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Table of Contents
He shivered, paced the room restlessly and wondered at the turn his life had taken. The stained dressing table mirror showed a well muscled, dark-haired man of twenty-eight. Closer examination and a better light would bring out the lines running down from the nose that had been broken and reset too many times, the bitter twist of the wide mouth and the first streaks of gray in the too long hair. The circles under the brown eyes could be blamed on lack of sleep, but actually it was age.
Age, Peter sighed. Looking twenty-eight but going on thirty-five.
He selected clothing for the day, a black pullover, and a sporty brown tweed suit, and as he was removing these things from the closet he wondered what in hell he was getting dressed up for. To distinguish himself from the other characters drifting around town, or what?
It was too damned early to resign himself to another wasted day, so he showered, remaining too long under the feeble, lukewarm spray. He patted his body dry with the towel that hadn't been changed in a week and began to shave. While he was rubbing his chest, armpits and face with cologne, the knock on the door came.
There was the rattle of keys and he managed to wrap the damp towel about his privates just as the chambermaid, a big-titted Georgette entered, bearing his breakfast.
"Ahh, you are up!"
He held the towel in place, answering her remark with a nod.
A farm girl from Brittany, she had almond eyes, too tiny a nose in a fat face and brown, bushy hair. She snickered. "Why the cover-up? I have seen that rod under the towel thirty times if I have seen it once."
"I didn't know you were on duty today."
She placed the tray on the small table and faced him, a girl of nineteen who appeared to have no higher ambitions than to clean dingy hotel rooms. She was already unbuttoning her blouse, releasing the bared, sizable globes of her breasts.
"Thursday, nest ce pas? Two days off and I am always back on a Thursday. A day you of all people should know."
Of course he should, it was the day she earned her petit cadeau by lying down for him. And there was no point in explaining that he had slept badly, that he was not in the mood, that he could not spare the money since he wished to eat in a good restaurant that night. No point at all because with the wrinkled blouse and black skirt already off and no underwear to remove, the girl was already naked and kneeling on his bed.
"Come, I have not much time today."
"Last week you... "
"Oui, oui, I know! Last week I asked you for an extra twenty-five francs but that was an exception." She waved a strong, rounded arm. "Outside there a girl costs one hundred francs, the good ones anyway--those you see wearing fur coats."
His erected penis raised the towel, pulling it away from his thighs. With a hard-on like this he had no intention of cancelling the show, so what was she carrying on with her explanations for?
"And what about down by the des Italiens, eh? There at the very end where the Porte Ste. Denis is. Those whores, those walking disease carriers, charge fifty francs!"
That once-a-week convincer she always used, and he had reckoned that she cost him an extra two hundred francs minimum a month. His budget couldn't take it. So he had told her many times, but what the hell was the sense of telling her now when desire had won out?
He looked at the youthful line of her rounded thighs. Morning light reflecting in the sheen of her tight-skinned rear heightened the effect of the luscious ass. And those full breasts, sprung out, globular and unblemished, with the nipples taut and thick.
Toujours la meme chose. Yeah man, it was always the same thing. A twist of that ass and the flagpole took on new strength. But what the hell, he was normal, had no girlfriend to sleep with, and, not being inclined toward prostitutes or masturbation, had no choice. This ex-farm girl was shrewd enough to use her body to add to her income, and so what if he was one of the victims picked. How many others in the hotel, he wondered, slipped her thirty or fifty for a fast few minutes of raw sex.
He tore the wet towel off and flung it aside. Afterwards he would ask her to please change his linen more frequently, but for the moment there were her thrusting breasts, rounded belly and furry bulge between her shapely thighs to hold his interest.
His hand slid down the firm back to the bold rise of her hard buttocks. "My coffee will get cold."
Her eyes were closed, her head held high as his explorations caused the tight flesh covering her round breasts to pop up in goose pimples. Slowly, the behind he stroked began to revolve.
"No time for your coffee to get... cold. You know... ahh, no, no, do not touch me there! You know... I am fast."
His fingers dug into the flaring hip. True enough, she offered a rapid rise. Two, three minutes and he would be drained. It never went that way with other women but it always happened with this lusty farm creature. Call it experience, call it natural ability, but this wench knew her bed movements.
