Past seven PM, Place Pey Berland, Bordeaux. Walking Omer, my Labrador. Cars buzz by. A small city car slows. Door flies open. Hot legs swing out. Girl nearly stumbles. Angry dude yells. She’s twenty-ish, fuming, storms off. He chases in his ride, screaming shit like ‘Come back, bitch!’ Classic loser.
Curiosity pulls me closer. She ignores him, sways those hips toward the pedestrian street. He parks, jumps out. Nobody intervenes. I speed up, dog in tow. Hero fantasy flickers—save the damsel. But he’s a scrawny punk. He quits, peels off. I’m behind her now, eyes glued to that tight ass under her short skirt.
The Spark Ignites
She flops on a bench in the square, digs in her bag. Tears? I pounce. Offer tissues. She stares, pulls out smokes. ‘Thanks, but this.’ Awkward. She asks for a light. No dice, I don’t smoke. ‘Smoke later.’ Eyes dry fast. ‘You okay?’ Dumb question. She spots Omer. ‘Cute dog. Got one too.’ Icebreaker. Caresses him. I ogle her legs, smooth, spring tease.
‘Booze at the cafe?’ Terrace right there. She hesitates. Fresh off asshole ex. Why me? But ‘Sure.’ Boom. Names: Remi, Marie. She’s 23, biz student from Lille. Chat flows. Ex stories. She’s single now. Laughs at my age jab—35, ancient. Divorce tale: ex ditched for coworker, left me the dog. ‘You won.’ Sparks fly. No plans tonight. Indian spot next. Seduction ramps. Flirty banter. She teases my ‘collection’ of thrillers. Perche grabbed: ‘Wanna see it?’
Raw Release and Secret Thrill
Double entendre lands. We crack up. She leans in: ‘Show me your cock?’ Heart pounds. Kiss explodes. Tongues tangle, hungry. ‘Let’s go.’ My place nearby. Door slams. I devour her mouth. Omer nudges—feed me first. She strips to lingerie on couch. ‘Hurry, cold.’ Clothes fly. Naked grind. Hands everywhere. Her grip on my dick—rough, eager. ‘Easy, babe.’ ‘So fucking horny.’ Panties off. Bushy pussy, wet. Tits perky, nipples hard peaks. Suck ’em. She rolls condom on, masterfully.
Legs spread. Fingers dive into slick heat. Guides me in. Tight, soaking grip. Thrust deep. Nails rake ass, back. Moans: ‘Oh yes!’ Dog watches—busted. Banish him. Rhythm builds. Her cries raw, real. Sweat slicks skin. Climax hits—explode in the rubber, groaning.
Shower, bed. She crashes fast. Morning: tram drop-off. ‘Call me?’ Gone. No number. Tram bells fade. Vexed? Nah. Used as rebound stud. Her forbidden itch scratched. Mine too—that rush of snagging fresh meat off the street. Society’s eyes blind to my thrill. Omer trots on. Secret locked tight. Craved the taboo. Got it. Hard.