**I thought I’d share the time about the second (and infinitely better) fling I had after my divorce some years ago. For those of you who might have been following my previous posts and looking forward to my follow-up with** [Paul](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/d09ox2/fucking_the_best_man_at_my_daughters_wedding/) **that I had arranged for this past** [Saturday](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/d10pab/follow_up_to_fucking_the_best_man_at_my_daughters/)**, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. Saturday turned out to be something of a disaster, though, fortunately, through no fault of Paul’s – rather, I had further work-related obligations that took up my weekend, in addition to my daughter turning up, and I was completely burned out – so we’ve agreed to meet later in the week and maybe I’ll have something to write about then. Thanks for your patience!**
After my divorce several years ago, I was at a low and was looking to get away from it all. Eloise, a friend of mine from France, offered to let me stay with her at her place in Paris for a few weeks, so, with a chance not to worry about hotel and food bills, I was all too happy to accept.
Eloise is a perky, upbeat firebrand of a woman, who’s not shy of aggressively putting forward her opinions or standing up for others if she thinks they can’t do so for themselves. It’s an aspect of her that I’m (still) a bit envious of. Within two hours of getting off the plane, she was already reacquainting me with the social life I had been missing for years. This went on for nearly three or four days, which, whilst amazingly exciting, I could have really done without the hangovers on the days after. On the fifth day (or was it the sixth?) I opined for something more sedate, so Eloise arranged for me to see some of the sights.
The next day, we’re hopping onto a bus to have a guided tour, and Eloise explains to me that the tour guide giving commentary up front is an old friend of hers and is, unsubtly, pointing out that he’s a cutie. In hindsight, I’m pretty sure she used to go out with him, or at least they had fucked. I rolled my eyes and elbowed her, at the time, not being in the mood to engage with male company in *that* kind of capacity after the disappointment of the one-night stand I had after my separation. The half day tour was neat and fairly engaging and I was lot less stressed at the end of it. We got off the bus and Eloise introduces me to Jean (for those of you not too familiar with the French language, I think its pronounced Zh-uh. God knows I was confused at first. But then, I was a stupid American tourist! lol)
Jean is just a little taller than me, but that just makes him of average height for a man, I guess. We were about of similar ages I think (I was 34 at the time), and had well-groomed chestnut hair that was short-cropped, which gave him a bit of a look similar to those European footballers I had seen on TV. He was reasonably well built, with skinny wrists, an attractive stubble, and a light-brown tone to his skin. I guess he was the cutie Eloise described him to be, though he had a bit of a strong hook nose – in fact, it was the first thing my eyes noticed upon meeting face to face. Still, like a lot the people I had met since I arrived, he had a nice, easy-going attitude, offset by a somewhat manic energy that seemed to keep him from staying still for very long – always bouncing on his toes, shifting from side to side, or nodding his head or something. His accent was lighter than Eloise, but I suppose he gets English practice from his job at catering to foreigners; regardless, it was kind of sexy.
Eloise arranged for everyone, including some of her regular friends, to meet at a club. I was dreading another drunken night on the town, but we ended up in some fancy jazz (I think) bar, and there wasn’t so much drinking this time round – it was just a good time with friendly company. Jean started to get flirty about halfway through, but he kept his hands to himself and was super nice (as are most men who looking to get into your panties, I now suppose, with the benefit of hindsight), but was sympathetic enough to dial it back when Eloise let it slip I was in France to get my mind off my divorce – so, for that at least, I started to warm up to him.
These sort of outings went on for a few more days until we hit my second Saturday night in France. Eloise wanted to unwind big time, and we’re off dancing. It was hot, it was frantic, and Eloise was constantly jabbing me to get it on with Jean whenever he headed off to get drinks, and her friends were likewise jeering in their encouragement. I conceded to dance, but no more. Eloise was intent on having a party with or without me.