With a whine she turned, rubbing her side against his. Her arms whipped about his neck and as her full breasts pressed into his chest she allowed her weight to fall, bringing him down atop her.
Now they acted as if this was not a business arrangement, but a hasty and clandestine meeting between lovers. Her lips searched for his and they kissed and kissed until she moaned and twisted the lower part of her body.
His tongue went up and down her strong young neck, making it wet. And as his hands moved up her hard waist to find the round heavy breasts his mouth opened over the pulse in her throat. Now she cried, and, still gyrating her buttocks, tasted his freshly shaved chin and cheeks and begged him to come inside her.
She was more ready than he, offering a wantonness and a yearning to be loved and taken away by desire and sexual movements out of the shabby world they were now in.
He rose, his blood feverish, leaning above the twisting girl like a conqueror above the prey, caressing her with his eyes and his mouth and his hands. All manner of sounds left her mouth while her behind continued to roll, tearing up the bedsheets. A chafing noise was created and he stiffened, for those round cheeks rubbing one against the other brought on the sort of sexual turmoil that sent jolts of burning electricity down his spine.
"Ohhh, baby, baby, am I going to bang the ass off you."
"Ahh, oui, oui, it will be a job for my ass is big!"
His heart pounded violently and vibrations now coursed through his body. She whispered for him to take her, and her breasts, with the nipples very much enlarged, were now rising and falling rapidly.
They kissed again, wet, burning kisses. As her breathing became louder his senses soared with the blood boiling at the base of his steel-stiffened penis. She gasped when his hand searched her round thighs. Then he found her pubic bush, all thick but soft, his fingers becoming entangled in the hairs.
Her face reddened, her eyes went drowning and the young farm girl arched, bringing her twisting butt up off the bed. Her vaginal lips softened, the walls within becoming wet. His fingertips flicked over the little button of a clitoris, snapping at it, and the poor girl screamed.
"Quiet, they'll hear you outside. You know how thin these walls are."
"Come on, Georgette, ease up. You'll lose your job!"
"C'est ne fait rien!" Her thighs flew apart, her body quivered, and her behind, those lovely round balls, ground together over the bed.
Now, despite his urgings for her to slow down and be quiet, she began to move faster, slamming up at him and punching back down with her round ass. His finger rubbed back and forth, creating the wildest pleasure and--she climaxed!
Peter would have gone deaf from the girl's shouts if his palm hadn't clapped hurriedly over her mouth. She wanted to yell and yell at that moment of orgasm, but he was wild too, panting loud and in a hurry to penetrate her.
She spread her thighs, grasped the hard penis and directed it to her love nest. Peter felt his joint sucked into a swamp, sticky-wet, boiling hot, and juicy. For the longest moment he slid downward, to die hilt, feeling his genitals swing against the division of her upraised rump.
"O, is it hard! Ah, is it big!"
He squeezed her tightened breasts, pinched the nipples, then reached under to grab the always twisting fiery cheeks of her rear. Her fingers were in his hair, her kisses getting hotter as she moved.
It seemed to Peter that the muscles in his manhood were more swollen, an indication of approaching orgasm. So he slowed, falling easily, but resting atop her each time. She wrapped her legs about his waist, crushing the breath from his body while she requested him to slow down.
"That is it... slow, slower!"
Time was money for this girl. What on earth had come over her? He was paying for this turn and the sooner it was over the worse for him, but the better for her. All right, slow she wanted it, so slow it would be.
They settled into a steady rhythm, with her falling back as he rose and coming up to meet him as his body went down. In this manner his privates were sunk deeper and then pulled out far, the lips of her vagina wrapping around the tip.
"I am good at this, eh?"
"Damned good." Sure, at fifty francs it ought to be good.
"I am the sort worth waiting for, eh? Every Thursday."
"You know it." He stroked her pliable hips and caressed the long, extremely shapely thighs.
"I am well built... oui... a perfect shape, all curves and... ooohhh, oui, I think it is... happening again. Ohhh, no, no, nooo!"
