as her tongue began to tease my nipple once more, then cried out in utter shock as a second tongue flickered against my now slick, wet pussy lips. My cry turned to an elongated, racking sob as strong hands gripped my hips and something long, hard and hot slid effortlessly into me. Nicole removed my blindfold, her mouth still clamped to my nipple and I gazed up into Yves soft brown eyes, his handsome face split in a huge grin.

“Bonsoir, petit oiseau. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion?”

I could barely catch my breath. “Intrude all you like, you beautiful man. Oh Nicole Bouvier, you are one devious, naughty girl. Now please untie me!”

She bit hard on my nipple, making me squeal. “No, not yet. A bit more teasing first!”

I screamed in frustration as Yves pulled out, then was tortured unmercifully as Nicole took him in her mouth inches from my face. I finally got to see what the girl was capable of and why she had men in the palm of her hand. Despite my predicament, it was utterly breath-taking and I felt a pang of sorrow for her that no-one would ever get to see her do this onscreen. She was an absolute natural and to watch her do it right in front of me almost seemed like a privilege. She worked on him for at least five minutes and it was all I could do not to plead with her as the two of them completely ignored me.

Then she took him from her mouth and stared down at me. “Oh, sorry — forgot you were there, little bird. Like to share?”

I was too aroused to even scold her and took him eagerly as she at last untied me. I then had the unbridled pleasure of sharing him with this beautiful girl and Yves was in raptures as we ran our tongues down his shaft before returning to the top and kissing each other with the head of his cock between our lips.

I started to come as Yves took me from behind and I sucked and licked at Nicole’s slippery crack, her pungent aroma filling my nostrils, her hands in my hair, urging myself and Yves on. As my orgasm went on and on, she wriggled from my grasp and kissed my sticky, wet mouth as I screamed down her throat. As I subsided and lay panting alongside her, she rolled Yves onto his back and impaled herself on him.

Her long hair flew as she rode him furiously and I recalled hearing her through the wall on that first fateful evening as her urgent cries and moans filled the room. She fixed me with an almost desperate look as she slammed down on him. “Please, Robyn — hold me!”

The words sounded like they were being ripped from her throat and I knelt up and took her in my arms as she now screamed into my open mouth and her slim body shook and trembled in my embrace. As she came, I thought I may know why men were prepared to pay her a fortune to spend even a short while with her.

Then she took Yves back in her mouth and as he ejaculated over her smiling face and breasts, I fully understood why they paid her a fortune. She turned to me, her face aglow, rivulets of sticky jizz running down her left cheek, coating her soft pink lips and dripping down from her chin onto her breasts. She repeated her words from a few moments before.

“Like to share?”

I had seen it on the internet and wasn’t sure if it was my thing or not. My husband and one or two earlier boyfriends had come in my mouth a few times over the years, but I had never had it on my face.

Was it my thing? There was only one way to find out. The fact that it took us fifteen minutes to stop playing with the stuff led me to believe it probably was my thing and by the time we had licked, sucked, spat, dribbled, kissed and swallowed it into oblivion, Yves was ready for round two and I sat astride him as Nicole straddled his face.

Thereafter, it was a long, languid night and as I had been at the weekend, I was sad to see Yves go when he left in the early hours. I lay in Nicole’s embrace and began to cry.

Her voice sounded sleepy as she stroked my hair. “Hey, little bird, whassup?”

I sniffed back a tear. “Oh, nothing Nicole. Nothing other than I’ve just fucked the two most beautiful people in all of France and I am the happiest woman in the world. That was utterly magical. I can’t believe you arranged that, you sneaky thing. Did I ever tell you that you are a very naughty girl?”

“Only a few times. It’s nice being naughty, no? Anyway, you told me that it was your fantasy to be spit-roasted in a threesome, so I thought I’d go one better and substitute guy number two with the most gorgeous, sexy call-girl in all of gay Paree!”

I purred. “Oh, it was wonderful Nicole, but I still have a yearning to do it with two guys.”

She put her nose next to mine. “Then you are in luck. On Saturday I am seeing two regular clients — businessmen from Marseilles who are in town every month or so. I will bump my usual partner Naomi and you can join me!”

I opened my mouth to speak but she put her finger to my lips. “Only joking. I am not about to make a whore of you, little bird. I’m sure your little fantasy will come true one day!”

I hoped so myself, but the thought of becoming a Parisian hooker for the night did have a certain appeal to it.

