Sunday, 14 October 2012

An Antidote To Writers Block (Part 28) A Breath Of French Air (Day One)

After my disgusting display of ungentlemanly conduct with Eleanor Overend, where I divested her of her widows weeds and rogered her on her deceased husbands desk, I was at my lowest ebb.
I awoke the next morning feeling quite simply ashamed of my behaviour.
I had stooped lower than I thought it possible to do.
Now this was a new feeling for me, I had woken the morning after to be greeted by some frightful sights.
I remember waking up and feeling guilty, disappointed, surprised, amazed and sometimes horrified but never ashamed.
If Georgia ever found out what I’d done it would be over between us for certain sure.
When we parted after the memorial service and she said
“Now you behave yourself,” I can absolutely guarantee that wasn’t code for “now go and fuck the widow”.
Well there was no point in beating myself up over it,
“What’s done is done,” I said aloud
I just had to find some way to modify my behaviour in future or I would never experience what Gerald and Eleanor had.
As a penance I locked myself away from the sinful world for over a week as I systematically transcribed Gerald’s tapes.
Some of the recordings were just of him speaking into the recorder and they were the most complete in terms of content, but the other ones he recorded secretly as he told the tales to an enraptured audience were just sublime, he was a true raconteur.
When I finally got to the bottom of the box nearly ten days had elapsed and that’s what kept me out of trouble.
I think I was safer on my own, I certainly couldn’t be trusted in mixed company.
Obviously I had Skyped Georgia on a regular basis so it wasn’t like being in solitary confinement.
I sent Georgia some of the recordings as mp3 files which she played to her housemates and they all really enjoyed them.
I spoke to my publisher about the stories and he said I would have to send him something to read before he committed himself, but he was interested in principle but he wanted words on a page, not on a tape.

I was soaking in the bath contemplating whether or not I could be trusted to pay a visit to the Golf club without disgracing myself,
Was the risk that I might jump Dawn Symonds and bang her on the billiard table an unacceptable one.
It was while these deliberations were going on in my head that my mobile phone rang, unfortunately it was on the bed so I got out the bath and padded to the bedroom and picked up the phone
“Hello” I said impatiently, dripping on the carpet
“Oh hello grumpy” the voice on the other end said
“Ah Dr Feelgood I presume” I said recognizing the dulcet tones of Claire Andrews, local GP and occasional carnal companion.
“I have just the thing to cheer up a grumpy old geezer,” Claire said
“And what might that be”? I enquired
“Paris!” she said enigmatically
“Ooh la la” I responded
“Two nights in Paris to be precise” she said, “where you can grab my la la and make me ooh”
“Tell me more”
It transpired that Claire had been asked at short notice to stand in for a colleague at a symposium in Paris.
The Doctor for whom she was deputizing had himself been taken ill, Claire had worked closely with him in the past and was almost fully up to speed on the topic in question.
Claire was one of my guilty pleasures, she was married which used to be a big no-no for me, but I relaxed my attitudes given the right circumstances.
Her husband was seriously disabled and incapable in everyway of pleasuring her; she had remained faithful to him despite this for nine years before I got my hands on her and made an adulteress of her.
Our first get together was unplanned and unexpected but our subsequent outings were anything but.
Our little get together’s were always exciting, exhilarating, mind blowing and exhausting.
I felt the tell tale tingle down below the moment I heard her voice, because I knew what it meant.
Also in my twisted logic a trip away with Claire didn’t infringe on my new found resolve to curb my behaviour because I didn’t think of sleeping with Claire as cheating on Georgia, I looked upon myself more as her respite carer.
Claire went on to say that we would have a two-night stay in Paris and we had first class seats on the Eurostar.
I couldn’t wait trains always gave me a hard on.
“Ok, I’ll see you on Sunday” I said “and by the way I’m not an old geezer”
“You will be by the time I’m finished with you” she retorted and hung up.