His movements quickened, taking up more speed, digging deeper and harder. The girl swallowed, caught her breath, and twisted under him like a tornado, squeezing the life from him with her shapely but strong legs, and bounding up off die bed rapidly.
The girl was so vigorous, so strong, that he was carried up off the bed, actually suspended. Again, there was yelling as she climaxed, but his stiff penis remained active, vibrating within, heating her more, goading her into a furious action.
"There, there, ahhh, out, oui, f'arrive!" Her flow was copious, washing down his penis, drowning it there in the love cave. When Georgette finally fell back, no longer moving, the light in her almond eyes had dimmed.
Peter looked down at her, feeling her contracting snatch clamp tightly about his thrusting joint. The flesh of her breasts had tightened, her face was unnaturally red, and she was under him like a dead person. Finished.
"Are you okay?"
"Much so, but there was nothing for you. A pity. Give me a moment of rest and I shall bring you there."
He had to lie still, for the walls of her privates had tightened about his manhood so as to allow him little movement. As Peter rose, however, there was a sucking sound and Georgette's outflow, bubbling and creamy, seeped up, springing like a well through the curling pubic hairs, to slide in different directions down her thighs.
The sticky heat of her love juices increased his desire and Peter thrust into her, making her shiver and whine, but returning her to life. Again, she kissed him hotly and entwined her limbs about his rising and falling body.
"Ahhh, Peter, it is so good with you, so satisfying. Your body... it is all muscles... ahhh!"
"Yes, yes, yes, baby!"
His hands clasped the wonderfully round and firm globes of her bottom and held on tight. Her mouth was pressed to his and their tongues duelled. Then, that globular ass that his palms had captured started its impossible revolutions, rubbing around like a machine. Her thighs, sliding up and down his, were constantly busy and, with their pubic hairs rubbing crisply together, Peter was carried far off to paradise.
"Ahhh, oui, oui, what a stream! You are there! But I am getting there too!"
Her shoulders were pressed hard into the pillows and she shuddered in a paroxysm of passion. Her body jerked upward while he thrust rhythmically in and out, experiencing a burning sensation.
Afterwards, when they parted, it took several minutes before either could speak. She rose by degrees, sliding off the bed, kneeling on the floor, then clutching the table for support, until finally she made it, standing there with her lovely, shapely legs trembling.
"O la, la, I cannot believe it."
"We took too much time... " Peter was fighting to catch his breath. "I'm certain others on this floor heard your yells."
"Peter! Ooooo! I could use some wine, I am so dizzy."
He staggered up, went to the other side of the room where his wallet rested atop the underwear and shirt he had worn the previous day. As he counted out five ten franc notes the telephone hanging above the bed snarled. His watch was elsewhere so he had no idea of the time, but who in hell would phone so early?
It was Heinz Weigert, an agent who made his ten percent by handling actors, singers, dancers and sometimes boxers. Since Peter neither acted, sang nor danced it was a sure bet that Heinz had him booked already for a boxing match.
"Want me to get my features rearranged, eh, Heinz?"
"A substitute's needed, Peter, in seventy-two hours. I've got to know now. Immediately."
Peter looked over at the naked Georgette, and down at his surprisingly still hard penis. "What's the tab?"
"Ten thousand francs."
"Well... " Peter arranged to meet him later and replaced the receiver.
Georgette's eyes were shining brightly and with her cheeks so flushed she looked more the farm girl than ever. She dug her fingers into his arms and planted a moist kiss on his forehead, then another on his lips. "What a dream man you are."
She was still on fire, eager for more explosions, but he could not afford another fifty francs. He waved the bills at her. "Well earned, sweetheart."
Georgette took a backward step, staring at the money as if he had just plucked it out of the dirtiest gutter in all Paris. "I do not want that."
Somehow he didn't understand. More money, she would not get.
"After what we just had there!" She pointed at the tom-up bed. "I saw stars, I heard all sorts of birds singing. Fireworks went off in my head. Ah, no, Peter, this is no longer a money proposition between us. When a man makes me come like that! Ahhh!"
She told him about her first man, who had been forty-five to her eighteen years, who had carried her to such a peak of passion that Georgette imagined she would die. It was, she told Peter, then as just now, dizzying.
