Disclaimer: Regular readers may find this story to be a brief departure from my usual uplifting stories. My challenge was to write an erotic tragedy about a terribly wayward and ill-fated character. This is a brief story about sadness and pangs of the heart -- and the inability to understand how to deal with them. Note that there are also suggestions of incest between two female characters, however, I wish to provide the caveat that it is most assuredly not an incest story. I hope you enjoy this humble, cautionary tale!
***
Paris was a dream. Or, at least that's what it was always meant to be.
I viewed it as a means of escape from the day to day financial struggles back home in the States. I had been working as a safety consultant for the New York Central Railroad before receiving an offer to consult at the Gare de Lyon after an air brake failure caused a tragic derailment that took the lives of several innocent Parisians.
Upon accepting the offer, I began to so badly desire a world of fine wines, gourmet food, and dynamic intellectualism. A world that was relaxed and carefree; a free ride to prosperity and happiness -- perfect for a young bachelor such as myself. I was yearning to find some beautiful French girl to seek the affections of, marry, and live out a life of excitement and sexual fulfillment -- no differently than so many other foreigners on a search for romance amidst the lure of the City of Lights.
Suffering fits of desperation, my own City of Lights typically came alive at night. It was bewitched by strange waif-like phantoms; pallid, gaunt figures standing in the pools of light beneath street lamps, their dreamy expressions somehow lifeless. On that evening, one of them blinked slowly at me with her long lashes resembling the saw teeth of a Venus flytrap. Were it not for this subtle movement I might as well have been petitioned by a department store mannequin.
I passed them each by, struggling to find the companionship that precisely suited my needs. However, I happened to approach the Promenade de l'Allée du Séminaire on my way to the gardens for an evening stroll when I spotted a charming young woman sitting alone on a bench looking a touch morose. It seemed as if she bore the weight of the whole world on her shoulders. The look on her face aroused in me an instant sympathy, beautiful and tragic as she seemed to be. Feeling moved to console her, I approached with care, briefly introducing myself and asking permission to take a seat by her side.
She looked up at me and quickly adjusted herself, wiping away the mascara which had begun to run down to her cheek as if, perhaps, she had just shed a single tear in private prior to my arrival. It was not lost on me what she was; in some ways, no different than all those other girls emerging from everywhere to line the streets during the evening hours. Yet, somehow, she seemed so different. I found in her gentle expression a tender humanity that drew me straight into those limpid eyes.
The young woman's face lit up the moment I offered my heartfelt attention. She came alive, wooing me so immediately with her charms that I quickly forgot why I had even approached her in the first place. She introduced herself as Yvette. I kissed her hand and offered a friendly smile that seemed to soothe whatever ailed her.
From her dark, high-arched eyebrows, to her mysterious eyes and strong nose, there was a certain exoticness to Yvette's beauty that I surmised could only have come from the blood of a ravishing Middle Eastern immigrant passed through the prism of generations of selective French breeding.
"It is too beautiful an evening to be sitting here," I formally declared, exhibiting my gentlemanly manners. "The gardens are so close by. Why don't we go stroll for a while? I must confess that I feel a particular romance in the air tonight."
She smiled warmly at me and accepted my hand. Yvette and I approached the Jardin du Luxembourg where we enjoyed some friendly conversation, bathing in the scent of fresh vegetation breathing in the moonlight, precisely the revitalizing tonic that such an evening needed. It wasn't long before Yvette fell victim to the magic spell of our sentimental walk. I felt the budding of amorousness forming between us, so I formally proposed a generous fee for her erotic services and asked how far away she resided.
Within an instant, I had captured her eager invitation to love and we made haste toward Vavin, in the direction of her home which happened to be just a stone's throw away.
As we neared our destination, a rotund old woman hung out over her balcony, beating a small rug with her heavy wooden spoon. The tedious rapping sound clattered back and forth between the silent buildings on either side of that narrow, winding street, stirring to life a band of sleeping pigeons. When she saw us pass, she stopped and peered down at me. I felt rattled by her gaze and wanted nothing more than to quickly escape inside Yvette's home, whichever one it was.
As it turned out, Yvette lived in a small, ramshackle house set amidst several more imposing structures. Its dingy facade was graying and the roof had sunken on one side giving it the appearance of a slouched hat. Truly, it seemed to be the only house in the area that may as well have come through a war. The thing looked like a decaying tooth sandwiched between two pearly whites.
I confess that the moment I saw her humble abode I fancied our affair might play out like a Cinderella story. We would make love and find ourselves instantly drawn to one another. I would rescue her from her present trade, offering all that I could -- marriage, a better life, comfort and security; all the things that, admittedly, I was still working to establish for myself.
Since the moment we had met, Yvette had performed her expert analysis on me; deducing my precise tastes and triggers by asking the right questions and observing whatever clues I was giving with my particular mannerisms and gestures. -- How well she had me pegged! -- We made straight for the bedroom where the air had already been scented with a lovely perfume. She teasingly removed her undergarments from beneath her dress with a skillful technique that I had never seen before. Soon reduced to just a simple chemise, she made for my lips, adoring them with the sweetness of her own. She tasted like the luscious cherries I had once savored from a small market one weekend during a stroll in Montparnasse.
With great care she removed my jacket and hung it on the chair across from her dressing table, strewn haphazardly with makeup containers and half-empty perfume bottles. She continued to undress me, clearing a suitable place for all my things with total disregard for her own, then stood back and marveled at my nude body as if she were a painter studying her model. Her attentive gaze made me feel like Michelangelo's David, her eyes sparkling with awe and amorous anticipation.
Yvette then proceeded to perform a grand reveal, stretching her long, lean arms up into the air where she grasped the top of her chemise and drew it slowly upward. It was as if she removed a sheath of liquid silk, the fabric highlighting a body dripping with sexuality, accentuating every curve, slipping through the chasm of her breasts, stimulating the taut nipples that disturbed the smoothness of that shimmering garment. As it cleared her head, she was left there standing as nude as I was -- and what a sight to behold.
Her body was exquisite in every way, from the long locks of her satiny hair to the tiny painted toes at her feet. I adored the gentle grace of her neck. I adored the slight peach fuzz scattered about the inky well of her bellybutton. Her long legs were soft and smooth, almost fragile in their delicate constitution. At the apex of her pale thighs was a triangular mass of fur as sweet as sin and black as death. Her breasts were sensational; perfectly-sized and playful in their movement. I stepped forward and accosted them with a certain desperation, anxious to delight in their supple, pillowy warmth. I took her sanguineous nipples in my mouth immediately, suckling like a hungry child as she stroked my hair and sighed happily.
Yvette led me enthusiastically to her bed. I knew, of course, that it was her job to please each client -- however, I was content to enjoy the sense of special excitement she exuded, showering me with her affections and expressing a pure desire to be with me and me alone.
She laid me back and took great care to see to my comfort, hopping excitedly between my legs where she confronted herself rather joyfully with the impressive pronouncement of my fully distended cock. She wrapped her hands around it as if it were some precious object, adoring my penis -- worshipping it, I might say, before issuing a hearty laugh at the way it jerked to life each time she trailed her soft hair across my sensitive glans.
I felt in an instant that she genuinely delighted in making merry with me; I was not simply another customer on another fragrant summer evening. I felt myself sink into the soft sheets of her bed as she drew her warm tongue up the length of my shaft from base to tip, inhaling the warm musk emanating from my body as my arousal grew tenfold.