We crawled back home at some point way after midnight, with Jean carrying an inert Eloise who had puked her guts out half an hour earlier and was mumbling and moaning pitifully something in French which I think was the equivalent of ‘Never again’ or similar. She was real mess at that point – hair disheveled and her jeans near a quarter way down her ass, showing off her tiny black g-string – I was embarrassed into inaction, so it was up to Jean to tuck her in. He made coffee and stuck around. I was kind of aware that he was trying his luck. If I had met him now, we would have gotten in bed a lot faster after all that, but my sexual experiences to that point had been woefully minimal, and I felt like an innocent teenage girl again – horny, scared, excited, awkward, and stupid.
Fortunately, Jean was intelligent and funny and got us started, and it didn’t take long for us to find common ground to start a good humored exchange. The topic of my ex-husband came up and I started venting. Jean listened until I was emotionally empty and had nothing more to say, then started mercilessly ripping into the character of my ex as a man. I was shrieking with laughter by the end and it was cathartic. Jean had made his move in the interim and I found myself sitting on the floor with him, right between his legs, with his hands and fingers gently caressing me all over.
By then, I was aware of his erection pressing into my back and I felt somewhat giddy. I was still too nervous to make the first move, so I just waited for developments. I’m not sure if I wanted sex that night, but I did want the cozy intimacy of the company as it existed right then at least. Jean decided to up the seduction, pulling my hair away from neck and started grazing his lips there. I think was going to say something, but one of his hands slipped under my top and started to caress my breast through my bra and I quickly became disorientated.
I half-turned to face him and god knows what I was going to say, because in the same movement, he had lifted my top up to my neck and slipped a nipple free, rolling it between his fingers. At that point, I gave up resistance and just let him do what he seemed know to do. My bra came off soon after and he started kneading and squeezing my breasts together whilst his mouth worked between my nipples. His thigh had pressed its way between my legs and against my mound, and I was soon grinding myself against it. When he stopped and pulled away, I was so in the moment that I gasped with disappointment. But then he started taking off his shirt and unbuckling his trousers. He was already completely hard and his cock sprang out the moment he jerked both his trousers and underwear off together.
Jean’s shaft wasn’t that much different in size from my ex-husband (about as long as my hand, from wrist to finger, and two fingers thick I guess), but I was instantly taken (or should that be perversely fascinated?) by the slight angle halfway down that shaft that caused it to bend slightly to the left.
I was quite slow in those days and by the time he was fully nude, it was only then that I actually started to think that I should maybe get undressed myself. Before I could so much as get my top off, Jean was kneeling at my side and working his hand up beneath the folds of my dress and starts to caress me through my panties. My eyes were darting frantically between the closed door to Eloise’s bedroom and the hand that was covered by my dress. His erect cock was only two or three feet away, but back then, I was just too green to take the initiative and do something. Jean didn’t miss the fact that I was staring though, and brought his waist towards me.
I had tried to give my ex blowjobs before, but they turned into awkward affairs that didn’t do much for my confidence or even enjoyment. But, anyway, I figured we were already deep into it (Jean was certainly finger deep at any rate), so I figured I’d give it a try again. Peeling back the foreskin to reveal this dark, swollen head, I held him at the base, closed my eyes and went for it. My movements were mechanical and I wondered if I was doing anything right, but at least I was hearing Jean sighing and that was enough to keep me going (or at least not to stop). His hand went to my head and I instantly tensed up, fearing he was going to start forcing the motions of my head (that was the main turn off with my ex whenever I would try fellating him). Fortunately it was just for him to run his fingers through my hair, so, after I had managed to relax again, I was able to start getting a little enthusiasm for it.
I wasn’t really good at it then, so it just seemed go on and on, though it was probably only a few minutes. Finally, though, Jean pulled out, but also took his fingers away leaving me very hot and very frustrated. He proceeds to tell me that he’ll introduce me to Paris in a way that I won’t forget, leaving me slightly bewildered and wondering what the hell he’s on about. Whilst he was talking he had also started to drag one of Eloise’s large leather lounge chairs closer to the balcony doors, and then, without warning, slides them wide open.