Eight

Oh to be in England, William Wordsworth once said. He desired to be in England in April. Fuck that malarkey. This was November in the Cotswolds and I wanted to be in France. I thought it would be difficult to return home after my strange few weeks with Nicole and Yves, but it wasn’t difficult at all.

No, it wasn’t difficult – it was fucking impossible and it was killing me.

How many nights did I lie there, wishing that it had never happened? How many mornings did I wake, aching for the feel of Nicole’s svelte body by my side or Yves’ rugged smile asking if I wanted coffee before or after our first workout of the day.

Maybe it would have been better to come home more or less celibate than to have experienced the things I did. On one of her rare visits to Casa Christie, Leigh was sympathetic to my cause.

“Oh, bloody hell Robyn – I have created a monster, have I not? I sent you on this incredible journey and I’m glad I did, but I’m so sorry it has come to an end. Is there really no-one in the village?” My unspoken reaction said it all. “Sorry Babe, thinking out loud again. So, how do we unlock these doors that were briefly opened to you but now seem so impenetrable?”

By the end of her stay, we still hadn’t come up with any answers. We had shifted a lot of gin, curry, pizza and wine but I was still back to being poor old, celibate Robyn. The deprivation I now felt weighed on me far more than before Nicole fortuitously walked into my life. I was still in touch with her, and she rejoiced in regaling me with her naughty tales, but I missed her more than I could have ever imagined.

I also missed Yves. He too had left a lasting impression on me. As the end of another year approached, it was almost as if my brief glimpse of this amazing netherworld was a cruel joke. A tantalising, fleeting brush with a parallel universe that had, for a split second, touched mine before spiralling off at the speed of light, leaving only cherished memories and a burning desire for more.

In the seemingly vain hope of returning to France, I took an intensive online course in French. I would never be fluent, but it came back to me better than I expected and soon I was conversing with Nicole on social media solely in her native language.

Then, two weeks before Christmas, the spiral galaxy I had inhabited so briefly bounced off a few stray constellations, collided with the Starship Enterprise, changed course and re-entered my timeline via Stargate SG-1.

I was elated to find that even after what seemed like millennia, this strange universe was still inhabited by Nicole Bouvier and Yves Marchand.

When Yves called me on that miserable, cold and wet December morning, I tried not to act like I had when Harry Ingram led me to my first meaningful encounter with the opposite sex. Just the sound of his voice filled me with joy and when he requested my presence at his Chateau over the festive period, I was reduced to a gibbering wreck, barely able to respond to his urbane tones and soothing voice.

Within moments of ending our call, Nicole was on my case. She demanded that I spend some time with her to top and tail my visit to Champagne-Ardenne. Clearly there had been some collusion between them, and I was so grateful that I cried my eyes out at the thought that these two wonderful people who had given me so much pleasure wished to see me again.

I could barely contain my excitement as I booked first-class Eurostar tickets. I drank champagne with my breakfast and Yves had a limo waiting for me at the station in Paris. Our reunion a few days before Christmas was blissful and settled me in nicely for the forthcoming festivities.

In my early married years, we held some spectacular bashes for friends and family at Christmas, but the festive season with Yves was like no other I had experienced. This was in a different league and the food, wine and surroundings were beyond comparison. His friends were delightful, his family welcoming and if his dear Maman did not approve of an English lady in his life, she hid it well.

The afternoon get-together on Boxing Day was almost as good, with friends and relatives of all ages in attendance. As Yves had told me, the two formal holidays were an excuse to get the more genteel parties out of the way before the ‘real’ festive season began. I was assured that now the family affairs were out of the way, it would be wall to wall naughtiness from there on in.

And of course, if there was naughtiness to be indulged in, then no-one was going to keep Nicole Bouvier from the action. She breezed in one mid-afternoon on the arm of a handsome forty-something gentleman and I wondered if she ever made love to anyone her own age anymore. The four of us sat sipping Chablis, making small talk and studiously ignoring the fact that in a few hours, Yves drawing room would become a heaving den of iniquity.

There were twelve of us in all. Yves claimed it was a ‘modest’ bash. I tried to imagine an immodest one and failed miserably. As I already had sexual knowledge of Yves and Nicole, that left a further nine people I would more than likely be involved with in an intimate manner.

I wasn’t even sure if I’d had nine sexual partners in my life before I embarked on this little odyssey. I did a quick count up and just about got there, but it was touch and go. Whatever; if they were all like Yves, Nicole and her partner Jean-Pierre, it would be an evening to remember.

