Tante Marise Ch 02

This tale takes place in that sadly very short, interval between the ready availability of the contraceptive pill and the outbreak of HIV and AIDS. It does not involve anyone underage at any point.

It will be best understood by reading 'Tante Marise' first. The story 'Hitchhiker' takes place between these two but is not important to this one.

Tante Marise uses some French terms so here is a list in case they are not familiar.

Bite cock

Foufoune or fouf pussy or cunt

Baiser as in baise moi fuck me

Profodément deeply

Minette pussy

Remplir fill

Fente slot or cunt

Foutre cum

Lécher as in lèche moi lick me

Sucer as in suce moi suck me

That summer, in the late 60s, just like all its predecessors, slowly drew to a close, but what a summer it had been. I had stayed at a French chateau with Tante Marise, who had inadvertently given me a life long fetish for overhearing others enjoying sex.

She and the estate manager had repaired to the Bureau after supper to 'discuss business'. On one occasion I had passed the door and overheard them obviously 'doing it', and doing it enthusiastically.

My knowledge of sex prior to this had been biology lessons, simply the mechanical process of reproduction, and I'd found this new experience most stimulating: rather too stimulating actually.

Anyway, Tante Marise had continued in her instructional role after we had somehow wound up showering together. This had been the first time I had ever seen a naked woman, let alone touched one, and she had brought me to a rather swift, but enormously satisfying, orgasm. Her soapy hands incidentally, creating another life long fetish.

I had left northern France a much enlightened boy, still very much a virgin, but revelling in my new knowledge of practical biology: vaginas are surrounded by hair and can be slippery to the touch. As this was the 60s I had expected this to remain the extent of my experience for some considerable time.

That was before I had been given a lift by the totally outrageous trucker Gilly, as I hitchhiked down to Barcelona, and that tale is told in Hitchhiker. Gilly was my first, and will always have pride of place in my memory. I was so naïve and she was so confident. She talked about sex as freely as if it was the weather, and enjoyed it with much the same enthusiasm.

So my time on the sun drenched beaches was coming to an end. I had had adventures, but nothing to compare with my time with Gilly.

It is hard to cast your mind back to that less enlightened time. Girls could only get the pill once they were 'engaged', not just because they wanted to enjoy some recreational sex, without consequences.

I had enjoyed a couple of liaisons, my eager hands had been permitted inside the occasional bikini top, and even once or twice into that warm moist haven between her legs, but my experience with Gilly, in that cheap hotel room, was the tops.

Gilly had taught me a lot about sex that night, but mostly that it was fun and just to be enjoyed for its own sake. She certainly followed her own rules, and good for her, at a time when that sort of attitude was almost unheard of.

So I made my way reluctantly northwards from Barcelona on my planned route; roads that are now the A20, the A10 and the A16 towards the port. The journey was somewhat quicker than I had allowed for, and I found myself passing close to Tante Marise's home at Prouzel with a few days to spare.

I suspect that you have worked out by now that maybe this wasn't entirely an accident. Tante Marise's welcoming unfettered bosom had burned a permanent place in my affections, as had the way she manipulated my eager young cock, with her soapy hands, in the shower.

I walked through the steel gates, up the long drive, totally unannounced. No mobile phones then. Tante Marise greeted me with open arms, numerous kisses on both cheeks, and a large unfettered bosom: oh that bosom!

Tante Marise, you may recall, spoke English with slightly eccentric grammar as well as that wonderful accent. I tried to write this with out the use of direct speech but it was nearly impossible. I decided not to try to write with 'ze French accent' because it doesn't work, so please just imagine it for yourself. Some of her French expressions may seem rather blunt.

Having established that I was welcome to stay for the remaining few days of my holiday, we went inside and she showed me back to my room at the end of a long corridor. I was offered a much needed shower, so I headed for the antique contraption in the bathroom, manipulated the valves until warm water squirted from every angle, and enjoyed washing off the dirt of my travels.

Inevitably, my mind wandered back to the last shower I had had there, and Tante Marise's expert manipulation of my inexperienced cock. The thought alone inevitably gave me an erection and I tried, unsuccessfully, to banish the memory of my first experience with a naked woman, from my mind. Impossible.

