The stage is lined with at least two dozen topless women. They kick their legs and wave their arms to the burlesque music crackling out of the speakers. The dancers have matching shimmering gold, high cut thongs, and matching top hats. The most striking thing, however, is how unenthused they look. Clearly, they aren’t even trying to dance or lip sync in unison.
I look over at my wife, Madeline, and we exchange knowing glances. I reach over to pour out the remaining “complimentary” champaign into our glasses. With the show’s finale nearing it’s close, I will be damn sure to at least finish the free bottle of booze. Finally, painfully, the show at Moulin Rouge is over. The lights flicker on, showing the yellow tapestries hanging from the ceiling, and the red walls.
I pull my sport coat off of my chair, and she grabs her black sequin purse so we can escape the tourist trap. We swallow any remaining drop of champagne before we walk away from the table. The crowd bottlenecks at the narrow entrance doors. It’s warm and stuffy, and we’re full of disappointment. Finally, we let out an audible sigh of relief once we reach the street.
We walk several paces away from the red windmill, and pause while I pull our pack of cigarettes out of my coat pocket. I light them both and hand her one. We both take a long drag, and exhale, and finally, we feel human again. “Well that was a fucking disapointment,” I declare.
“What were we thinking?” She asks me.
I lift and eyebrow and shrug. With the next drag of my menthol, I peer down Boulevard de Clichy to try and make sense of where to go next. It’s our third night in Paris, and we both directionally-challenged people. I feel tingles and tension in my legs, so I suggest we start walking in one direction or another.
She picks a direction; there seems to be no wrong way to go when you’re walking the streets of Paris. We hold hands, both processing the mess of a show we had just witnessed. She seems to be calculating something, based on the look on her face. We’ve been married 5 years, together 10, making it too easy for me to read her. “What are you looking for?” I ask.
‘Oh. Nothing,” She responds hastily. I know better than to press, so I take the final drag of my cigarette and put it out on a cafe table’s ashtray as we walk by. Then, without warning, she yanks me by the lapels of my coat and whisks us into a dark alley once we pass the final table in the row. She pins me up against the old brick building.
“You know what it is, right?” She asks, with a glint of mischief and champagne in her eyes.
I give her a puzzled look, then look back to the street with all of the people walking. Surely, they can see us here in this alley.
“It’s your birthday,” she says. “Your 30th birthday.” She leans in to kiss my neck, and rubs her generous cleavage into me. Her hand slips down to my package, where her sudden advance has prompted growth in my pants.
“You deserve a birthday gift,” she purrs. “Especially after that shitshow.” Her hands wrap around me and she grabs my ass, one cheek in each hand, and she squeezes tightly. Then her hands follow my beltline to the buckle, she leans in to kiss me, and I hear the clicking of my belt getting undone.
Without hesitation, her hand dives down my boxer briefs and she firmly grabs the cock she’s so familiar with. She strokes it inside my underwear several times. She knows I get nervous about public displays of affection. I know that she’s getting me so aroused that I don’t care about the public display. It’s working.
With her hand down my pants, she pulls her head back a few inches to peer at me with her lusty pale blue eyes. I can still make out her red lipstick in the dark alley. “How about I give you your present now,” she suggests.
“If you insist,” I respond, grabbing handfuls of her tits before she drops to her knees. In a swift motion, she lowers my clothing, takes hold of my shaft, and swallows it deeply. “Arrgg. Uhhf,” I moan, trying to be discreet.
I look down and watch her scarlet red lips wrapped around my thick cock, sliding up and down. She wiggles her tongue around my head. Knowing we still need to be quick about this, she goes to her trusted moves to make me come quickly. First, Madeline is sure to hum while she has me in her mouth. She knows that does me in.
While slurping me down, her hand travels to cup my balls, which she fondles and plays with. Her index finger creeps up to my taint, where she presses against the outside of my prostate. I know she’s not messing around when her finger travels farther still, and makes a quick circle around my asshole.
I refrain from fully fucking her face, but I can’t help but to grab her shoulders, then her hair, and pull her in as she bobs in and out. Her next moan sends me over my edge. Her long-nailed finger presses into my taint, and she hums louder this time. I look over to see the people walking by without a clue.
My peak comes and I shoot my hot streams into her mouth. After the biggest spasms pass, she sucks the remaining come out of me, and suctions her mouth off of my drained cock. She pulls my layers back up, then licks her lips as she swallows while she returns to standing.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/gejphb/the_parisian_goddess_intro_mf_public_blowjob