It could not have started in a more diametrically opposed way to how it ended. Twelve immaculately dressed, responsibly behaved and well-mannered adults ranging between mid-twenties and early fifties; conversing, eating, drinking and making merry as the hired caterers scurried around us, providing splendid provender. When the caterers left we withdrew to Yves drawing room. Knowing what was to come, I imagined gentler times when the gentlemen enjoyed their cognac and cigars and the ladies made small talk and crocheted the night away.

For the first twenty minutes or so, the conversation continued in a subdued, genteel manner and I thought crochet would be an exciting alternative. I was in a discussion about the merits of the Cotswolds with a very elegant lady of around forty, while her husband and Yves tried to outdo each other with their tales of derring-do on the golf course. It was all pleasant enough, but I could see one or two people becoming a little agitated at the lack of action.

Then, a tall, younger woman in a tuxedo unravelled herself from her chair and stretched herself like a cat. She winked at me and mouthed, “It’s time!”

While everyone else in the room was in a cocktail dress or lounge suit, Nicole had of course dressed to be noticed. The tux jacket was only part of a mismatched ensemble that should have looked so wrong, but on her looked utterly sensational. A bowler hat was perched at a jaunty angle on her tangle of brunette hair and her dress shirt was open half-way to reveal her glorious cleavage. She wore it outside her trousers so that the tails hung down below the level of her jacket. A bow tie that had begun the evening in its proper place now hung down from her collar.

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to her as she stood in the midst of us, hands on her hips. She ran her hands across her thighs and my heart stood still as the flicker of a hundred candles was reflected in the sheer black PVC of her trousers. Spike-heeled, red leather ankle boots completed her attire and I felt a lump in my throat as I thought of the things I had done with this exquisite, enigmatic creature. She was a wet dream on PVC-clad legs and I had to pinch myself that I called her a friend and lover.

Her face was a mask of concentration as silence fell and she looked around the room as if appraising us all. Then her gaze snapped back to a gentleman on a chaise longue and she extended a long, languid arm and beckoned him towards her. He hesitated for a moment before his partner pushed him in the back with a huge grin on her face and he stepped forward to a small round of applause.

Nicole sank to her knees and unzipped him. There was a whisper in my ear. “I think maybe we will continue our discussion of the gentle Cotswolds another day, Robyn?”

The sigh I let out was as deep as the one that emanated from the man in the centre of the room as Nicole took him in her mouth. “I think you are right, Sylvie. It looks like the party has begun at last!”

Sylvie’s hand caressed the inside of my thigh as Nicole worked her magic on her willing victim, all eyes glued to the little tableau in the centre of the room. Satisfied the man was fit for purpose, she pulled off him and pointed towards a lady away to her left and pushed him towards her. Smiling, the woman held out a hand and took his erection willingly as Nicole now gestured to Sylvie’s husband, Alain.

He was already erect as she took him all the way. Sylvie gripped my arm, her voice a husky rasp. “What a fucking turn-on that girl is.” She turned to Yves. “Yves, you are the host. Two ladies need attention here, so get fucking hosting!”

As Yves stood and Sylvie extracted his erection from his trousers, I got a brief glimpse of Alain being sent on his way towards another woman, her mouth wide open in anticipation. Sylvie’s full, soft lips closed on mine and her hand slid further up my thigh and under my hemline. At the moment she took Yves in her other hand, I once again fought down a brief shiver of panic. Then, as I had done with Nicole and Yves, I screamed at myself inwardly that this was why I was here. Her tongue probed and she rubbed Yves’ erection across our cheeks as long fingers eased into my panties.

I pulled off her briefly to catch my breath. “Fuck, Sylvie — you’re only the second woman I’ve ever kissed.”

Grey eyes gleaming, she raised an eyebrow. “And?”

I waved an arm around the room. “Four more lovely women here — I’ll have kissed six soon. Now stick your fingers in me and we’ll suck Yves’ cock together, because I’ve never been to a party like this in the Cotswolds.”

By the end of the evening I was sure I could never attend another ‘normal’ party again. I had heard of swinger parties in England and never even considered that I could take part in one, but here I was being tossed between partners of both sexes like a rag-doll and relishing every moment. At times, I had no idea who was doing what to me or who I was attending to orally, but it added to the frisson of it all — the sheer excitement, the occasional slight pang of fear, the desire to push myself further and further as the night progressed.

I didn’t know whether it was at Yves’ or Nicole’s instruction, but Sylvie took me under her wing. She made sure I was fine with everything and checked on me with little nods of her head. Once she heard my delighted purrs, moans and gasps I think I convinced her I was enjoying myself. When I took a well-earned break from proceedings to cool down, clean up and grab a drink, she followed me into the kitchen.