The images of water running down her petite frame and cascading off her ample bosom, the way her nipples felt under my palms, the sensation of her soapy hands on my cock, and the excitement of discovering that a vagina can be delightfully slippery, just kept flooding back. In the end, my washing routine lingered rather longer on my now fully erect cock than usual, with the somewhat predictable end result.

I made sure all evidence of my 'masturbations' as Tante Marise delightfully, if somewhat bluntly, put it, had washed away and dried myself off, dressed in clean clothes and went down stairs.

As I approached the Séjour I could hear the sound of voices, one of which obviously belonged to Antoine, the farm manager. This giant of a man, with enormous hands and caricature moustache, had a voice to match.

I cannot pretend that I wasn't disappointed. Last visit we had spent long evenings in front of the TV, watching somewhat raunchy French films, and she had allowed me to fondle the twin orbs of her magnificent chest. Not tonight Josephine, as Napoleon is alleged to have said.

Dinner conversation was conducted in French for politeness to Antoine, whose only words of English were whiskey and rugby, which he claimed the French had invented anyway. Cassoulet, conversation, Camembert and cabernet sauvignon passed a very agreeable hour or more, then Tante Marise suggested they take their café to the bureau to do the farm accounts and leave me with the TV.

I thought I knew what this meant! It had happened just the same way on my last visit. Café in the bureau probably meant they were considering some far more personal interaction than farm accounts.

It was so blatant to me, but of course she didn't know that on my last visit, I had passed the Bureau and overheard her moans of pleasure in time with the squeaking of the day bed as Antoine pleasured her.

As they left, my mind again wandered to the scene that I imagined was about to be played out in the bureau. Those giant hands clasping Tante Marise's firm naked buttocks as he thrust his 'bite' back and forth into that moist slippery foufune.

Brain to cock. "Stop that right now. You've had an orgasm only a few hours ago."

Cock to brain. "So! You are doing the imagining, I'm going to erect!" And erect it did. Time passed very slowly. What were they doing? How were they doing it? Did he just lift her dress and drop his trousers, or did they get naked? Naked, with those magnificent breasts moving back and forth in time to his thrusting, for move they surely must.

I tried to concentrate on the TV, but my mind kept returning to the scene I imagined was taking place in the bureau. Eventually curiosity overcame my fear of discovery and I got up, ostensibly to go to my room. My route would take me past the Bureau and I might be able to pause for a second or two.

Adjusting my cock in my pants so that it was pressed against my stomach, and therefore not an obvious erection, I made my way to the door.

I knew it was wrong.

I knew I was invading their privacy, but the memory of what I had heard last time compelled me to go on.

As I passed the Bureau the sounds were unmistakable. Yes! They were fucking. I stopped and listened for as long as I dared in order to catch the odd word and the gist of what they were saying.

"Ah oui *****, baise moi comme ça." Or

"Ah yes *****, fuck me like that." So much sexier in the French version.

"J'aime bien ***** ta bite profondément dans ma minette."

("I love ***** your cock deep in my pussy.")

This dirty talk was a totally new and unexpected stimulation. I had no idea that people might talk while having sex, let alone use that sort of language. It was becoming intolerably sexy and I couldn't resist trying to catch some more.

"Je veux te baiser pour******** remplir ta petite fente avec ma foutre."

("I want to fuck you for ******* fill your little slot with my cum.")

Fear of discovery eventually sent me scurrying back to the TV and the safety of the Séjour. Eventually the door to the Bureau opened, they went down the corridor to the front door, said their good nights and Tante Marise came and sat beside me.

Once more I was astounded at her coolness. She had obviously just enjoyed robust sex with Antoine. She had welcomed him between her petite thighs and encouraged this giant of a man to fuck her, using the most explicit of language. And yet, here she was, just sitting in the Séjour, sweet little Tante Marise, as if nothing had happened.

It goes without saying that the scene in the Bureau was replayed in my mind, several times, later that night with the inevitable result winding up in my handkerchief, yet again.