I was in a much better frame of mind after speaking to Claire and I decided not to bother with the club aster all.
I was mindful that Georgia was reluctant to use the door key I had given her for fear that she might catch me in blissful union with another woman so I figured I should just insure at the very least not to shag anyone at home just in case, So I thought Paris qualified as a safe distance in this regard.
How long my latest resolution would last I couldn’t possible say it would quite likely go the same way as the “don’t fish in someone else’s pond” rule.
My next job was to fabricate a legitimate reason to be in Paris, so I put in a call to my agent, Lionel Blum.
He had been pestering me for weeks to meet with a French publisher who was apparently eager to serialize one of my books in a popular Parisian “gentleman’s” magazine.
I had been resisting the offer if for no other reason than to prevent my mother saying that I wrote, “French stories” which only she could make sound worse than pornography.
Lionel was delighted that I had reconsidered and asked me to give him an hour and he would try and set something up.
As it turned out only ten minutes had elapsed before the phone rang, I picked it up to hear Lionel say he had set up a meeting for Monday afternoon.
Suddenly I was really looking forward to getting away; or was I really looking forward to getting my end away, either way I was excited.

Normally on our little excursions Claire and I would meet at the Hotel, having made our way there separately, although we had been known to share at least part of the journey home together.
This time though we met at Kings Cross station, now laughably calling its self “Kings Cross International”.
In true clichéd manner we met beneath the clock on the main concourse, Claire was a few minutes late due to a hosiery mishap. As she was leaving the platform a rather impatient city type, Claire called him a banker I was less complimentary though it sounded similar, cut in front of her at the barrier and snagged her tights with his laptop bag.
So not wanting to rummage thru her suitcase at the station she had decided to buy another pair on the concourse, it was a pack of two as it turned out, and after purchasing a rather more inferior product than her usual, had to run down to the ladies to change.
I saw the 5ft 4 inch well groomed doctor approaching, her coat was unbuttoned and it flapped open as she walked.
Claire’s soft curled shoulder length brown hair, that framed her pretty face, bounced in time with her stride and was synchronized perfectly with her breasts which moved hypnotically.
Claire had a very neat figure and although in her early thirties never looked it, even the morning after.
Her intelligent blue eyes fixed on me and a smile was playing about her full lips.
As the doctor and I embraced I drank in her exotic fragrance and felt the slightest of trouser tickles.
Even though she was late we still had time to sit and enjoy an unhurried coffee before boarding the train.

We had both travelled by Eurostar on several occasions previously, I always found it much less hassle than flying and when you disembarked at the Gare du Nord you were actually in Paris and not 20 miles north of it.
Some people were uneasy about travelling beneath the English Channel but it never bothered me, although it normally took me about half and hour to push my resentment to the back of my mind.
The cause of that resentment was the very notion that is perpetuated, that the magnanimous French undertook the engineering feat in order to facilitate Britain’s needs when in reality it was to enable Europe to flood our market with their foreign products.
It certainly wasn’t to enable us to get our merchandise in to French shops.
Now before you scoff at my suggestion just take a look the next time you are on the continent in one of their supermarkets and count the number of British products on display.
I quickly put it to the back of my mind by repeating my usual mantra,
Nobody cares, nobody cares just remember nobody cares
So although I thought Britain was going to hell on a handcart I still chose to go to Paris on Eurostar.
Because apart from it being less hassle than flying it was more comfortable, quieter and kinder to the ears, the only hazard being the inevitable side effect of train travel making me horny.
But as Claire and I were off for a couple of libidinous away days, or more apply “have it away days”, the horniness would not go to waste.
I don’t know what it is about train travel but when the train has settled into its rhythm and the long blinks have started to set in I always get a hard on.
That coupled with the fact that we were headed towards a French destination, added to my arousal.
I don’t know why, but putting the word French in front of another word in the English language can often make it either sexy or dirty.
For example French kiss, letter, lessons, blue, horn, knot, teacher and French leave.
I accept some of them are tenuous, but that’s the way I see them.
To give an example of a fairly innocuous term, which could easily be construed to have a sexual connotation, I will relate a true story.
I went to a wedding once at a Registry office in Bournemouth; it was located in a magnificent building that was originally built in the 19th century as a hotel and spa.
As I was early I chatted to the porter and as it was evident I was interested he gave me a leaflet on the history of the building.
In its heyday as a spa hotel one of the things offered and indeed the hotel was famed for it, was The French treatment.
There were no details in the booklet to suggest exactly what the treatment consisted of but I instantly thought it was something dirty.
It was probably something quite innocent but I prefer to think of it as something mucky.