From there I can see the night lights of Paris in their majesty. The open door is also letting in a really cold breeze and I was instantly fucking freezing and practically ready to shout murder. Jean doesn’t waste a lot time though, as he came over guided me over. After peeling off my clothes, he sat down with one leg over the arm of the chair and pulls me down to sit between his open legs. Pulling me back against him, I’m cold with stiff nipples in front whilst being braced by the heat of his body and groin from the back.
Jean then proceeds to give me a half hour (I’m estimating though, I can’t really be sure) of ‘Introduction to Paris’, as he put it; fingering me from the back whilst he gropes, caresses and kisses me all over, teasing my nipples, and whispering filthy nothings into my ear. Sometimes he lapsed into French and I had no idea what he was saying, but generally when he was speaking in English, it was a tirade of dirty compliments. So there I was squirming, cumming, writhing, moaning, cumming, scratching, and god knows what else, watching lights of the city with my legs spread wide open and his hand working between them – even till today, whenever I see city lights by night, I often remember this little escapade, however briefly. Jean was playing me like an instrument and I was a sobbing, blonde mess in his dusky arms.
I was exhausted by the time he stopped. I’m not sure if I cried, but my eyes were stinging and my voice sounded a little hoarse. I can feel Jean subtly urging me to get up, but my leg cramped and I crashed back down into him. I’m so completely embarrassed and was apologizing over and over, whilst he’s busy chuckling and biting my ear lobe. Finally, he lifts me up and brought me over to the sofa in a bridal carry and turns me face down on the sofa.
My body felt so heavy that I couldn’t even muster the will to change the position he had put me down in: my head was wedged into the corner, one of my arms dangling over the side, the other trapped between the sofa back and my body, and my bent knees – braced by the friction against the couch – has my ass up in the air. My face is on fire. Jean was out of my vision, but I could hear him breathing. I had no idea if he was recovering, admiring, or just jerking before the deed. But, then, his hands take hold of my hips and he mounts me and starts pounding away. I was so non-responsive and inert, unable to adjust myself, that my knees felt like it was getting a mild case of carpet burn – it was very much a case of him using my cunt to masturbate with. I was so turned on I came again. I didn’t think I could have further orgasms after that point. I was just so wet I could barely feel the friction. Jean kept working.
Then the bastard starts cussing. It’s all in French, so I don’t have a clue what he was saying, but there’s that tone that people take when they’re swearing and it’s just like that. It was this long tirade of horny French fuck talk. A stinging spank landed on my backside and I jolted – I’m not sure if I was more surprised by the fact that he had done it or that I actually had the energy to jerk up. His hands start pulling at me, jerking me into his thrusts, and, almost as soon as he started this, he yanked his cock out.
The next thing I knew, something hot was landing over my buttocks and my back. I had had my tubes tied a long time ago, but I guess he couldn’t have known about that. I suppose it could have been nice. But anyway… realizing that he was done, it was like coming down from a marathon, with the body suddenly realizing really just how tired in was. I wanted to say something, but I just didn’t know what, and the last thing I was cognizant of was Jean setting me down and spooning behind me.
When I woke up, I was startled to realize in bed before making my brain work enough to realize Jean must have brought me to my bed in the guest room. Jean was already gone by then and Eloise was making breakfast. She didn’t say or do anything, not even a smirk, but I get the distinct impression she knew. There were just all these… cues. But she didn’t say anything and I was glad for the silence. I sat down in a daze (the nice kind) whilst Eloise set the table. Whilst we were eating, she nonchalantly asked me were I wanted to go today as if nothing was amiss. I thought asking about Jean, but… well, the moment passed really and I realized I wasn’t all *that* interested – Jean hadn’t left his number or anything – and I was going to leave in two days anyway.
So I went back to being a silly tourist and told her I’d like to see the Eiffel Tower. We had a great two days after that; travelling, shopping, and doing crazy things. She saw me to the airport and we had a big girly hug and then it was back home for me.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/d1w70s/introduction_to_paris_fingered_and_fucked_by_my
Great story!