“You all good, Robyn? Seem to be taking to it like a duck to water!”

I took a drink. “My God, Sylvie – a few months ago, I never thought I would be capable of anything like this. Now I think I’m addicted and the thing that scares me most is how I am going to feed my addiction back in England. I may have to resort to male escorts!”

She smiled. “The way you are fitting in, you’ll be back here a lot. Same happened to me over twenty years ago. In my late teens, I came from a small village to Paris to have some fun and thought I’d never fit in.” She sighed contentedly and her heavy breasts shook. “I’m still here and still having a blast!”

We both turned as a voice carried from the kitchen door. “So get in there and blast then, Mesdames!” Nicole tipped her bowler hat to us as she reached for the drinks trolley. The hat was now all she wore. “Sylvie — Robyn here has a burning desire to experience what the Brits call ‘spit-roast’. Jean-Pierre is ready for another round, so fire him up and get this lovely lady working hard at both ends and get another tick on her bucket list!”

Oh, did she get me working hard at both ends? She took tender care of Jean-Pierre, her thick mane of jet-black hair bobbing, grey eyes glazed with lust as I fingered her and took on her husband Alain. In his mid-fifties, he was a good deal older than Sylvie, but still in good shape. I thought that there must be something in the water – or maybe the wine – in this region that meant the older men were popular with the younger women.

Her fluffing of Jean-Pierre an unqualified success, Sylvie moved away and he entered me from behind, big strong hands gripping my hips. Even with my restricted view, I was aware that people were looking on, watching it all unfold as they took a break from proceedings. Nicole stood in the kitchen doorway, a little smile on her lips. Yves gazed down at me with his arm around Sylvie and nodded his approval. I assumed he also approved of the way her hand moved on his erection as his hand slid down and squeezed an ample breast.

I was suddenly the centre of attention as nine people watched on as I was ravaged by two middle-aged Frenchmen. For a fleeting moment, I felt like running a hundred miles away, then I realised something with the utmost clarity.

It was one of the moments of my life. I was on my knees in the middle of a drawing room in Central France and two men were rutting into me like stags in heat as I fulfilled a fantasy that had almost consumed me at times. Nine other people watched on, stroking each other, getting off on watching me — fifty-year-old Robyn Christie – as I fucked two complete strangers.

It was the most empowering and thrilling moment I could recall and when Sylvie licked Jean-Pierre’s cum from my face and Nicole sucked Alain’s from my sticky, wet pussy and we shared it in a three-way kiss, I knew with all my heart why Nicole wanted to be a porn-star. It was utterly exhilarating to have those things done to me, but for people to be watching and getting off on my fantasy fulfilment gave me even more of a kick.

After that, I was afraid of nothing. When we did it all again a few nights later at a grand New Year party at friends of Yves, Nicole was back in Paris. Our hostess Beatrice had been at Yves’ party and took me to one side as we sipped champagne and asked me if I would be the one to ‘break the ice’.

I almost refused, but had what Leigh refers to as a ‘What the fuck?’ moment. I was flattered, Bea was charming and I knew Nicole would be thrilled if I took up the offer and disappointed if I said no.

I could never hope to rival Nicole, but as I knelt in the middle of the floor with an erection in my mouth while Yves and almost a dozen strangers looked on, I knew this was where I belonged. I was not done until every man in the room had been in my mouth. Just before I released the sixth one, I wriggled out of my panties. I then turned, hoisted the hem of my dress and he entered me, both of us almost fully dressed. Now my view was restored, the place was rocking. Others joined us, my clothes seemed to melt away into thin air, and once again I let myself go on the tide and went wherever it took me.

The countdown to New Year was unforgettable. At the behest of Bea, the six of us ladies got down on all fours, facing each other in two rows of three. At fifteen seconds to midnight, our own partners entered us from behind and we counted down, each number accompanied by a hard thrust. As the chimes of the town clock struck, we were oblivious to the fireworks going off outside. We had indoor fireworks of our own.

Back in England, I would have been in a circle singing “Auld Lang Syne”, shaking hands, air-kissing and wishing everyone a Happy New Year. Here the menfolk moved in a circle around the six of us until we had all been with everyone’s partner. We then formed a line of six and took them by turn in our mouths, before we lay down and they reciprocated on us. Finally, one by one, we lay on our backs as every other lady straddled us and we lapped at them for a few moments, all overseen with expert attention by Bea, who conducted us like a symphony orchestra.