His blunt-edged tool had broken through virgin territory, scoring hard, creating a throbbing hurt, keeping it up until the hurt coursed up from her loins to her breasts.
A fire started, an explosion occurred, and then a syrupy oil flowed from her fluttering opening while her seducer worked her over, his hands always gripping her rotating behind, his well-knowledged instrument jabbing on and on.
Georgette rubbed her opened mouth across Peter's lips. "Twenty times I came. Imagine it, twenty times the first time. Ahh, what a man! And you remind me of him."
Peter knew a sudden yearning again and he pushed the girl across the used bed. "Did you have to tell me that tale?"
"But... there is no time! I must clean."
"Me too, baby, I've got to clean you out!"
"I want it, I want you in me again but later. Surely you are not capable now." Her fingers reached down, feeling the ballooning tip. "Dieu, you are!"
"I'm boxing again, baby, soon, and so I've got to get in all the sex I can."
He straddled her, his enlarged instrument tickling her soft-skinned belly, shoving further up, past the navel and into the valley dividing the great, rounded breasts. A slight drop of scum trickled out, dribbling on a lush tit, rolling down the stiffening nipple. She moaned.
Her arms were waving about and he pushed them back, his fingers encircling her wrists. The penis wavering before her eyes seemed enormous and she could smell the spunk. The scent caused her to curse and struggle but he managed to hold her threshing body between his legs.
Georgette arched her back, carrying him up. Exhausted she fell back, ceasing to struggle. "Do not ruin me... I did not mean to excite you so but do... not ruin me!" Gradually her movements died and Peter released her hands.
His fingers roamed all over her by now sweating body. His mouth, hot and wet, followed his hands up and down her thighs, her hips, her breasts, licking and biting and kissing.
Her hips were responding and her body undulating rhythmically beneath his. Her ass trembled, her curving but now humid thighs opened. Her clitoris was already throbbing from lust, the vaginal lips wet and rippling. She felt the rod dancing along her flesh. The lining of her opening dripped water and the muscles softened and... he scored a direct hit. He went in like a bull, ramming her so hard that his heavy balls banged hurtingly against her slightly raised ass.
He buried his tool deep in the depths, pushing downward, using a great amount of force to part the stuck together lining, and Georgette thrust her ass up, meeting the savage attack.
"Ahhh, oui, with you, all the way!"
"Good, ahh, that feels good!"
Thus fused, Peter rested for a second. She whined, complaining that something itched her. Finally she realized it was the stringy hairs that grew along his penis. "Can you move a bit?"
"No sooner said than done." Peter rose and the hairs scratched and Georgette yelled. He invaded her, much deeper this time, and cream spurted from her snatch, leaking out to dampen her bush and lubricate his tool.
Georgette could not stand it. Her belly heaved and she tightened her ball-shaped buttocks, calling upon the muscles to knot and writhe so that she surged up, hammering at his groin with hers.
"Ahh oui, ahh oui... like that, bang me, ohh, bang me!"
Fractions of a minute were left before he spurted his juice, so Peter knew he had to make the most of it. He had lasted an eternity before, but the bitch's story, so lust arousing, had sent hot blood bubbling along the length of his penis. Worse, she was moving like a shark in tropical waters, twisting and turning, her snapping privates wrenching the pole from his loins.
"Ahhh, no, Georgette, no, no... don't move!"
"It is not me doing it... I possess no control over my body. Ahhhh, merde!" Peter exploded, blasting her cavern, dropping a load of sperm within her that caused the ex-farm girl to shiver with warm joy. Enraptured she bent her back, giving way to an orgasm that was equally swift, equally jolting, making her twist her ass violently while the man's seed gushed into her opening.
Georgette looked up at him with glazed eyes. "We had ourselves a time this morning, eh?"
"You know... " he was gasping for breath, "I am worn out... but the yearning is still strong... as ever."
"Mats non! We are not to make a marathon of this."
"While you can, enjoy, because the time will come when you can't. That is a hard and fast rule."
Peter rolled the buxom creature over cm her stomach and took her from the rear, parting the cheeks of her luscious behind and sliding his still erect tool into the wet but hurting slit.
Georgette shrieked. "Ahhhh, cochon!"