We boarded the train and she folded her coat over the seat in front of us and we made ourselves comfortable, Claire sat in the corner by the window and I sat beside her.
We chose the opposite end of the carriage to the toilets for no other reason than there tended to be less thru traffic and therefore less likelihood of being disturbed from our slumber.
We were soon under way and enjoying the views as we clickety clacked our way through the Kent countryside, which was bathed in October sunshine.
Beside me the good Dr, was exuding her familiar exotic perfume every time she moved which always stirred my loins but for the moment the urge to fall asleep was greater than my lust.
Even before we reached the British side of the tunnel Claire had cuddled up to me, drawing her legs up under her, then hugging my arm she rested her head on my shoulder and fell asleep.
I glanced down at her and notice a little bit of pale pink bra strap showing, and by adjusting the angle of my head I managed to glimpse the lace edging of her bra inside her sweater.
I thought I could discern the silhouette of a nipple pushing through the wool of her sweater but that could have been my imagination or wishful thinking.
She stirred as if conscious of my gaze but I continued anyway simply because her body was too gorgeous not to.
After a few minutes of perverted drooling the long blinks were setting in and my eyelids were getting heavier and heavier and then I slept.
I’m not sure quite how long I was asleep but we were in the tunnel when I opened my eyes and Claire stirred again.
As I came to she slid one hand down my arm until she was holding my hand.
I thought that was sweet then I began to drift off again but I was brought back to the moment as Claire was tucking my hand between her knees and my palm was resting on the thin bobbly Kings Cross panty hose.
But the cheapness of the tights did not detract from the quality of the flesh they contained so my palm began its trek along the inside of her thigh Claire open her legs enough to aid my advance.
I preferred the silkily smooth 70-denier hosiery she normally wore but even cheaply shod the feel of her inner thigh brought a lump to my pants.
With her head on my shoulder I could hear and feel her steady breathing as my hand advanced.
So it crept ever higher up Claire’s firm thigh as she opened and closed her legs in anticipation and she moaned quietly.
I could feel the heat from her pussy as I neared my objective.
My intention was to finger her through her tights again like I did that first time in London.
So when my hand arrived at the seat of her heat where she had the itch that needed to be scratched I began to rub her pussy through the fabric and her breathing changed instantly and her legs that had opened just enough for my hand to proceed were now at right angles to one another.
The consequence of her action and my rubbing and the inferior quality of her tights caused my fingers to push straight through the gusset; my digits then proceeded inside her sodden pants and into her creamy wet minge.
Shangri-La having been reached I relished looking upon the recipient of my lust as her buttocks clenched and she wriggled and squirmed on the seat beside me.
But I was conscious of the fact we were in an open carriage, sparsely occupied though it might have been, I still had to keep a weather eye on the aisle to ensure we were not discovered.
Obviously the risk of being caught added to the spice, the hardness of my cock and the wetness of her cunny.
Claire for her part was stifling her moans by burying her face in her coat, which she needed to do, as I was deep into the heart of her fire as I frigged her, and she was not a quiet lover.
The train exited the tunnel and sunlight spilled in through the windows.
Then I heard the door open from the adjoining carriage so my fingers exited Claire’s love tunnel and she closed her legs.
I nonchalantly rested my hand on her knee as a passenger opened the door and I smiled to myself as I looked down to where my hand was resting, and noticed the two knuckles worth of both my previously engaged fingers glistened in the French sunshine well coated with Claire’s viscose juices.
The indecisive passenger, meanwhile, paused for a moment then went back the way he came.
Claire, immediately the door closed behind him, swung open her legs and gripping me by the wrist thrust my hand inside the gaping hole in her shredded tights to return to there previous duties.
So as the French countryside hurtled by I attended to her wet gash,
Her cream oozing between my fingers as I stroked her pussy until she closed her thighs and came, letting out a muffled scream inside her coat as she did so.
After a moment or two she relaxed and her thighs released their grip on my hand.
Just being on a train made me horny being on a train with Claire made me more so and after our little divertissement, I had the mother of all erections.
Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to satisfy myself but I was content to wait until we got to the hotel when it would be a hundred times better when I exploded inside her.
“Hmmm” Clair murmured when her head emerged from inside her coat and then she kissed me wetly before cuddling up to me again.
We sat there like that for about half an hour when Claire started fidgeting beside me and I thought, “here we go again” Dr Feelgood can’t wait until Paris.
But then she sat still again, but only for a minute or two, then she began squirming in her seat again before another period of immobility.
“Its no good” she said suddenly sitting up
“What’s the matter?” I asked
“I’m all sticky” she whispered “and uncomfortable”
“Ah” I replied “Well we’d better get you to the hotel pronto and get your wet knickers off then”
“I can’t wait until then,” she said playfully slapping me
“Can you get my bag down?”
I obliged while she rummaged in her handbag for her other pair of tights,
I set her bag down on the seat I had occupied while she discreetly delved inside for something, which I assumed to be unsullied pants.
I then replaced the bag and stepped aside so she could pass.
“Thank you horny,” she said lightly squeezing the lump in my trousers
I choose not to respond to her jibe even though it was Dr Sticky knickers that had initiated the cause of her own discomfort.
I just smiled as I watched her as she walked down the aisle with a very un-lady like gait.

