Looking Back Ch 10

In Chapter one our heroine, Kate, a successful businesswoman turning 60, has asked herself a troubling question. Is she a slut? Thus began a series of chapters in which she describes to her husband Henry (her fourth husband) her life beginning with her late teen years and her sexual activities at each stage. The portion in italics in each story is her recollection of some memorable sexual experience from her past. In this chapter Kate tells of the second time she met her third husband to be and the oral sex they enjoyed before he had to fly off to Paris.

Since Henry was on the West Coast, with no immediate need to hurry back to London, we decided to run down to Carmel for a couple of days. There is no more beautiful time on the Northern California Coast than early October. We managed to get a room for a couple of days in a quiet little B&B I've known for years. It's just a couple of blocks off Ocean Avenue. Close enough to be convenient, but far enough to be free of the tourist hordes.

Normally it would have been impossible to get a room on short notice in Carmel this time of year, but I knew the couple, Claude and Lorraine, that owned the B&B. I had met them at one of my aunt's orgies years ago. They had a separate cottage out behind their main facility that they reserved for friends like me. They were

very

good friends.

As we drove down to Carmel, I told Henry about one wet stormy February weekend I had spent with them in the cottage fucking our brains out. The weather was wild, raining hard with the continuous background noise of a wild winter surf pounding against the beach a few blocks away—a perfect weekend to spend screwing in a cozy warm cottage near the beach. The sex was phenomenal. Claude had a dick that just never seemed to wear out, and when it did, his tongue took over where his dick left off. And then there was Lorraine. She just loved to suck on my tits while Claude was fucking me or eating me. Then we would switch roles—Claude fucking or eating Lorraine while I played with her tits. And, when Claude was truly spent, Lorraine and I engaged in some of the nastiest girl-on-girl sex. Marvelous weekend.

"Mmm! I can't wait to meet this couple," Henry said, steering my BMW around a sharp curve as we dropped down out of the Santa Cruz Mountains.

"Sorry. No such luck on this trip. When I talked to Claude on the phone, he told me that they were really busy with a full house in the rest of their facility. We can use the cottage, but we won't see much of them."

"So it goes. I'm sure we can entertain ourselves." As he spoke he reached over and caressed the inside of my thigh with the hand not occupied with the steering wheel. "Perhaps you can tell me a bit about your third husband."

"Absolutely, but if you keep that up, I'm just going to attack you as soon as we arrive, and I'll not take time for the story about my third husband."

The road's curves got tighter, and Henry wisely decided that he needed both hands to drive, especially at the speed he was maintaining. However, once we got down on the flats among the artichoke and strawberry fields of Monterey County he continued to periodically molest me—just enough to keep my libido at a slow boil. Just to keep things even, I occasionally reached over and stroked his cock through his trousers.

When we arrived in Carmel, Claude showed us to the cottage, helping with the luggage, and apologizing for not being able to spend more time with us.

"There is an excellent bottle of Montrachet chilling in the cooler," he said.

"Oh Claude, you haven't forgotten my tastes," I said.

He smiled and winked, saying, "Wines are not your only tastes I remember. But now I must go. Henry will have to see to your other tastes."

"Oh, he will," I responded

After Claude closed the door Henry said, "Lecherous bastard."

"See I told you, you would like him. He's a lot like you—only with a French accent."

Henry laughed and wrapped his arms around me, letting his hands slide down to cup my ass as I rubbed my tits against his chest.

"So which is it you want first—sex, or to hear about my third husband?"

"Yes," he said with deliberate ambiguity as he began to nuzzle my neck.

"Okay," I said. "Here's what we're going to do. You get undressed and get into bed, but take that picnic hamper with you. I'll open the bottle of Montrachet and then join you."

"What? With your clothes on?"

"Of course not, you silly man," I said pushing him away. "When have I ever gone to bed with you with my clothes on, although, now that you mention it, we could try the proverbial 'zipless fuck'."

Within a few minutes we were snuggled naked under the covers sipping the Montrachet and munching on gourmet treats from the picnic hamper—chilled asparagus with thyme-infused mayonnaise that Henry had made from scratch, French goose liver pâté, sesame-covered English biscuits, and so on.