Grunting, Peter deepened the insertion, pushing the organ in to the limit. The girl choked, her eyes bulged as the man pumped away. His thrusts were so incessant, so pile-driving, that she knew the leaping muscle would rip apart her tender lining.
His hands crept around, grasping the tightened and hanging cushions of her breasts. His fingertips twisted the prominent nipples, and then he moaned like a beast with an arrow in its side and pasted his face to her wet back.
"I am there!"
She felt the hot stream of joy shooting into her and, unexpectedly, Georgette stiffened, released a soundless cry and fell forward, breaking off the connection. Peter was on his side, moaning while she left the bed, wobbling as if in a state of shock.
"We shall make arrangements, have our fun elsewhere in the future. I cannot fuck you like this in the mornings and then put in a full day working. Impossible!"
Every inch of the girl's shapely young body was soaking wet. Her rounded thighs kept jerking and her flared hips continued to twist. She had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out.
Peter left the bed, went at his breakfast and found the bread hard, the coffee cold. "Ruined."
"And what did you expect?" Georgette spoke from the bathroom. She washed at the basin, slinging her big, heavy legs over the side and splashing soapy water up into her privates. After that she washed her face, patted cool water on her hot neck and steaming breasts and pressed a wet wash rag to her temples.
"You're really something today, Georgette. I guess I never appreciated you before." He looked at her standing there, the brown hair all wild, the superb figure seeming to take on overwhelming proportions.
"I have always been something. You looked at one thing and not at the rest, that's all." Georgette posed so that her breasts jutted out roundly, spiked by two pinkish tins. The stomach was flat now, but her flawlessly curved hips never ceased undulating. And, with the hard-fleshed thighs so flaring, and the provocative buttocks so awesomely contoured, Peter felt his senses soaring once more.
"Ohh, baby, that ass!"
"No, no!" She backed off, reaching for her clothing.
"One feel, just let me have one feel."
"One. No more!"
Peter's hands squeezed the great fruity mounds, testing their resiliency. "Ahh, well. Okay, go clean your rooms."
Georgette gave him a fleeting lass, this more the lass of a wife rather than a lover, and hurriedly began to dress. "A man like you who makes me so insane with happiness... ah, we must discuss it further."
She left, leaving an odor that was strong on his body. Peter leaned against the wall, needing another shower, feeling thoroughly drained.
Sex! Oh man, it did him in and worse, he couldn't do without it. He lingered too long under the shower, thinking not of the plump farm girl who had satisfied him, but of another girl. Tall, blond, blue-eyed and bitchy Alexandra.
Toweling himself dry he was pleasantly surprised to find hard again that part of what was supposed to be the most honest component of any man.
I need Alexandra here to reduce it to total limpness. Suddenly, he recalled the last time with the blond bitch, when the blood had gone roaring from his head to his penis. They had molded themselves into the sixty-nine position, and at the moment of mutual orgasm his sperm had gagged her mouth while her flow, thin, lubricating and tasty, rolled along his tongue, coating it.
The sight of his leather gym bag parked in one comer of the bathroom brought him up short. The fight! He had totally forgotten that he had been chosen as a substitute. Christ, that was going to be a deal. Money in his pockets, but marks on his face.
But--money brought him closer to Alexandra, it shortened the distance between them. Yeah boy-- he looked down at the erected penis--soon you'll be fitted into another home.
It was in the mornings that Alexandra always suffered some pain caused by pleasure of the night before. But pain--she looked over at the still sleeping Jean, feeling the sharp tinglings in her vagina like pinpricks, especially near the soft, nubby clitoris--was the price she was always willing to pay.
She left the bed, standing tall before the window, a voluptuous girl whose body, rather than her yellow hair and blue eyes, evoked male admiration in this city. Silently, she stroked her flaring hips and rotund buttocks, squeezing the firm cheeks together. She didn't want to wake Jean, until at least some of the soreness had been creamed from her privates.
In the bathroom she passed a soaped wash rag over her body, her big breasts bobbing before the cabinet mirror. What a mad coupling last night, with one fantastic orgasm after another. Sex with that young boy was as exciting as a dream, better than anything she had experienced lately.