As a way of seeing in the New Year and making new friends it was unique to me, but so many New Year parties were lost in the mists of time. This one would be with me until the day they put me under the earth.

Our little round-robin over, we briefly stopped to drink a glass of champagne, then all hell broke loose and a dozen individual bodies became one writhing mass of flesh. Fuelled by fine wine, lust and sheer joie de vivre we were somehow still going as dawn broke. It was the best New Year I’d ever had and I just hoped the rest of the year could live up to it.

As Yves and I lay in an exhausted heap the next morning, he told me he had a confession to make. My heart sank for a moment until I saw the glint in his eye.

“Sorry, little bird, but I did not tell you that Alain and I have a golf challenge on the second day of each New Year. Eighteen holes, come rain, snow or shine. We have been doing it so long, our wagers began in Francs, not Euros. We still have some token Francs to exchange to this day.”

I stroked his chest. “You go, Yves. I could do with the rest. Play your golf tomorrow, then come back and I’ll make you squirm with lust.” I tapped his nose. “But only if you win!”

He smiled. “I always win. But no rest for you, little bird. Sylvie has invited you over for canapes and wine.”

I sat back in mock horror, covering my breasts with a sheet. “What, that terrible woman who cum-swapped with me and Nicole? The one that made me do all those awful things to all those poor people? Do you mean that Sylvie?”

He nodded, trying not to laugh. “Oui, le meme.”

“Only one question, Yves.”

“Oui?”

“Why don’t you play thirty-six holes?”

Sylvie and Alain’s place was only a little less ostentatious than Yves’. The driveway seemed to go on forever and given the depth of the gravel in front of the house, I hoped Yves did not spin his tyres on the way to the golf course, otherwise the glazier’s bill would be astronomical. Two well-built gardeners tended to the borders alongside the path and it never occurred to me that it was hardly the time of year for gardening.

When the men left, the fun started. It was a good job I loved Chablis and Champagne given the region I found myself in, and Sylvie assured me it was not vulgar to drink vintage Champers at eleven in the morning. I recalled my gin-fuelled ‘bad days’ with a little shudder and told myself things were different now. As we drank, I was happy to speak solely in French — I was becoming more fluent by the day and any opportunity to practice was fine by me.

I had struck up an immediate rapport with Sylvie at Yves’ party and had been disappointed she was not at the New Year bash. When I asked her about her party, she yawned ostentatiously and told me how jealous she was of the rest of us, as she saw the year in with relatives.

She shrugged. “They never liked me — see me as a gold-digger, fifteen years Alain’s junior. I love him just as much now as I did at twenty-five.” She winked. “You saw why the other night!”

I had to admit, he had been every bit as fine a lover as Yves.

Sylvie took a sip from her glass. “So, Robyn. Tell me more about the Cotswolds.” The look in her eye told me the game was on. She had a naturally mischievous nature and after a lifetime of jousting with Leigh, I was ready to play too.

I gave what I hoped was a decent gallic shrug. “Oh, nice little hilly area with lots of pretty villages and pubs. Very English.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Ah, ok. Hoped you’d say more. So in that case, would you like to brush up on your conversational French?”

When I responded, she sucked in her cheeks, trying not to laugh at my apparently garbled misuse of her native tongue. Roughly translated, it came out as, “We is talking French very much good, thank you please.”

She gave me a wry grin. “We is indeed. Like a native. So, as your conversational French is so impeccable, how is your bedroom French?”

“Needs work.”

“Want to work on it?”

“Fuck yeah!”

“That was English.”

“You understood it, though.”

“Fuck yeah!”

Just to show we were not hanging out for it, we had another glass each, then took the rest of the bottle upstairs with us. We were just nicely settled and getting into nipple nibbling when she sat up with a start.

“Merde, I clean forgot something!” She got up and dashed to the window, her long hair flying, big boobs bouncing very alluringly. She was a buxom lady and quite a handful, and I wanted my hands full at that very moment.

To my dismay, she opened the window, despite the temperature outside being just the right side of freezing. Then I realised why there were two hunky gardeners on duty.

“Mattieu, Krystov — time to do what I really pay you for.”

She returned to the bed as though nothing had transpired and resumed her nibbling. Then she looked up at me as I lay there in sheer dismay. “What? Didn’t really think I need gardeners this time of year did you? The size of those two, it will be one hell of a spit-roast. I swear they will meet in the middle somewhere in your tummy!”