"Let's see. If I recall correctly, you met your third husband at one of your aunt's orgies well before your second marriage. What was his name? He was a Frenchman, if I recall the story correctly."

"His name was Yves. Yves Montagne, but I didn't learn that until many years after the first meeting. All that happened that night was that this tall, thin young Frenchman walked naked out of a swimming pool, dropped between my legs and licked my pussy until I was screaming for mercy. Next he moved me to a pool couch and fucked me to about four orgasms. Then he disappeared into the night. I would have done something about finding him then, but I fucked so many other people that night that it was all a little blurry the next day. I got a little carried away. It was my first orgy after all."

"And so when and where did you next meet this French 'wonderfuck'?"

"

Wunderfuck

? That's not a word."

"Yes it is. I'm English, and I used it, so it must be a word."

"No it's not. I'm a professional editor, and it's not a word."

"Yes it is, and you know exactly what it means. But never mind. We're digressing. Tell me the story." As he spoke he ran his fingers lightly around the back and sides of my neck in such a delightful way. Further argument was out of the question. I moved to the story.

It was in New York about twenty years after the first orgy I attended at my aunt's home. I was sitting in the bar at the Plaza Hotel in New York waiting for Jim and Sandy Worthington to meet me, when this very debonair Frenchman sat down on the bar stool next to me. He told the bartender he was waiting for a car to take him to the airport and ordered a drink. I was doing my best to ignore him, but I couldn't help but notice that, notwithstanding his long hair, which reached nearly to his shoulders, he was devastatingly handsome. I had no idea who he was, and I was really trying not to get involved with him, tempting as it might be, as my boss (I was running the West Coast office by then) and his horny slut of a wife were supposed to be arriving shortly. I could see he was looking at me intently in the mirror behind the bar.

Finally he turned to me and said, "Excuse me, but I believe we have met." His accent was charming, and his baritone voice very sexy, but what really struck me were his sparkling blue eyes. They radiated sex and sent a jolt directly to my core.

"Oh really," I said, thinking it a rather obvious pick-up line. "I can't recall the occasion."

"Yes, yes. I'm sure of it now that I hear your voice. First it was just your eyes. I never forget a beautiful woman's eyes. But your voice is even more distinctive. I remember now. It was at a party in California.

Mon

Dieu

! That had to be fifteen or twenty years ago. I was barely out of college, and a girl I knew dragged me to a party in a really plush neighborhood." He smiled. Well, it was more of a sheepish grin. "It was, how would you say, a really wild party. Wow! I hadn't thought of that night in years."

I was giving him a very skeptical look, still clueless as to who he was.

"Yes, perhaps you'll remember. There was a swimming pool, an indoor lap pool. My date and I were at one end and you and your girlfriend and an older gentleman were sitting at the other end. My date and I swam to your end, and that is when we became acquainted. However, I must admit that we were never properly introduced, so I never knew your name, nor I suppose did you know mine."

I was thinking, party in Pacific Heights, with a swimming pool and a Frenchman who never introduced himself. It sounded like one of Aunt Chloe's parties, but which one? This was intriguing, and he was gorgeous, but who was he?

I smiled at him and said, "That would have been the mid-to-late-1970s. I went to a lot of parties then, so I think you have me at a disadvantage. Can you tell me more about what we did?"

He smiled, "Well, it might be indelicate to go into those details in such a public place as this." He gestured at the busy bar room around us as he spoke. "Let me just say that we both made each other very happy, but then a lot of people were making each other happy that evening."

Oh yes! Had to be one of Aunt Chloe's orgies, I thought. But which one? Hmm, there was a Frenchman at the first orgy, and oh yes, he had made me very happy. So happy I was screaming. I looked at him with a slow smile. "Yes, I think I remember now. It wasn't what one would call a close personal relationship."

He chuckled. "Well, most people would say it was highly personal but also perhaps a bit shallow, given that we never introduced ourselves."

"Oh, on the contrary, I found what you did to be deep, very deep. Some would even say penetrating." What the hell was I doing having this conversation with a total stranger in a bar in the Plaza?