Towards the end of my stay, when the harvest was over, Tante Marise declared that it was a perfect day for a picnic. We bundled some baguettes into a basket along with some cheese, paté and lots of fruit. She added a bottle of wine and some water and we set off.

It was about a fifteen minute walk down to her favored picnic spot by a lake, which provided irrigation water for the farm if needed. I walked beside her and on those occasions when we had to go in single file, I followed, watching her petite bottom undulate gracefully under the thin material of her summer dress. Naturally I couldn't help imagining her naked, with that mysterious triangle of hair between her legs, not to mention what it must be like to be Antoine and burying his 'bite' in that soft wet foufoune.

Trying desperately not to get an erection, we spread the rug on the ground and set about having a little apero before the picnic. Every time she lent forward to get something from the basket, I got a wonderful view down the cleft between her unrestrained, oversize breasts. Controlling the erection department became increasingly difficult.

"Tell me about your trip. Did you have the adventures with girls?"

I tried my best to avoid answering directly, but she was most insistent, and lying on her side with her head propped up on one hand, she cast a magical spell.

"Do not be shy, tell Tante about it. I am sure a good looking boy had many adventures with the girls. Lots of sangria and bikinis."

I admitted to her that there had been a few, without going into the details of my hitchhike and the totally outrageous Gilly.

"Ah, the boy is now a man, no?"

I knew what she meant and so I nodded.

"Eh bien, bravo."

The conversation drifted on as we ate our picnic and after a short wine induced doze, Tante Marise announced that a swim in the lake was next. I muttered something about not having brought my swimming trunks which elicited a broad smile from her, and a "Moi non plus." Or me neither.

"We are four kilometers from the nearest house and six from the village. I have swimmed many times here and I have never wear a costume, it is much better in the naked."

She stood up and pulled me to my feet. She pulled her dress over her head and stood there only in her panties. I stood gasping like a fish out of water. Those breasts! The hint of dark curly hair below her thin cotton panties and, suspecting what I might be about to see, my cock sprang to full erection, instantly. Grasping the buckle of my belt she chimed.

"You cannot swim in clothes. Off with them."

I started to stammer an objection, but nothing would deter her as she completed the job on my belt and set to work on the zip.

"Come on. It is fun. Don't be shy, I see the boy's zizi before."

"Yes,.....but....." I stammered.

"Ah, you have the stiff one.......

"I see the stiff ones before too......

"Vas-y, get in, the last one is a sissy."

I managed to stumble inelegantly, out of my clothes as she removed her panties, with the accompanying flash of black triangle. Oh that black triangle! I will never forget running down the short wooden pier behind those delightful naked buttocks and jumping off into the cold water.

We swam for a while and she teased me about my travels and my exploits. She seemed particularly interested in the full details of how I lost my virginity to the outrageous Gilly. Eventually the water became too cold and we got out to dry off in the sunshine, lying naked side by side, me still sporting my erection, totally confused about what to do about it.

"So, you make the fucking with Gilly?" she asked rhetorically, already knowing the answer. She leaned over and took my hand placing it on one of her ample breasts. Then her hand took my 'bite' firmly and she started to manipulate it with the same skill as she had on that wonderful occasion in the shower.

"Exploring bodies is a joy of life," and she encouraged my hand to move down between her parted legs. I didn't require any more hints as my fingers slid down her silken thighs to seek out her foufoune. Are all girls' thighs this soft? Are they all this bloody sexy? Are foufs all this wet and inviting? I tried to manipulate her as expertly as she was manipulating me, but I'm sure I failed.

"Tonight we will make fucking in my bed." She said, as casually as if telling me what was for dinner. The feel of her moistness combined with her expert 'masturbations' and the invitation to her room brought things rapidly to a shuddering climax. Each time she pulled my foreskin right back another jet of cum flew out.

Dinner was an agony of anticipation, was I really going to have proper sex with Tante Marise? After dinner she sent me off to the bathroom for a shower with instructions to go to her room afterwards, and get into the bed.

I entered her room full of anticipation and trepidation. It took my breath away. This, I was not expecting. A huge four poster dominated the space.