Claire returned about ten minutes later, moist knickers in hand.
“Are you feeling better now?” I enquired
“Definitely more comfortable” she replied and then whispered
“I’m still very horny though” and kissed me slowly and seductively on the mouth.
“The sooner we get to Paris then the better” I added and kissed her back.

The remainder of the journey seemed to take far longer than the reality as our mutual need to shag was becoming all-consuming.
I couldn’t wait to get her out of her sticky knickers and relieve the ache in my balls.
Once we had disembarked at Gare du Nord we made our way quickly to the taxi rank and joined the queue.
Impatiently we waited our turn feeling as if we were stuck in a time warp but eventually we reached the front and got into the waiting cab.
It’s a strange feeling getting into a taxi in a foreign country, not knowing your way around and not knowing the language.
In Paris its even stranger because the cabby doesn’t knows his way around and he can’t speak the language either.
There is nothing quite so disconcerting as getting into a taxi and the drivers first act after you’ve given him the address is to immediately reach for an A to Z.
That said he seemed to quickly plan his route and get us on our way.
In an attempt to distract our libidinous minds from what our bodies wanted to do, we drank in the sights of Paris.
I’ve never been a Francophile by any stretch of the imagination but Paris is a lovely city, sadly it’s full of ill-mannered Parisian’s but you can’t have everything.
After having seen as much of Paris as a man with a burning erection can stand we finally arrived at the Hotel.
As I paid the cab fare I looked up at the grand façade and thought, “this is a cut above the level of the usual establishments we disgrace ourselves in.
Once inside the foyer with its expanse of marble floor and classical pillars I thought what an inordinately long walk of shame we would have to make in the morning.
Claire had been known to wake the guests with her pleasurable screaming orgasms,
However this time as we were spending two nights so we wouldn’t need to concentrate our coupling and she didn’t bother with the special Lazarus pills this trip.
When we reached the rather grand reception desk we were eventually greeted by an Australian woman of indeterminate age who only had two speeds one of which was stop.
Claire was starting to get agitated in her impatience to reach our room and quench her desire.
While the receptionist went through a seemingly endless list of services we might wish to partake of during our stay, in a voice that by antipodean standards passed as posh.
I smiled to myself as I thought there is nothing quite as oxymoronic as the concept of a cultured Australian.
Still she went on, did we want this or did we want that and I had visions of Claire yelling at the woman
But she just tapped her foot and frowned.
Then like a bolt from the blue the posh ozzie handed Claire the key card and asked if we needed a porter.
Claire accepted the former and I declined the latter and we walked briskly to the lift, to find one waiting for us so we immediately entered and pressed floor 5.
The doors began to close but at the last moment a walking stick appeared in the gap and the doors opened again to reveal a rather large over dressed elderly woman who then gingerly stepped into the lift and pressed 5, thus denying us valuable groping time.