He broke out in a laugh at my tawdry statement, barely able to avoid choking on his drink. Once he recovered his composure, he smiled and said, "Mais

oui

, you are the one. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Yves Montagne."

He extended his hand as he spoke. "And I am Kate, Kate O'Neil," I said, as I took his hand. It was firm and warm. I shook it briefly and, as I started to release his hand, he retained a soft grip turning his palm up and leaned forward to kiss the back of my hand.

"

Enchanté

," he said.

Oh, this guy is very dangerous, I thought as he lifted his head from the kiss and stared with his sparkling blue eyes.

Just then the bartender approached. "Excuse me, Ms. O'Neil. There is a call for you." As he put a house phone in front of me, I thought there are some privileges that come with being a regular in a New York bar. The call was from Jim Worthington, cancelling our dinner date. A disappointment. I had been looking forward to dinner with Jim and Sandy followed by an evening of uninhibited sex with the two of them. He claimed that an urgent business matter had come up. When I asked if it was anything I could help with, he declined. Later I learned that the urgent business matter was the sale of his company to a scorched earth private equity company that would subsequently dismantle it, the son of a bitch!

As I put the phone down, I turned and looked at Yves with a smile and said, "Well, it appears that I am suddenly at loose ends for the evening. My dinner engagement has just cancelled."

"His loss and my gain," Yves said with a grin. "Perhaps you could join me for dinner? We could catch up on what we have been doing during the twenty years since we last met." He signaled to the bartender and said, "Her bill and mine on my account please."

"Of course Mr. Montagne."

Turning to me he said, "I keep a suite on the top floor here. We can order dinner there if you would like." As he spoke he touched my shoulder, softly and sensually.

"How nice," I responded. He used the house phone to push his departure schedule back. We finished the drinks and adjourned to his suite.

I learned a great deal about Yves over dinner. It turned out that he was principal heir to one of France's great family fortunes. Since we had last met, his parents had died, leaving him with ownership and control of a wide range of French-based industrial companies, publishing companies, agricultural businesses and even a number of significant vineyards and a couple of wineries. He had cousins, aunts, uncles and any number of other shirt-tail relatives, but as the only child of Bernard Montagne, he had become the sole owner of Montagne Enterprises, an umbrella company that controlled a long list of subsidiaries in France and other parts of Europe.

"I must admit, I was what you Americans would call a playboy when we met twenty years ago, but those days are past," he said, adding "I have responsibilities that never end today."

"Well," I said looking over the top of my wine glass, "My brief impression of you twenty years ago was that you were a very competent playboy. Are you as good at running a conglomerate today as you were twenty years ago at . . . hmm, how shall I say this . . . at partying? I thought you were very good at that."

He laughed and said, "Thank you, but as to your question about today, I have to say the verdict is not returned yet. Also all of my various relatives and my late father's associates seem to care deeply about that question, although I am not always clear as to which are rooting for me to succeed and which would prefer to see me fail. My father only passed away a year ago, and there is a lot to wrap my arms around."

We enjoyed a sumptuous bottle of wine from one of his family vineyards as we ate and continued our conversation. By the time we reached the end of dinner and the bottom of the wine bottle, I felt as though we had known each other for all of the intervening twenty years since we had originally met, and I was frankly expecting him, no, wanting him, to propose that we go to bed. There was something about those twinkling blue eyes of his that had been lighting a fire in my core since we had started talking in the bar. By now, every time I shifted in my seat I could feel my wet pussy lips rubbing against each other. Because I had been expecting an evening of debauchery with Jim and Sandy, I had neglected to wear panties. But now as I sat looking into those twinkling blue eyes, Jim and Sandy were far from my mind. He had seduced me intellectually and emotionally. He just needed to finish the job. Fuck, I wanted Yves, now!

Instead of propositioning me, he looked at his watch and said, "Mon Dieu, look at the time. We must leave now, or my pilots will be beyond their allowed working hours."

"We?" I said. "And where are

we

going?" I asked.

"Why, Paris, of course. I have an important meeting there tomorrow, and there is so much I want to show you. We must leave for Paris immediately. My plane awaits."