On the far wall there was an almost life size painting. It was a picture of a reclining nude. The nude was petite, with generous breasts and dark hair. She looked very familiar, very familiar indeed. It was of Tante Marise. Surprising, yes; even delightful, but the real surprise was in the pose.

She lay on her back, face turned to look out of the picture, with half closed eyes. Her head was tilted back, mouth open and a look of utter ecstasy on her face. She had her right leg bent at the knee and the first two fingers of her right hand were buried in that luxuriant triangle of black curly hair between her legs. She was obviously masturbating! It was the sexiest thing I had ever seen and I freely admit I very rapidly got an erection just looking at it. Remember there were no explicit magazines in the 60s.

Once I could drag my gaze from the picture, I started to notice other features of the room. There were mirrors everywhere, free standing mirrors, full length mirrors and wall hung mirrors with ornate gold frames. The effect was dramatic, the room looked huge and I wondered for a moment, why there were so many. It finally dawned on me that wherever you were in the room you could see multiple reflexions of yourself and 'wherever' included the bed! This room was a shrine to sex.

I placed my towel on a nearby rail and climbed into the bed as instructed. I settled myself in eager anticipation, but I couldn't take my eyes off that painting. She looked straight at me in the bed and I knew that if I touched myself things might end very quickly.

A few minutes later the door opened and she appeared, wearing a diaphanous peignoir which hung straight down from her protruding nipples and, although almost transparent, gave only the slightest hint of that dark triangle between her legs.

"You like the picture?" Without waiting for a reply she continued. "Oncle was a very sexy man. He took many sexy pictures of me. This was his favorite, so he had the artist in the village do this painting. I love it because it reminds me of him and the sexy times we had together."

"But now," she added, "we will be together tonight." She pulled gently at the bows on her shoulders and let the diaphanous garment slide down suggestively, over her curves, to a heap on the floor.

Standing there naked, mysterious black triangle in full view, she lowered her arms to her sides, opened her palms towards me, said "Voilá," and climbed into bed beside me.

She stroked my buttocks as we kissed, and encouraged me to stroke hers. There was a lot of petting as I explored her body and she mine, while skillfully avoiding touching my cock.

After a while she rolled onto her back and took my hand. She parted her legs slightly and guided my fingers down, over her curls to the very top of her opening. I took the hint and let her move my fingers over her moist little button as I imagined this was exactly what she was doing in the picture.

She knew what she wanted and if I pressed too hard, or went too quickly, she corrected my movements to give her the pleasure she sought. Eventually the great moment came, she parted her thighs and whispered."

"I am ready! Baise moi, mon petit, baise moi maintenant." My French was by no means fluent but the invitation to fuck and fuck her now was obvious even to me.

I rolled on top of her and my inexpert cock somehow knew exactly what to do, and without any help from either of us slid easily into her welcoming moistness. The sensation was exquisite, every nerve in my body was screaming as my cock sank slowly into her.

Tante Marise kept her knees raised and ran her fingernails over my buttocks and up my spine. The extra stimulation, combined with the deep penetration was more than I knew how to cope with. One final thrust triggered my orgasm, not as violent as the one by the lake earlier, but a real toe curler none the less.

"Now what?" I thought. I've shot my bolt and judging by the time she spent in the Bureau with Antoine, she was almost certainly not satisfied.

"The first time is usually quick," she said encouragingly, "very quick but bien émoustillant, very sexy."

The implication was obvious, even to me, she'd had several partners and I was probably going to be given the opportunity to improve on my rather speedy performance.

We lay together as my cock shrank back to its normal size, until she rolled me onto my back, stroked my chest, and started to lick my nipples. I had never had this experience before, and soon discovered my nipples were very sensitive, and had a direct line to my cock.

Her head progressed slowly down my body, licking and blowing cool air on the moist skin as she went. From nipples to belly, from belly to navel, with exquisite slowness until she arrived at my still flaccid cock.

Without pulling my foreskin back she gently drew it all into her mouth. The sensations were unbelievably erotic without setting off the violent urge to cum.

As she worked her magic, I slowly came back to erection and her tongue started to caress the sensitive tip, which emerged from its hiding place. Her moist lips barely touched the sensitive join of my frenulum but the feelings escalated rapidly.