The doors closed and the lift slowly ascended and for no apparent reason stopped at every floor, when we reached the 5th floor the large lady exited first and unfortunately was going our way and was also in our way.
She walked very slowly down the middle of the corridor and because her great size we couldn’t pass her.
So after what seemed like an age we reached our room, on the door knob of which was a room service menu.
I already knew what kind of service Claire wanted once we got in the room, but she was having trouble with the electronic key.
I took the menu card off the doorknob
“Would you like to select from the room service menu madam?” I said in my best posh Australian accent as Claire struggled with the lock.
Eventually after she paused and took a deep breath it worked and the door opened.
She threw her case into vestibule, her coat followed after it.
The good doctor didn’t answer my question, instead she just grabbed my belt and pulled me in to the room I dragged my bag behind me.
Once inside Claire quickly closed the door and began undoing my belt.
With great manual dexterity she unbuckled my belt, unfastened my trousers and yanked my cock out.
“I very good selection madam” I said in mock French this time “and where would you like it served madam?”
She let go of my cock and wriggled out of her skirt.
Then to my great surprise she ripped a whole in the crotch of her tights pulled her panties to one side.
“Right here and right now” she said in a very saucy “Allo Allo” voice and with her arms wrapped around my neck she hoisted herself onto me.
My cock was so hard and her pussy was so wet and welcoming it only took two attempts with me gripping a buttock in each hand before I achieved full penetration.
“Oh God” she exclaimed, “that’s so good”
Then she kissed my mouth and she snorted through her nose as she rose and fell on my shaft.
We stopped kissing and Claire tongued my ear her course rasping breaths urging me on.
I pushed her back against the vestibule wall and thrust deeply into her and she moaned in grateful receipt of each length.
Having her pinned against the wall and with her arms wrapped tightly around my neck while her legs gripped my hips I was afforded the luxury of liberating her tits from their lacy bondage.
My left hand was engaged as an anchor on the doorframe but my right was free and went immediately up inside her sweater.
As I tried to insert my hand between the lacy prison and its occupant I pushed the bra upwards and the under wire stabbed my hand, undeterred however I bravely persevered and groped the round plump breast.
As I squeezed her tit and toyed with her erect nipple the tempo was increasing and her moans were growing louder as was the sound of her buttocks slapping against the plaster as I continued banging her against the wall.
As we reached the summit we were both tiring and I was beginning to think we might have to adjourn to the bedroom when we found our second wind and drove on until through gritted teeth her hoarse panting in my ear told me she was desperately close and with a yelp she cried out in orgasm and I came seconds later empting my aching sack into her.
I’m not quite sure how long we stood there locked in passions embrace but it just felt so good I could have stayed forever.
“Damn” she panted, “that’s what I call room service”
Then Claire laughed lustily which made her muscles contract randomly around my shaft and caused me to twitch.
“Hmmm” we murmured

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