I laughed. "Oh, you are tempting, Yves. So, so tempting. But no. Much as I would like to run off to Paris with you, I can't. Like you, I have grown up since the last time we met, and I too have an important meeting tomorrow, here in New York with an author who has written an interesting novel we want to publish. I couldn't possibly leave New York before tomorrow afternoon."

"But can't you delegate that duty to one of your underlings? You are the Managing Editor. You must have people to do things for you."

"Only the West Coast Managing Editor," I reminded him, "and yes, I have people who work for me, but some things I just have to do myself, just as you feel you must make your meeting in Paris tomorrow. Besides, you own your company, I merely work for mine." No need to tell him that I regularly sleep with the principal owner and his wife, I thought.

We went back and forth like that for a couple of more rounds before he finally capitulated. "All right, I understand. So you can fly over tomorrow afternoon on the Concorde. It leaves just after lunch and will get you to Paris in time to join me for a late dinner."

"No, my meeting with the prospect is a lunch meeting."

"All right, so you can just fly overnight, and we will be together again on Saturday morning? I'll tell you what. I'll send my plane back for you. I can get a different crew, and they can pick you up at Teterboro at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow." Teterboro is a small airfield just across the river in Jersey—the airfield of choice for corporate aircraft.

I was charmed and intrigued. And, I also remembered how good the sex had been with him twenty years ago. I leaned back in my chair, my legs crossed with one leg flipping a toe in the air, my pump dangling from it, as I thought about his proposition. I knew I needed to also have time to talk to Jim Worthington tomorrow. He had said we needed to talk business and it was important. That meant I could be tied up most of the afternoon. Jim was never available in the morning. 11:30 was an obscenely early start for him. Twenty years earlier I would have gone with Yves immediately without a thought about who I was committed to or for what on the next day, but damn, this business of being a grownup could be tough.

Finally I said, "Five might be a little early. Can we make it seven? It can take awhile to get out to that little airport in Teterboro on a Friday evening, and I several things to do here in New York tomorrow afternoon."

"Done! The plane will be waiting for you at Teterboro at seven tomorrow evening. If you are wheels up by 7:30 you will be in Paris by 9:30 on Saturday morning. I promise you I will show you Paris as you have never seen it."

He stepped to the phone to call for a car to take him to Teterboro and to tell his pilots he was leaving mid-town shortly. He was still on the phone with the pilots when I stepped in behind him and began to nuzzle the back of his neck while I rubbed my tits against his back. "How much time until your car is here?" I whispered. As he finished his call with the pilot, I reached around with my hands and began to rub his prick through his pants. It became instantly erect.

"Twenty minutes," he responded.

"Good. That's plenty of time."

Some wise person once told me, "Never let a man you care about leave home with a hard on." If I couldn't stop him from leaving so we could spend the night fucking, I was sure as hell going to give him a blowjob to remember me by.

He turned in my arms so that my hands, which had been stroking his cock, were now cupping his ass and I could feel his erect cock against my belly. Yves slid a hand between us and began to massage one of my breasts through my clothes. It felt divine. I pulled his hips hard against me, and he kissed me, forcing a long nasty tongue into my mouth. It was a wet sloppy kiss that went on forever. Without breaking the kiss I pushed him back a couple of steps until the back of his knees hit a couch. Another light push dropped him onto the couch. I fell to my knees between his legs and began to slowly and sensually release his belt and zipper. I took my time and looked straight into those sexy blue eyes as I opened his trousers. He raised his hips and I pulled his pants and boxers off, letting them pool at his feet. He wasn't going to need to walk anywhere for the next few minutes.

Then I leaned back and began to slowly unbutton my blouse. I didn't take it off, but I soon had it fully open, and then I released my front clasping bra so my naked breasts were exposed. I put a hand under each one and lifted them, holding them out to him in invitation and still staring at those so-sexy blue eyes. I could see that as I did this he had reached down with one hand and began stroking his cock. He didn't have the biggest cock I had ever seen, but I thought it was beautiful and, just like the rest of him, stunningly sexy. There was a shiny drop of precum on the head.